company in east india - part I

Arrival in Kolkata was on time, in spite of an hour’s delay from Bangalore. Gujju, as expected was almost there, an altered hair line blended with the unchanged casualness. Nitin needed a cab for Hind Motors and Gujju after expressing utter disbelief that anyone would want to go there got around to cab hunting only to declare that “it’s a bloody nexus!” A gracious offer to give a ride till he found a cab was grabbed and the vacation was declared open!

The drive ended at 12A Judges Court Road, Alipur – what royalty. The most fantastic omelet along with a toast set the agenda for the gastronomical expedition that was to follow. The first destination was the AHA located near Ballygunge; I was given express instruction to jump off a moving cab which had somehow managed to maneuver its way almost towards the edge of the road divider, the gap had to be bridged by one large impertinent stride which resulted in a few brake screeches and perhaps some Bengali superlatives. Once inside the safe haven of the academy I was largely left to my own devices and quite enjoyed the air conditioned comfort which aided a quick power nap. Then lots of things happened in quick succession almost all being insignificant and utterly life un- altering. The girl at the reception kept sir-ing every moving object with great delight. I was taken in to meet a man who tried to hard sell a resort near Shillong. I was escorted out of the academy chamber into an inconspicuous (rest) room and was made to spectate a sutta break, this done I was lead out back to the open streets of the great city. Destination was the club, SatC and the occasion was lunch. I must admit here that en route we passed a guy selling biryani (on the street), the aroma of which still lingers on in my imagination.

The Saturday Club is an institution which was established in 1875 for the Sahibs. A great blend of the British legacy coupled with the laid back and relaxed tropical hospitality of East India. I fall short of words to describe the epitome of luxury which the rest rooms have at offer, the damn loos have aaraam kursis! A barrage of bearers saluted Gujju who was evidently in command ordering them to lay out a table, what followed was nothing short of bliss. Chilled beer and a host of what can best be described as ‘this that and the other’ topped up by a siesta. I cannot think of a better way to redeem a hot summer afternoon. Learning: An afternoon paan is not the best of ideas.

The Roadies live in camps, are rude to each other, attempt strange drills and stunts usually at odd hours. The Roadies keep voting out one of amongst them each week. The Roadies are a bunch of mammals still struggling to rise up the evolution chain. The Roadies are on air each Saturday night. The Roadies are addictive.

Tantra, they say is no longer the best of places to party, it is opined as a mid level pickup joint. It was here that Club Mirchi was partying that night. And of course it was here that I partied that night. Between the cricket match (screened on the bar TV) and the dance floor I was so completely at home, mildly high, highly happy. Dinner was in the Park Hotel. Poor service, an incensed Saurabh, a delightfully vague Manas, an indescribable Gujju and the most amazing fish and chips. That was dinner. That was day one.