26 September, 2019

Dance Bar

I write this post as a log about my first trip to a Dance Bar in Kolkata. I’d refrain on commenting on how I got there and any moral implications. Judgement is in the eye of the beholder. My story, is about the scene my unexperienced eyes saw.

The place is hidden behind a Sony showroom. The way to go is a lane protected by a tough looking uniformed security guard. But he doesn’t ask any questions. We seemed like the kind of people who knew where they were going. The lane covered with old unoccupied buildings led us to a door which was transparent to the old Hindi songs playing inside. We got in to find the place was jam-packed except for one unoccupied sofa-set right in-front of the stage with a board proclaiming the words RESERVED on it. We haggled for a bit and ultimately agreed that we’ll move if the people whom it was reserved for arrive. The manager gave in and we sat.

Sitting down, the room sunk into my system. I am no stranger to discos, but this place had a darker aura. Maybe because of the smoking or the kind of crowd. It was as big as any medium scale restaurant with a small bar in a corner and a stage, towards which everything was pointed. Flashy disco lights changed the colours of things everywhere. There were tables in-front of each seat which didn’t seem to be made to support too much food. People usually had ice, a few drinks (usually a mug of beer), and a few snacks on their tables. By the way, the Paneer Tikka was delicious.

I realised that the music was not being played but was from a live performance. I’m no stranger to world class concerts and famous bands and I daresay, this vocalist was extremely talented. Accompanying him were 3 instrumentalists beside the stage. But that’s not where my attention was. I noticed 3 girls sitting behind the singer. 2 in short red western outfits and 1 in a green Sari. They seldom made eye-contact with the crowd. They were busier in typing on their phones and chatting among themselves. On either side of the singer were 2 poles which surely weren’t meant for civil sturdiness. The singing went on for a while, which though was good, was not what any of us were there for. Meanwhile, a waiter was going around with a wad of 50/- notes to anyone who called him. He’d go to a guy, and change any note (usually few 100/- or 500/- notes) to fresh 50/- notes. Later, he’d take the tips to the girls from the customers and point towards the customer who’d made the generous gesture. Also, more girls kept coming in till there were about 10 girls sitting behind the singer on the stage. I realised a few things about their dresses. (I really don’t care I you call me a perv. I was in a dance bar after all. All the judgement to be made is already out of the window)

  • Barring one, they did not expose their legs. They wore saris, lehangas, and leggings (some netted)
  • Only one wore a dress which exposed her legs. While sitting, she covered her legs with some kind of a cloth
  • They didn’t show too much cleavage. Not as much as I expected anyway

Soon, the dancing began. Some lanky guy in a red t-shirt with a straight face came and pointed at 3 girls. Those 3 were to dance on the song which was started. These songs were played on a cassette rather than being sung now, as they had more beats and were faster. These were songs I hadn’t heard before but the dancers seemed to be conversant with them, as they lip-synced all along. I don’t think they were meant to, as they clearly understood that this was no dance competition. By no standards were they dancers which come close to the ones I had seen on TV or in live performances. They were just enjoying the song with the knowledge that their tips depended on how much the audience enjoyed their dance. This was an audience that got excited at every cleavage show or a sway of the hip. They didn’t need a salsa or a rumba performance. I, somehow was dejected. I expected better dancing at a dance bar.

My eyes moved to the girl in the short red dress. She was constantly pulling down her top to hide her navel. The skirt was as low as could practically go. The girl seemed very uncomfortable with her dress. However, she smiled the most among all the performers. Also, whenever the top moved up, a bit of her bulging tummy would show. And by a bulging tummy I don’t mean anything like the big tyre I travel around with. It was something like what Kareena Kapoor would put on for a Malyali movie. Something told me that the girls didn’t do their own shopping. I confirmed this when I noticed that the boots of all the boot-wearing girls looked exactly the same. It was then when I noticed that barring one, all the girls wore either boots or high heeled pin-pointed sandals. Even though I didn’t like the dance much, but I understand how difficult it may be to dance with a 4” pin sticking out of my shoe. But these girls were there to earn their livelihood, and it meant wearing unfitting clothes and giving their best on raunchy numbers.

I also noticed something which particularly moved me. Every time a new girl would enter, she would first bow to the stage before entering. These girls knew they were performers and the stage was a means of their lives. They respected it as much as anyone would respect their profession. Each time they’d get a tip, which always came as a 50/- note, they’d touch it on their head and hold it till the end of the dance, at the end of which they’d go back and put the earnings in a jute bag kept on their chairs. At one point I also saw the singer receiving a tip for a few notes. He touched the notes with his eyes and took them to a small temple hidden behind a large speaker. I was surprised to see a temple inside a dance bar. But making moral judgements here is not the aim of my post.

About the jute bags, I watched closely. All the girls had a medium-sized jute bag. The kind of one my Mom takes for vegetable shopping. On closer observation, I could read the word UNIVERSITY as the 2nd word among the 2 words on the bottom of the bag. It was a bag by some University. Later I saw the word Institute on the bag. I don’t know whether these girls went to a college or were they just using the bags. I tried but I couldn’t comprehend the name of the University, which must’ve been the 1st word on the bottom. In addition to that, on the back of the writing each girl had pasted a piece of paper, probably with her name on it to identify which bag belonged to whom.

I realised that at the end of the song, the girls always returned to their assigned chairs. They cheered for their friends on the stage and made gestures indicating they were looking hot and sexy. They weren’t all friends among themselves. Sometimes I could notice them staring at another dancer with menacing looking eyes.

At one point when a new song was started, 3 girls were called and 2 of them approached the same pole together. They seemed to quarrel about who gets to use the pole for a bit. The lanky guy who indicated whose turn it was to dance was called to settle it. The 3rd girl offered one of them to use the other pole but by now it was an ego issue. The girls declined the offer and tried to use the single pole together. Obviously it didn’t work out and one of the girls had to go pole-less. Guess there’s petty politics in every job.

I wondered, even after the kind of job they were doing, it was still a daily life for them. If they ever felt ashamed or afraid of what they did, with time they must’ve learnt to live with it. They even had priorities about the type of dance they liked and maybe about the clothes too. Like any office environment, there were likes and dislikes, but were settled soon as everyone understood that the work is of paramount importance, not anyone’s ego. After all, no matter how demanding or demeaning a work is, after some time one learns to live with it and even make a few choices about how they like to do that work.

At one point, I had to… siphon my python. I looked around for some kind of sign, like the “His” and “Hers” words, symbols, anything. But I realised that I was unlikely to find one. This was not a place which would need to keep a dedicated “Hers” door. I finally got up and asked a waiter who directed me to a place right outside the gate of the bar. At about 10 steps away, were 4 urinals in a corner. That’s all they need here, I thought.

I noticed the crowd. While I did see some people who seemed rich, judging by their clothes; most of the crowd seemed to be an old working class crowd with faded untucked shirts and unshaven beards. And while this does not go for some people, most of the people there seemed to be too self-conscious. As if afraid to be spotted there. I don’t think it was fear or shame or guilt. It was just the kind of thing you feel when you are on stage. However, they weren’t. And the girls who were actually on the stage seemed to be gaining confidence with the minute.

Yet, the dancers hardly ever made much eye-contact. They saw themselves, other dancers, their friends, floor, poles, air, but rarely did they glance at the public. They weren’t too concerned about their expressions either, which to me forms a very important piece of any dance. But then, bar girls didn’t really get money for their expressions. Although, now that I think of it, the ones who smiled more seemed to be getting more tips.

After about 90 minutes there, a man came and sat down beside me. He had the air of a regular and smoked what my friends later told me were hard cigarettes. The waiters also seemed to know what he would like to drink. He soon sent a small wad of notes to a particularly energetic girl who was the only girl dancing with bare feet, allowing her to make some moves impossible with heels. The waiter told her who has sent the tip. She looked and gave a knowing smile. It seemed like she knew the man. I wondered if her acquaintance was limited to tips on the dance floor or went beyond it.

I wondered who these girls were. If they were girls who were seeking work in the acting business, their dancing skills surely would come in the way. They were all using new Samsung phones, meaning they knew a bit of English. Or were these girls who simply failed to make a living on their own. Or were these girls the ones disowned by their families, maybe born without one. Or maybe each had her own story of how she got there.

I tried to look closer to make out something from their faces. I noticed a few tattoos on their arms, but wasn’t able to read them. I wondered what religion they were from, but this was a place without any religion. For the customers, lust was their religion and for these girls, their work was their worship. I left with the immortal words of the great poet Harivanshrai Bacchhan in my mind

मुसलमान औ' हिन्दू है दो, एक, मगर, उनका प्याला,
एक, मगर, उनका मदिरालय, एक, मगर, उनकी हाला,
दोनों रहते एक न जब तक मस्जिद मन्दिर में जाते,
बैर बढ़ाते मस्जिद मन्दिर मेल कराती मधुशाला!


17 September, 2019

Dreams Live On

Often, it’s that one small thing that turns your life upside down. You live life. Go through the stream thinking there will always be tomorrow. You’ve seen your fair share of struggles and you’ve made sacrifices you know you didn’t want to. You’ve witnessed the growth of your moral character and you have allowed your moral compass to be blinded. You’ve been brave and you’ve lied. That has made you who you are today. And you’ve realized that you might never find peace. Maybe that’s something for the next life. Maybe this life was only meant to go with the flow, not be in control, go where life directed you to.

But sometimes, one little thing can change all that. Like I found out the other day that my wife is cheating on me. For the last 20 years or so, we’ve had a good life. Sure we’ve had our fights but who doesn’t. I’ve tried to fulfil all her needs and am proud of having been able to do so. We have 2 children. Both on their own paths in their lives. Old enough to know what’s good or bad for them and still young enough to rely too much on their own wisdom. I always thought I’d grow old with my wife watching them grow up. Until last week when I found out I wasn’t the only man she was growing old with. I could confront her. That’d bring some excitement in life. Probably it’d be traumatic for the kids. Or maybe they’ve grown up enough to not care. It does hurt me. Probably less than it would have had I been younger. Like then it would have made me break off my relationship with her or file for a divorce. Right now, I’m writing. Contemplating on what should I do. Thinking of all the other times I’ve been cheated.

Come to think of it, the one person who has cheated me most in my life has been the one person I relied on the most. Myself. I think this ought to be said. I gave up my dreams pretty young for a stable 9-5 job 5-and-a-half days a week. Sometimes I did want to take a big risk with my life. Do something adventurous. Or at least take 2 months off from work and travel the world. Or finish that novel the first few chapters of which I’d saved on my computer for since college. Or at least make a donation to my alma mater.

As you can probably guess, I never did. I did make plans. Elaborate ones sometimes created out of sheer boredom at work and in life. I always did try to keep “work” and “life” as separate entities. But maybe I lost track of what “life” really is. Maybe what I kept calling “life” was “work 2.0” for me. I actually forgot about the things I wanted to do in my so called “life”.

I wore a mask to work every day. At some point I must've forgotten to take it off. I don't remember when the mask became so permanent that I forgot the man beneath it. Now taking off the mask even on rare occasions feels like an extra weight I'm not used to. Ironic isn’t it? The face smiles but the eyes have lost their laughter.

I waited for the time when I’d be able to walk my own path in life. When that time came, I lost my way. I didn’t know what it was that I wanted to do. I guess being lost is not just not knowing where you are, but also not knowing where you’re headed.

I often look at my children and wonder if they love me as much as I love them. Of course they do, an inner voice scolds me. I have to believe that. That’s my only inspiration to live. My children love me. They need me. But do they really? I never loved my parents as much as I love my children. Parental love flows downwards, I realized. I never saw tears on my father’s eyes and my son has never seen on mine. But what was it all for? I yearn for my child to tell me once that he loves me and needs me. Like I yearned for my father to appreciate me. But none of us would do so.

I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to provide for my family. I tried to ensure my wife would be happy and my children wouldn’t fail in their lives. I tried to protect my children from the mistakes I made. Just like my father had tried to protect me from his. We sacrificed selflessly and endlessly. But did we make a new mistake while trying to prevent an old one? I always felt that my father was disappointed in me. Does my son feel the same way about me? We’ve never really talked about it. My son is my pride. Was I the same for my father? I wouldn’t know if I was. I tried to prove myself to him. But I think he never got the message. Every word he spoke pointed at yet another way I’d been a disappointment. He actually seemed to be in constant agony because of me. At one point, I stopped making an effort.

But was he genuinely disappointed? Was he playing a game to push me to my limits so that I make a greater effort? Was he making ground for emotional blackmailing he’d later subject me to? “Won’t you even listen to this one little request I make?” was easily translated to “you have never done anything for my sake.” I went through it. Being constantly compared to my peers – to the extent that I stopped introducing my parents to anyone new in my life. Being forced to marry young when I wasn’t ready. Being constantly reminded of the comforts I grew up in which didn’t exist for my parents. They never thought that I also grew up with the problems that didn’t exist for them. I constantly wondered why they did this to me. Come to think of it, isn’t this exactly what I’m doing to my children?

This makes me feel like a loser in life. If my 18 year old self, the fearless boy raring to go have a go at the world, would have seen me today, he’d be deeply disappointed. I owed a great life to him in return of all the fun he’d let me had. I let him down.

So come to think of it, why wouldn’t my wife cheat on me? I’m pathetic. I thought we have great sex but I really couldn’t remember the last time I’d made love to her. The way I did when we were young. At some point in our lives, we lost the connection. With each other, with love, and with ourselves. Life was mechanical and so was sex. Maybe that’s why her cheating on me doesn’t hurt as bad as it should. It’s like it doesn’t even matter. Like the part of me that would’ve felt cheated on is already dead. I once dreamt of sky-diving. I kept telling myself that I wasn’t doing it because I feared the crash could kill me. But I was wrong. I never sky-dived because I was already dead. I don’t remember the last time I laughed or cried in earnest. Like I stopped feeling anything at all. Heck I don’t even feel excited seeing boobs any more. I tell myself it’s because I’ve “been there done that.” But I lie. The truth is a man who has lost meaning in life simply cannot be enticed.

I guess it started happening around the time I was 25. I started accepting ideas which confirmed my existing beliefs and refuting ones which disagreed with me. I even saw the media as flawed. Well, I still do. I’ve reached the age where I can be wise enough to point out my flaws yet complacent enough to not do anything about it. I wish I was dead before I reached this age.

Now I look upon the next phase of my life. Kind of a second adolescence really. I’m not young enough to work nor old enough to retire. Suddenly, I see the world around me becoming hostile again. It’s a familiar feeling. I don’t understand everything that is going on with my life right now, though I’ve acquired the patience to see it through. I call it patience, you may call it despondency. I don’t want to accept the rules of social behavior anymore. Anyway, these are not the rules I grew up with. Mine was a very different time. But is this not my time too? I’m seen as a rebel by my family these days, funnily though. I’ve seen all of them through their own rebel phases. I hate being proved wrong, as if I have acquired all the wisdom in the world. But no one corrects me anymore. They just don’t. They however, do keep telling me to take care of my health. Just like old times, when I had no problems with my health and my scars were more… internal. But no one cared about those. Maybe because no one knows how to. We all keep nursing our own internal scars trying to help other with their external ones. We neither know how to bring others to light nor do we know how to bring ourselves to it.

I’ve started believing in destiny again. Maybe my wife cheating on me was what I needed to sit down and think about life again. I haven’t done that in a very long time. Perhaps it was my destiny. Something I had to learn before I’m put into the cradle for the very last time.

Soon, I’ll meet my salvation. Maybe that was what it was all about. The journey. Maybe there were no goals that I needed to accomplish. Just lessons that needed to be learnt. Money is important, but it is only a means of getting though life. It’s not the end game. So what if I didn’t get to fulfil all my dreams? I’ll pass on the lessons I’ve learned to my children. I’ll tell them the goals I pursued were futile. They don’t need to make the same mistakes I did. I’ll ensure that they don’t. After all, that’s the least a father can do.

08 September, 2019

10 Types of Careers and Relationships

Every stepping stone of your career is similar to a relationship with its own ups and downs. Here are 10 types of career moves with their relationship equals.

10. Undergrad College - A Romantic Love Affair

When all is right with the world and the birds chirp and the sky is blue and you think you've found the one and it'll take the devil himself to break you apart...


9. MBA - Non Committed Affair

When you don't know what you're doing or what you're feeling but you'd just like to go with the flow in the moment because you neither have any clue of what's going on nor any will to put the effort of figuring out.


8. Desk Job - Arranged Marriage

You didn't know what you signed up for. So better follow the social conventions and go as life takes you forward. The road might not take you where you wanted to go, but that this point you'd go pretty much anywhere.


7. Promotion - Children

Another reason to keep you where you are. And constantly you hear, "if it hadn't been for this, I'd have left long ago."


6. Conference - One Night Stand

It was a good day and a celebration of your achievements. So what if it got a little wild? After all, you deserve every bit of it after all the effort you put in.


5. MS - Childhood Love

The purest sense of your being. This is what you were born to do. This is what your life has been heading to all this while. If there is heaven on Earth, it's in this feeling.


4. PhD - Long Distance Relationship

It's frustrating for the most part. You didn't realize it was gonna be so tough when you enrolled. With time, it just feels that you're not proceeding anywhere. And yet, there's hope that one day all this wait will bring the glory you've been waiting for what feels like your entire life.


3. Artistic Job - Live-in relationship

"I'm not saying you're bad at what you do. I'm just saying what you do isn't worth doing."


2. Exchange Semester - Wild Drunk Party

The newfound freedom! The independence! No more aunts asking "padhai kaisi chal rahi hai." No caring about "chaar log dekhenge to kya kahenge." You're bound to get carried away a teensy bit. But wait, there's a paper to be submitted tomorrow? Damn!


1. Entrepreneurship - Forever Alone

Because the woods are dark and deep, but I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep...