Remembering Town

They killed a part of town yesterday. To be honest, it was dying anyways. There are shades of life left at the corner of Church St and Museum Road, but these are just that. Shades. Even Empire has a deserted look about it on a Sunday night. Place to sit, all items on menu available, larger quantities of ghee rice, fresh kebab. Butter Chicken. Even Butter Chicken. A clean toilet and butter chicken. Church Street is a memory. A long, ambled, staggered, suspiciously intoxicated memory. Past Oasis, Alibi, Comfort, Coconut Grove, High Gates, Temps. Temps. Brimming. Alive. Loud. Drunk. Carnal. A melting pot of the Bangalorean aesthete. Bangalore’s Cheer’s. Where everyone knew your name. Or at least your face and had some recollection of meeting you at Temps sometime. Where you headed? Fuel? Pecos? Mojo’s? Bacchus? Noon Wines? Koshy’s? Maya? 13^th Floor? Tavern? F-Bar? Blue? Why you going so early da, put one quick one at Temps and then we’ll all go. Famous last words. Sometimes, you’d pop in to Blossoms to browse or head over to Coco Grove to meet a friend of a friend, a colleague or his friend. Sometimes you were alone at Temps, watching the city pass you by. From the steps. Into Church Street. By Church Street.

Sometimes you’d be inside Coconut Grove. Meeting recently married friends over multiple glasses of Talachery Timebombs and Beef Fry and Karimeen Pulichatthu. Sometimes you’d be outside, near the paan wala, taking a toke, maybe a piss somewhere near that deserted house on the opposite side. Either ways. You were there. I was there. Damn man, I was there yesterday. Making the short walk from Blossoms to Temps. At 8 PM. Past Coconut Grove. By the time we heard that ‘something bad’ had happened, we were snug inside Social, meeting faces we’ve seen at Temps. As news filtered in of the happenings around, we made haste and decided to leave. A wise decision seeing as Social had decided to keep the music and the booze flowing. Bangalore, you are either a crazy beacon of hope for the alcoholically starved or a congregation of crazy crazy people who should never ever be in a room together.  

If you love town, you still go to town. Start the evening in Koshy’s with a cup of coffee and a Bombay Masala Toast. In 30 minutes, you order yourself a Konetea. What’s a Konetea, you ask? Known by many other names such as “The Panty Dropper”, “Naidu’s Revenge”, “The Mezzanine Floor”, “Naati Nights”, etc., the Konetea is Bangalore’s Ayahuasca. Named after Bangalore’s very own Shaman. A solid 90 ml concoction of equal parts Khoday’s, Romanov and Blue Riband topped off with a whole Koshy’s ice tea. Always had in 2s, the Konetea is a guaranteed good time. A word of caution though. You don’t fuck around with a Konetea. This is not an opportunity to pull your pants down and measure your capacity. This is serious business. And he likes it that way. After your dose of Konetea, head over to Temps and pop in behind the curtain for a quick shot. By now, you should be slurring your way to a second shot. With half a bottle of assorted spirits down, you may then proceed to take a whizz at Tavern. No need to go in just yet. That can wait until the booze has settled in. Right. Now, you may head over to Tavern. Pork ribs, chilli beef, American fried corn and beer. Be loud. Be obnoxious. Be funny, in your head at least. Pay the bill. Or get someone to cover you. Head over to Wild Spice and shove some food in your mouth. This is your night. Your night to paint town red. Burn town down.

Just don’t blow it up. It hurts.