Chapter 2- A Close Shave!

Chapter 2

Saturday-A Close Shave

It was Saturday. Five days had gone by since the draconian Monday but not much had changed. Not a penny of the targeted sponsorship had been achieved; Mayank’s confusion over life partner issues still prevailed; heat conditions remained unabated.

To think of it, the whole issue of Mayank, being forced into engagement with someone he didn’t deem to be the ‘right girl’ was actually ironic, especially as he had been used to surfing the matrimonial site almost daily in the past one year. It was not as if proposals had not come for him or that he hadn’t proposed to other girls; he had done lots of all that. In fact, reasonable headway had also been made in certain cases. The problem arose when Mayank would unfailingly look for every single virtue in one girl; when he would start looking for his Shweta.

Mayank went about the task of dating girls with a lot of planning. For example, he evaluated them on five different parameters— looks, intellect, nature, outlook and education/job. Needless to say, he would look for the very best in all these aspects; his expectations often exceeded the rational, thus causing disappointment.

Mayank’s first brush with a wannabe bride from indianmatchmaker.com was with a girl called Prerna, almost a year ago. The profile was brief and the girl looked pretty in the photograph. Besides, the mention of her being an airhostess did excite him. Physical beauty, after all, was an important prerequisite in his search. Without wasting time, he approached the girl. And luckily for him the girl responded favorably.

Prerna was quite a contrast to Mayank. She was chirpy, fun-loving, uncomplicated, spontaneous and above all a ‘natural’. She did not plan things the way Mayank did. She would laugh freely. They got along quite well for a while; perhaps it was a case of opposites attracting each other. They even met on Valentines’ Day, though both shied away from being the first to ‘propose.” Both were perhaps strategically harping on the friendship plank, hoping that the other would tread the extra mile of making a formal proposal. This constant, pregnant expectation of “you do it first” eventually started getting on Mayank’s nerves. Somewhere, in his heart, he had made up his mind that Prerna was not wife material; instead she was just ‘time pass.’ This categorization had to do with the intellectual incompatibility issue; he realized somewhere that an airhostess would charm him, no doubt, but perhaps won’t have the intellect to engage him in the kind of absorbing interactions that he liked.

It is strange that Mayank, like many other males had come to categorize women in two broad categories: one, the “time pass’ variety, who were the girlfriend sort, the sort one could date and have fun with; and the other, the wife material, in whom they saw the virtues of being mother to their children. Prerna, obviously, by his perception, belonged to the former. However, girls being girls, Prerna was taken in by the good-natured flirting of Mayank and instinctively got closer to him. But, Mayank, like most men might have, interpreted this friendliness as a gesture of the girl wanting something ‘more’. Encouraged by Vishal, Mayank, made a pass at her... and that was the end of their ‘friendship’.

“Bloody hell!” he cursed, “Why do these women suddenly start behaving like prudes?” Mayank had complained impulsively, only to be reminded that unlike him, other aspirants on the website were more serious about its rightful usage.

After that Mayank met a string of girls. With one, a fashion designer, whom he quite liked, things didn’t work out because she was a ‘manglik’. Mayank was quite cheesed on discovering this new horoscopic impediment. He even tried to align with his astrologer to see if things could be worked around to make the match possible; but in vain.

In yet another instance, the girl in question, a business analyst with a multinational, was candid enough to tell him about a past relationship of hers in the first meeting. While Mayank appreciated her honesty, he could make out for sure that the girl was yet to get over her past. And he surely didn’t want to be another Anil; well, more on that later.

Finally another girl, a Research Scholar whom he liked, was rejected by his parents on the flimsy ground that she was about half a year elder to him. They couldn’t accept a “bahu” who was older to their son.

These misses had left Mayank where he was— high and dry, at level zero of his search; till his parents, doubting his sincerity of purpose, had emotionally blackmailed him into getting engaged to Rewa.
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Like Mayank, Vishal too was involved in a ‘search’, though of a different kind. Vishal was perpetually on the lookout for women who wouldn’t mind a passing affair. A senior journalist with the website, Vishal quite relished dealing with women who were difficult; they imbued him with a feeling of being challenged. He would in particular be on the lookout for stories where glamorous women could be featured and later work his way into their personal lives. Thanks to his expertise on the issue, Vishal had, in fact, come to be known for some of his “legendary” quotes:

“Journalism is surely the best profession to be in, if you have to invade the close circles of celebrity females. They pamper you because they know how much positive publicity can do for them. And then, it’s entirely up to men like me to see how I can manipulate the situation and screw around.”

“There is only one way to deal with a female – charm (read seduce) her and you will have your way.’’

Vishal was a married man, though by his words and actions, no one presumed him to be so simply because of his tall, athletic physique, infectious, charming smile and ever ready flirtatious comments. In his early thirties and married for the last three years now, he was still ‘extremely accommodating’ towards women. The sight of a curvaceous female would evoke a strange, mischievous spark in his behavior, so typical of a college Romeo. He never let go of an opportunity for dalliance and was pretty open about it. He was a master in the art of brazen ogling and as Anil would often remark- yeh bhaisaab to aakhon hi aakhon mein rape kar dete hai ladkiyon ki (Our brother virtually rapes women with his eyes).

On his part, Vishal professed that the ‘power’ of the eye was infallible. He maintained that ‘if you get the right eye contact that evokes the desired response from the girl, getting her to bed is no more than a practical detail.’ He asserted his views with such confidence that all those who heard him wondered whether they were blind or their eye ‘power’ was not normal.

Indeed, there were some days when his confidence levels soared so high that he told people that there was no girl in this world who would not succumb to temptation; “One simply had to be at it constantly,” he said. His opinion obviously gave the impression that he had scant regard for women, beyond seeing them as objects of carnal desire.

Few would have disagreed that Vishal could aptly be called a male chauvinist in the truest sense of the word. He often justified his weakness for women by confiding in close friends that it was due to his inability to get the ‘right girl’ in his wife. But if somebody even vaguely insinuated a probe as to whether he had been the ‘right guy’ for his wife, it would offend him. For all that he did, Vishal staunchly believed that his wife was not entitled to the same liberties as him.

Mayank quite despised this hypocrisy and made no attempt to hide it from Vishal. But for all these vices, few in the office would have disagreed that Vishal was ‘otherwise’ a great guy. He was ever helpful and his weird sense of humor would lead to ripples of laughter even in grim situations.

Vishal’s views were in sharp contrast to Anil’s. Anil, who headed the Accounts section, was by all means an average, nondescript looker. He was however, a sincere guy in all respects, whether it concerned his work or his commitments to friends.

Anil would staunchly maintain that most problems in a relationship had to do with unrealistic expectations. “The basic problem with most men is that they keep looking for the ‘right girl’; whereas actually the girl you get is the right one for you,” he maintained. Anil had been married for a little over a year. His was a love marriage with Rupali, a girl, whom he had nursed to bring her out of her heartbreak from her previous lover.
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There was one day in the month-the first Saturday when all three, Vishal, Anil and Mayank would get together and have a blast – a Tinaal they had conformed to in the last five months or so. The trio would watch a movie together, often an X rated one, and follow it up with drinks and dinner. The bonhomie would normally extend to the wee hours of the morning. The dinner would be prepared by Vishal himself, whose finesse with chilly chicken won him plaudits, while Anil and Mayank would help him out like disciplined interns. The venue for this gig would invariably be Mayank’s bachelor den— a one-bedroom-hall-and-kitchen in Boriwali’s Rustomjee Enclave.

For Vishal and Anil, this would be an occasion to relive their good old days of bachelorhood. Vishal, in fact had got his wife to agree to this monthly ‘concession’; his wife had given in realizing that on this particular day, come what may, her husband would prefer the company of his friends to her physical charms. Mayank, however, doubted if any wife would do so happily.

Anil was usually the unwilling accomplice on these night outs. Though he felt guilty for staying away from his wife one whole night, it was his wife who encouraged him on. Rupali would maintain that it was so important to give each other space in a relationship. “If spending a night out with friends chilled him out,” she reasoned, “that would only work better for our relationship.” Mayank often wondered if he would want a wife like Rupali or one who would exercise more control. For, from what he saw and gathered lately, his tribe didn’t quite value freedom or trust. He was not sure if he would, after marriage.

Anil often wondered how Rupali showed such maturity and had the attitude to ‘let go’. Rupali’s unflinching trust in him would make Anil feel a bit guilty whenever he took these night outs. Little did he know that this guilt would manifest itself all the more in the next few hours!

It so happened, that Vishal who was flustered because of a dressing down he had got from Ramamurthy ended up spoiling the dish he was cooking.

“Bloody hell, nothing seems to going right!’ he complained, moving into the living room, where Mayank and Anil were surfing channels. Almost all news channels were beaming reports of the Maharashtra Cabinet having decided to close all Dance Bars in the city from the next week. They showed the Deputy CM, Mr. R.R. Patil making the announcement. Mr. Patil spoke with the angered passion of a crusader as though if he were launching a war against terrorism.

“Look at his expressions! I’m sure he has been ditched by some bar dancer.” Mayank attempted to lace the situation with humor.

Vishal was in a foul mood. He mooted the idea of going out on a drive on the highway. He obviously had some plans in mind when he said so, which the others were not aware of. He drove straight to Vashi and led them into a Dance Bar, called Mehfil, startling both Mayank and Anil.

“Don’t worry. The ban comes into effect from next week. Today, you can enjoy as much as you want,” he reassured them.

Though Anil protested initially, the latent human thirst for indulgence eventually rendered his own protests mild and inadequate. He decided thereafter to flow with the situation. Mayank, on the other hand, was actually excited. He had heard so much about the Dance Bars of Mumbai. He had seen the movie Chandni Bar, when he was in Delhi and had wanted to see what these bars looked like. He hoped though he wouldn’t come across stories as heart wrenching as the ones depicted in the movie. His only apprehensions, however, were the reports of police frequently raiding such places. Vishal allayed those fears.

“Oye, don’t worry, yaar. The only reason I chose Vashi is because of its location. Being out of the way and away from town, it is free from all unnecessary hassles of the policemen. Besides, the girls are also damn obliging, no nakhras like they do in the city bars.”

He led them inside with the confidence of a true leader. From the knowledge that Vishal had about these places, it was apparent that he had been to the place before. Mayank however decided against ascertaining it from Vishal himself, lest that should spoil the mood before an exciting experience.

When the trio walked in, they were greeted with formal handshakes by the waiters. It reminded Mayank of the protocol that diplomats of two nations follow before talking business. However, the difference over here was that the waiters wouldn’t quite leave his hand after the handshake. Mayank soon gathered what they wanted when he saw Vishal dole out a hundred-rupee note to one of them. The waiter, in turn, promised to ensure that whichever girl Vishal chose would be sent to him, irrespective of whosoever else wanted her. As the waiter apparently entertained a similar expectation from Mayank, Mayank had to pull his hand out of the handshake with a sudden jerk.

Soon thereafter, the trio sat on one of the several sofas that bordered the dance floor. About a dozen girls enthralled them with seductive dance movements to sleazy numbers. One number that looked like a hot favorite here was Babuji zara dheere chalna… from a nondescript movie called Dum. These dancers didn’t remotely match up to the killer charms of a Yana Gupta; they compensated for it, though, by constantly gesticulating that they were ‘available’. Mayank realized that initiating contact with these girls was easy. All one had to do was express a definite intent to spend time with them. With this, the selected girl would come over. Once they came over, they could be either made to sit alongside in a cozy posture and warmed up for the night, that is if one intended to spend the night with them; or else, one could press their boobs, finger them, get titillated and let them go. He saw this happening on at least some three or four sofas. Not all of these girls looked happy though. One of them looked particularly agonized, even as the client smothered her with smooches and for every smooch handed her a ten-rupee note. When Mayank saw this particular sight, he felt ashamed for a moment. Did the act not amount to paid molestation if not rape?

In his preoccupation, Mayank hadn’t realized that one of these girls, apparently, a Nepalese, was ogling at him. She stood a few steps away from him, her body half turned towards him; she stared backwards at him, with what would be called ‘tirchhee nazar’ in their parlance. The girl was far from beautiful and looked like a prostitute; she had a sensuous figure though and the way she was dressed, revealing more than concealing, she looked quite attractive actually. Her boobs were bulging out of her blouse, almost as much as Mallika Sherawat’s did at Cannes. It was unlikely, however, that the girl would have had any transplant.

Mayank wondered if Vishal’s knowledgeable takes on the eye contact emanated from his frequent visits to these dance bars. His rumination was cut short by Vishal himself.

“Come on, buddy. It’s happening. Just match the girl inch for inch. Give her an equally shameless expression.”

If what Vishal actually meant had to be done, Mayank would have to take his tongue out and rub it gently against his lips, looking lusciously towards the female. Mayank chose to simply ogle at her. After a couple of minutes of unproductive mutual ogling, the girl gathered that Mayank was a ‘bachcha’ or perhaps he wasn’t quite prepared to shell out the bucks. She chose to concentrate on a more willing client instead.

On the other hand, Vishal, who had set his eyes on a tall auburn haired charmer, soon decided to give up the subtleties of eye contact for more carnal suggestiveness. He wooed in great style, this girl called Reshma, who spoke in English and claimed to have done her English Honors from Xaviers’ Mumbai. The mention of Xaviers’ did startle him for a moment, but he was so consumed with the mission to lay her that he chose to ignore it. Though the female claimed to charge 10,000 for an hour, she agreed to go with Vishal for a paltry 2500. Reshma warned him though that there would be no oral sex for that amount. Soon, Vishal was seen taking the girl away to one of the four small rooms cordoned off on the first floor that were meant for the customers to have sex with their chosen ones.

Left alone, without their guiding angel, Mayank and Anil felt orphaned for a moment. However, the cacophony of numerous customers hooting and making lewd remarks at their favorite girls never quite allowed their thoughts to meander and they decided to play on by calling a couple of these girls over, before all of the good ones were taken away.

Anil sat with a short and cute girl called Bijli. She spoke in a Bengali accent and Anil surmised that she was perhaps an illegal Bangladeshi migrant. That was enough to arouse his curiosity. And, since Anil had this knack for arrogating undue importance to himself, he actually interviewed the girl.

His questions went thus: So, how old are you? How long have you been in this profession? Do you stay with your family? How much do you get paid? The female hated such wastage of time and Anil realized it gradually. As against the other people, who doled out notes for every progressive sexual overture, Anil took out notes for answering his questions, one after the other. He was probing into her private life as though he would soon crack some sensational case. However, for every question she answered, her expression became progressively constipated.

Some distance away, Mayank had got a sexy ghagra-choli clad girl called, Shahnaaz to sit with him. Of course, he knew by watching Chandni Bar that bar girls seldom revealed their true name. Though Shahnaaz was eagerly awaiting his moves, Mayank was in a weird situation actually. On the one hand, the thought of Rewa was making him feel guilty. He just wanted to get out of the place. At the same time, the place was tempting enough in a strange way. From his first hand experience, he was convinced that there was no denying that these were actually sex bars. Okay, agreed, he may not want to go full throttle and screw a girl, but there were so many options available. For instance, he could press her boobs, feel and rub her bare back. Better still, if she allowed, he could finger her, though from above her clothes. But did he want to do these? He didn’t think so, but then, the alcohol was already acting on him. Besides he knew from experience that through their journey back, Vishal would brag about his experience. Would Mayank be a mute listener then? Prodded by the girl, who charged a 100 bucks per act, Mayank actually did all that he could sitting there. The girl, fascinated by his cute looks, finally made her clear move by giving him a quick kiss on his lips. She had thought he would be elated but Mayank hated it. He almost puked.

Strangely, by the time his escapade was through, he was sitting aimlessly. Guilt had got the better of fun.

At about a quarter to three, the trio left the bar. Vishal was understandably bubbling with enthusiasm, Anil lost in philosophical thoughts, while Mayank was silently furious.

“Mind blowing, it was! Oh she just too good. I just wish they could train our wives to be half as innovative.”

Vishal could sense Mayank’s indifference.

“What happened, hero? Don’t tell me you again drew a blank just like you do in tapping your sponsors?” he teased.

“Will you just shut up? There is a bloody limit to everything. I wish you would share this experience with your wife,” Mayank blasted.

Mayank’s outburst was quite unexpected. For a while a deafening silence prevailed. Anil could gather that it was not something that would have erupted out of the blue. Perhaps it had to do with Mayank’s disapproval of the ways of Vishal, which must have been building up for sometime.

By the time Mayank reached home he was feeling ashamed of himself. The feel of the bar dancers’ lips had set off some sort of allergic reaction. He almost hated his body as though it stank. It was not until he virtually scrubbed his body clean with warm water that he rested in peace.

He slept almost till noon the next day. He woke up at around eleven and since it was a Sunday, he chose to linger on in bed for some more time. As he surfed through TV channels, he seemed to feel that all news channels, more or less, dwelt upon places that seemed familiar. He concentrated harder and was overcome by shock when the news sunk in:

In a massive clean-up operation, the Mumbai police had raided nearly 50 dance bars and arrested more than a 1000 people the previous night. A lot many of these arrests were made at the Mehfil Bar, where raids took place at around 3am.