Up a flight of wooden steps and in. It's past nine thirty and the evening has just begun.
Where were you when I was hurt and I was helpless
Because the things you say and the things you do surround me
While you were hanging yourself on someone else's words
Dying to believe in what you heard
I was staring straight into the shining sun
- "Foster's for you sir?," asks Mangesh the cashier.
- "Yes, the same."
At the Ark on a Wednesday night in Bandra. It's getting crowded by the minute. Couples lost in drinks and kisses. Stags drowned in half pegs and beauty of shapely nymphets on the dance floor. Wishing they would walk away with one of them. East Indians - half Koli, half Portuguese - mostly make up the crowd. Then there are also Goans, Marathis, Gujaratis, Sindhis, Punjabis, expat wokers and those like me on the run with excess baggage.
Juliet the dice were loaded from the start
And I bet and you exploded in my heart
And I forget the movie song
When you wanna realise it was just that the time was wrong, Juliet?
DJ Jack's busy at the console. He knows he's the Ark's navigator. Every few minutes a guest walk up to him with a request. They're mostly so out of sync that Jack turns them down with a sardonic smile and apology.
- "Sorry, but we don't play Bollywood music."
- "We only play retro... Hip-hop nights are Thursdays."
- "That'd be tad slow. You should have come earlier. I am not playing rock after eleven."
Women far outnumber men around him. There's the tall Florina, tiny dancer Juhi, ever ready to break out into a jig, and the loner Alisha. I like talking to and dreaming about Alisha, but every two months she's with a new man. Then there is tall Usman whose lithe form sways to any beat. And there's Juhi's friend, whom I call the Devil after his wacky hairdo.
Night after night I come here to get sloshed. Remain till the place downs shutter at one thirty.
I then pick up my bag and stagger out. The young Nepalese doorman is kind enough to hail a rickshaw. Most of the times the drivers don't have to be told where I stay. The silhouette of the five storied apartment building reminds me that I've live through one more day.
Tonight's Halloween Nite. The owner Prince enters from the annexe side. He's among the first Marathi friends I made after moving into what I consider must be among the planet's loneliest cities. He has often saved me from getting into trouble after I've downed a cup too many. To stop me from drinking, he twice banned me from the pub. But I managed to return.
What do I've to lose anyway? The woman I'd loved has turned cold. Things are no better at work either with this senior out with his guns blazing to prove me an idiot by merrily killing my one exclusive report after another on some pretext. I've managed to rub him the wrong way by refusing to kow-tow to him. This joker wants me to live the editor's dream of performing a role other than that of a reporter.
"Hey Sid, come here," says Prince with his good-natured smile. "I... I... I'd like you to meet a few long time friends. All of us were together till college."
He is entertaining them in the annexe. People who can't be accommodated in the restaurant downstairs are seated here on weekends. It's sometimes used for private parties.
"Meet Siddharth. He's the guy who just undid that much talked deal between two corporate houses."
I really don't know what to say to Prince's assertion. I just happened to gain access to some papers pertaining to the whole sham. We reporters are on a trip of self-importance, as we like to believe that being superstars in our own right we're capable of making and unmaking the system. By the time reality dawns and we're either burnt out or on the top, we're also into sustaining it.
However, despite my senior's best efforts the deal has helped in stretching my stint as a reporter by a few more months.
"Ajay... He works with a stock broking firm." A heavyset man smiles and shakes my hand.
"Prakash... He's into infotech. These days he's relaxing between changing jobs." He's a bespectacled guy with a dreamy-eyed student's look about him.
"And here's Ratan." Ratan is of medium height and blushes as he shakes my hand.
"We're meeting up after really long.," informs Prince. All of them smile and nod in agreement.
He whispers into my ear: "These are my really good friends. They're your level." Prince doesn't approve of my talking to many people in the pub.
Surely now
We could move along
Make a better world?
No it can't be wrong
Let's come together
Right now
Oh yeah
in sweet harmony
Music and cigarette smoke waft in every time someone enters from the pub.
"Get a plate for Sid. He's eating with us. The waiters promptly pull out a chair for me. I'm still on my first bottle of beer. By the time the night gets over I plan to demolish five more.
- "So... so... where's Sheila?" Prince asks.
- "Ha, ha, ha. We always knew you'd designs on her," Prakash says with a wink.
- "Hee, hee, hee..."
- "Must be somewhere. Back at college she was involved with quite a few guys.," adds Prakash.
- "I still suspect you were one of them. Ha, ha, ha!," Prince quips with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
- "Hmm..." Ajay nods in agreement. Ratan continues to smile shyly.
- "No, no, no!," Prakash protests loudly.
- "Now that you're in politics you can't be trusted on any count.," retorts Ajay.
- "Oh yes. You'll soon be contesting the municipal elections.," adds Prakash.
- "No brother. In my case, I... I... I'm into politics to serve the people. I'll keep the larger good in mind while also making my money," says Prince.
Prince suddenly remembers: "By the way, Ratan got married recently. Sid high time you also took the plunge."
Ratan blushes and gazes at the ceramic flooring.
What do I tell my good friend? That I'm completely uprooted? Beer does things to your brain and bladder and makes you want to cry and pee at the same time. I smile and continue drinking.
- "Prince can I get some tea?," Ajay asks.
- "You are in a pub dude. Have a drink. Tell me, I'll ask one of the boys to get it."
- "You know, I don't drink."
- "Bhau, please ask someone to get a cup of tea for sahib.," Prince tells the annexe' bartender.
Bhau promptly instructs one of the waiters to get tea from the restaurant kitchen.
- "Wha... wha... what kind of a man are you. Drinking tea in my pub? We're already number two in Bandra.
- "Who's number one?," queries Prakash.
- "Beach Shack. They've a bigger area. I've to beat them. Come I'll show you around the pub.," says Prince getting up."
All of us follow Prince.
A waiter promptly opens the door.
Baby I got sick this morning
A sea was storming inside of me
Baby I think I'm capsizing
The waves are rising and rising
And when I get that feeling
I want Sexual Healing
Sexual Healing is good for me
The pub is crawling with people. Eleven thirty and one bottle each down Juhi and the Devil are already doing salsa. Prince leads us to the area next to DJ console. It's on an elevated platform. Away from the overcrowded floor, it affords a good view of the pub and chicks. Already on my second beer I've to push hard to make my way up the steps. I try to smile and say hello to familiar places.
- "Nice... Indeed, very nice." Prakash is impressed with the show.
- "I got the l... l... lighting and acoustics done up recently."
Cigarette smoke and the alcohol in my belly strain my eyes. Rubbing against sweaty bodies we file back into the annexe. Second bottle's over and I want to pee.
"Excuse me, will be back in a bit." I make my way to the restaurant toilet downstairs. When I come out I see Alisha waiting outside the women's toilet. She is in black. I say hi and we smile at each other. I take in each curve of her body and feel like touching her. Undressing her in my mind make my way back upstairs.
- "The housing has gone up so much in the last two years," complains Prakash.
- "But so has the stock market," adds Ajay.
- "I think the economy has overheated. Experts have warned that realty will be the first casualty in a meltdown.," I add.
- "We've been hearing this for as long as we remember. Housing is one thing that'll never climb down in Mumbai.," says Ajay sipping from his cup.
- "You can see that as even the mill lands sale hasn't helped matters," avers Prakash.
- "Yes, what about the mills? Bombay must've been very different while they were still alive?," I ask.
- "Yes very different.," Ajay paused. But the '82 strike killed the mills forever.," remarks Ajay.
- "Areas close to the mills were all middle class localities. Chawls abounded in those areas. Few of them are still survive, old style buildings with Mangalore tile roofs and one-room apartments and common toilets for each floor. Several families lived in a chawl. They provided shelter to not only to the workers but also middle class families who could not afford expensive housing. They fostered community living. Even my childhood was spent in a chawl.," and resumes sipping tea.
I've heard that before from my colleagues.
Prakash sighed: "That was really tragic. We were all very young and in school. Thousands of mill workers had taken to the streets. They were all without work or money."
I remembered. Back then I'd see the strikers' leader, a confident middle aged man staring from the cover of most newsmagazines. He was the iconoclast who'd taken on the establishment.
A few months back I'd struck a conversation with one of my office drivers Apte while chasing a story. The recent episode involving a former telecommunications minister who'd been fatally wounded by one of his own kin's was on everyone's mind.
- "Sahib, do you think this man will survive?," Apte asked.
- "Looks difficult. Hospital sources say most of his vital organs aren't functioning."
- "Well, I'll distribute sweets when that happens!"
- "Why do you say that Apte anna? That's in bad taste?"
- "And why not? Before he became a minister in Delhi landline calls used to be quite cheap. But he made them expensive to benefit one of the private firms."
I didn't know what to say. When he was a minister stories abounded of his equal passion for money and women.
- I did the same when they killed that big trade unionist.
- "But what could you've against him? He was after all fighting for the workers?"
- "What workers? Sir, I was in fifth standard when the strike began. It was January... yes January. Final exams were only a few months away. Suddenly my father was without work. Trade union gangs would do the rounds to ensure that no one attended work on the sly. We'd no money. I dropped out."
I looked at Apte. About 300,000 mill workers struck work for over a year. They demanded wage hikes and better working conditions. They were led by a charismatic medical practitioner turned trade unionist. With either side unwilling to budge an inch, the stir collapsed 18 months later. Citing escalating production costs and militant trade unionism industrialists shifted shop elsewhere.
Twenty-five years later had done nothing to quell Apte's anger.
- "My father's mill never reopened. The mills were Mumbai's soul.," he quietly added.
The record price paid for some of the mill lands for redevelopment has made both breaking news and headlines. In the evening rush hour the car crawled in a city where time waits for none.
Dessert's being served.
Hey Girl, I can see your body moving
and it's driving me crazy
And I didn't have the slightest idea
until I saw you dancing.
Someone walks in talking on cellphone.
- "Hi. How are you?," Prince asks this guest.
- "Fine. How are you? Not been seeing you much lately."
- "Yeah... I'm busy with party work these days. Had to come tonight as I'd invited my old college friends over for dinner."
- "Ah, ok. See you."
- "See you. Enjoy."
The fellow resumes talking on his handset.
- "Big departmental stores have come up in the mills compound.," I remark.
- "Yes. The workers who worked the looms would've never been able to afford anything from a Marks & Spencer or Jane Shilton.," says Ajay.
- "You know Prince," he adds, "some of the women from among the mill workers' families whom I knew opted for prostitution."
We all become silent. The discussion's getting a bit too heavy.
- "Come let's go back in. It's time to close," says Prince getting up.
Dancing is in full swing. In the din I try asking Mangesh for one more beer.
- "Don't serve any more beer to Sid sahib. Ok?"
- "Yes sir."
- I try to protest: "Prince I'm fine. I can handle one more bottle."
- "No!", and patting me on the back smiles.
Whenever he does that I'm completely disarmed.
Para bailar la bamba
Se necesita una poca de gracia
Una poca de gracia para mà para ti
y Arriba y arriba
Para bailar la bamba
Para bailar la bamba
- "Ladies and gentlemen this will be our last song for tonight," Jack's voice booms out.
You Are My Sunshine
My only sunshine.
You make me happy
When skies are grey.
You'll never know, dear,
How much I love you.
Please don't take my sunshine away...
Lights come on as the song fades.
Hooooo!!! the crowd howls in protest.
- "One more song Jack..."
- "Please Jack, once more..."
A group of young men at the bar shout: "Jack, we love you."
- "But I don't!," Jack shoots back.
Guests have started leaving the pub. You only see a few scattered groups. Mentioning a police deadline bouncers request them to leave.
We come out of the pub and take each others leave. Prince is tipsy from the extended drinking session.
- "We... we... we'd a great time today... Sid they're my r... r... really good friends."
- "Yes, thanks so much."
Tonight I've only had three bottles. Feel I'm still sober.
-Ends - first published:April 18, 2007, 09:42 ISTlast updated:April 18, 2007, 09:42 IST
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"Welcome sir. How're you?," and the keeper opens the door to Noah's Ark.
Up a flight of wooden steps and in. It's past nine thirty and the evening has just begun.
Where were you when I was hurt and I was helpless
Because the things you say and the things you do surround me
While you were hanging yourself on someone else's words
Dying to believe in what you heard
I was staring straight into the shining sun
- "Foster's for you sir?," asks Mangesh the cashier.
- "Yes, the same."
At the Ark on a Wednesday night in Bandra. It's getting crowded by the minute. Couples lost in drinks and kisses. Stags drowned in half pegs and beauty of shapely nymphets on the dance floor. Wishing they would walk away with one of them. East Indians - half Koli, half Portuguese - mostly make up the crowd. Then there are also Goans, Marathis, Gujaratis, Sindhis, Punjabis, expat wokers and those like me on the run with excess baggage.
Juliet the dice were loaded from the start
And I bet and you exploded in my heart
And I forget the movie song
When you wanna realise it was just that the time was wrong, Juliet?
DJ Jack's busy at the console. He knows he's the Ark's navigator. Every few minutes a guest walk up to him with a request. They're mostly so out of sync that Jack turns them down with a sardonic smile and apology.
- "Sorry, but we don't play Bollywood music."
- "We only play retro... Hip-hop nights are Thursdays."
- "That'd be tad slow. You should have come earlier. I am not playing rock after eleven."
Women far outnumber men around him. There's the tall Florina, tiny dancer Juhi, ever ready to break out into a jig, and the loner Alisha. I like talking to and dreaming about Alisha, but every two months she's with a new man. Then there is tall Usman whose lithe form sways to any beat. And there's Juhi's friend, whom I call the Devil after his wacky hairdo.
Night after night I come here to get sloshed. Remain till the place downs shutter at one thirty.
I then pick up my bag and stagger out. The young Nepalese doorman is kind enough to hail a rickshaw. Most of the times the drivers don't have to be told where I stay. The silhouette of the five storied apartment building reminds me that I've live through one more day.
Tonight's Halloween Nite. The owner Prince enters from the annexe side. He's among the first Marathi friends I made after moving into what I consider must be among the planet's loneliest cities. He has often saved me from getting into trouble after I've downed a cup too many. To stop me from drinking, he twice banned me from the pub. But I managed to return.
What do I've to lose anyway? The woman I'd loved has turned cold. Things are no better at work either with this senior out with his guns blazing to prove me an idiot by merrily killing my one exclusive report after another on some pretext. I've managed to rub him the wrong way by refusing to kow-tow to him. This joker wants me to live the editor's dream of performing a role other than that of a reporter.
"Hey Sid, come here," says Prince with his good-natured smile. "I... I... I'd like you to meet a few long time friends. All of us were together till college."
He is entertaining them in the annexe. People who can't be accommodated in the restaurant downstairs are seated here on weekends. It's sometimes used for private parties.
"Meet Siddharth. He's the guy who just undid that much talked deal between two corporate houses."
I really don't know what to say to Prince's assertion. I just happened to gain access to some papers pertaining to the whole sham. We reporters are on a trip of self-importance, as we like to believe that being superstars in our own right we're capable of making and unmaking the system. By the time reality dawns and we're either burnt out or on the top, we're also into sustaining it.
However, despite my senior's best efforts the deal has helped in stretching my stint as a reporter by a few more months.
"Ajay... He works with a stock broking firm." A heavyset man smiles and shakes my hand.
"Prakash... He's into infotech. These days he's relaxing between changing jobs." He's a bespectacled guy with a dreamy-eyed student's look about him.
"And here's Ratan." Ratan is of medium height and blushes as he shakes my hand.
"We're meeting up after really long.," informs Prince. All of them smile and nod in agreement.
He whispers into my ear: "These are my really good friends. They're your level." Prince doesn't approve of my talking to many people in the pub.
Surely now
We could move along
Make a better world?
No it can't be wrong
Let's come together
Right now
Oh yeah
in sweet harmony
Music and cigarette smoke waft in every time someone enters from the pub.
"Get a plate for Sid. He's eating with us. The waiters promptly pull out a chair for me. I'm still on my first bottle of beer. By the time the night gets over I plan to demolish five more.
- "So... so... where's Sheila?" Prince asks.
- "Ha, ha, ha. We always knew you'd designs on her," Prakash says with a wink.
- "Hee, hee, hee..."
- "Must be somewhere. Back at college she was involved with quite a few guys.," adds Prakash.
- "I still suspect you were one of them. Ha, ha, ha!," Prince quips with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
- "Hmm..." Ajay nods in agreement. Ratan continues to smile shyly.
- "No, no, no!," Prakash protests loudly.
- "Now that you're in politics you can't be trusted on any count.," retorts Ajay.
- "Oh yes. You'll soon be contesting the municipal elections.," adds Prakash.
- "No brother. In my case, I... I... I'm into politics to serve the people. I'll keep the larger good in mind while also making my money," says Prince.
Prince suddenly remembers: "By the way, Ratan got married recently. Sid high time you also took the plunge."
Ratan blushes and gazes at the ceramic flooring.
What do I tell my good friend? That I'm completely uprooted? Beer does things to your brain and bladder and makes you want to cry and pee at the same time. I smile and continue drinking.
- "Prince can I get some tea?," Ajay asks.
- "You are in a pub dude. Have a drink. Tell me, I'll ask one of the boys to get it."
- "You know, I don't drink."
- "Bhau, please ask someone to get a cup of tea for sahib.," Prince tells the annexe' bartender.
Bhau promptly instructs one of the waiters to get tea from the restaurant kitchen.
- "Wha... wha... what kind of a man are you. Drinking tea in my pub? We're already number two in Bandra.
- "Who's number one?," queries Prakash.
- "Beach Shack. They've a bigger area. I've to beat them. Come I'll show you around the pub.," says Prince getting up."
All of us follow Prince.
A waiter promptly opens the door.
Baby I got sick this morning
A sea was storming inside of me
Baby I think I'm capsizing
The waves are rising and rising
And when I get that feeling
I want Sexual Healing
Sexual Healing is good for me
The pub is crawling with people. Eleven thirty and one bottle each down Juhi and the Devil are already doing salsa. Prince leads us to the area next to DJ console. It's on an elevated platform. Away from the overcrowded floor, it affords a good view of the pub and chicks. Already on my second beer I've to push hard to make my way up the steps. I try to smile and say hello to familiar places.
- "Nice... Indeed, very nice." Prakash is impressed with the show.
- "I got the l... l... lighting and acoustics done up recently."
Cigarette smoke and the alcohol in my belly strain my eyes. Rubbing against sweaty bodies we file back into the annexe. Second bottle's over and I want to pee.
"Excuse me, will be back in a bit." I make my way to the restaurant toilet downstairs. When I come out I see Alisha waiting outside the women's toilet. She is in black. I say hi and we smile at each other. I take in each curve of her body and feel like touching her. Undressing her in my mind make my way back upstairs.
- "The housing has gone up so much in the last two years," complains Prakash.
- "But so has the stock market," adds Ajay.
- "I think the economy has overheated. Experts have warned that realty will be the first casualty in a meltdown.," I add.
- "We've been hearing this for as long as we remember. Housing is one thing that'll never climb down in Mumbai.," says Ajay sipping from his cup.
- "You can see that as even the mill lands sale hasn't helped matters," avers Prakash.
- "Yes, what about the mills? Bombay must've been very different while they were still alive?," I ask.
- "Yes very different.," Ajay paused. But the '82 strike killed the mills forever.," remarks Ajay.
- "Areas close to the mills were all middle class localities. Chawls abounded in those areas. Few of them are still survive, old style buildings with Mangalore tile roofs and one-room apartments and common toilets for each floor. Several families lived in a chawl. They provided shelter to not only to the workers but also middle class families who could not afford expensive housing. They fostered community living. Even my childhood was spent in a chawl.," and resumes sipping tea.
I've heard that before from my colleagues.
Prakash sighed: "That was really tragic. We were all very young and in school. Thousands of mill workers had taken to the streets. They were all without work or money."
I remembered. Back then I'd see the strikers' leader, a confident middle aged man staring from the cover of most newsmagazines. He was the iconoclast who'd taken on the establishment.
A few months back I'd struck a conversation with one of my office drivers Apte while chasing a story. The recent episode involving a former telecommunications minister who'd been fatally wounded by one of his own kin's was on everyone's mind.
- "Sahib, do you think this man will survive?," Apte asked.
- "Looks difficult. Hospital sources say most of his vital organs aren't functioning."
- "Well, I'll distribute sweets when that happens!"
- "Why do you say that Apte anna? That's in bad taste?"
- "And why not? Before he became a minister in Delhi landline calls used to be quite cheap. But he made them expensive to benefit one of the private firms."
I didn't know what to say. When he was a minister stories abounded of his equal passion for money and women.
- I did the same when they killed that big trade unionist.
- "But what could you've against him? He was after all fighting for the workers?"
- "What workers? Sir, I was in fifth standard when the strike began. It was January... yes January. Final exams were only a few months away. Suddenly my father was without work. Trade union gangs would do the rounds to ensure that no one attended work on the sly. We'd no money. I dropped out."
I looked at Apte. About 300,000 mill workers struck work for over a year. They demanded wage hikes and better working conditions. They were led by a charismatic medical practitioner turned trade unionist. With either side unwilling to budge an inch, the stir collapsed 18 months later. Citing escalating production costs and militant trade unionism industrialists shifted shop elsewhere.
Twenty-five years later had done nothing to quell Apte's anger.
- "My father's mill never reopened. The mills were Mumbai's soul.," he quietly added.
The record price paid for some of the mill lands for redevelopment has made both breaking news and headlines. In the evening rush hour the car crawled in a city where time waits for none.
Dessert's being served.
Hey Girl, I can see your body moving
and it's driving me crazy
And I didn't have the slightest idea
until I saw you dancing.
Someone walks in talking on cellphone.
- "Hi. How are you?," Prince asks this guest.
- "Fine. How are you? Not been seeing you much lately."
- "Yeah... I'm busy with party work these days. Had to come tonight as I'd invited my old college friends over for dinner."
- "Ah, ok. See you."
- "See you. Enjoy."
The fellow resumes talking on his handset.
- "Big departmental stores have come up in the mills compound.," I remark.
- "Yes. The workers who worked the looms would've never been able to afford anything from a Marks & Spencer or Jane Shilton.," says Ajay.
- "You know Prince," he adds, "some of the women from among the mill workers' families whom I knew opted for prostitution."
We all become silent. The discussion's getting a bit too heavy.
- "Come let's go back in. It's time to close," says Prince getting up.
Dancing is in full swing. In the din I try asking Mangesh for one more beer.
- "Don't serve any more beer to Sid sahib. Ok?"
- "Yes sir."
- I try to protest: "Prince I'm fine. I can handle one more bottle."
- "No!", and patting me on the back smiles.
Whenever he does that I'm completely disarmed.
Para bailar la bamba
Se necesita una poca de gracia
Una poca de gracia para mà para ti
y Arriba y arriba
Para bailar la bamba
Para bailar la bamba
- "Ladies and gentlemen this will be our last song for tonight," Jack's voice booms out.
You Are My Sunshine
My only sunshine.
You make me happy
When skies are grey.
You'll never know, dear,
How much I love you.
Please don't take my sunshine away...
Lights come on as the song fades.
Hooooo!!! the crowd howls in protest.
- "One more song Jack..."
- "Please Jack, once more..."
A group of young men at the bar shout: "Jack, we love you."
- "But I don't!," Jack shoots back.
Guests have started leaving the pub. You only see a few scattered groups. Mentioning a police deadline bouncers request them to leave.
We come out of the pub and take each others leave. Prince is tipsy from the extended drinking session.
- "We... we... we'd a great time today... Sid they're my r... r... really good friends."
- "Yes, thanks so much."
Tonight I've only had three bottles. Feel I'm still sober.
-Ends -
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