School of Life

It's pouring all round me as I sit by the window in Cafe Mondegar, watching Bombay whiz past me. I should be thinking about life, the univer...

It8217;s pouring all round me as I sit by the window in Cafe Mondegar, watching Bombay whiz past me. I should be thinking about life, the universe and everything. But the facts are: I know the answer is 42; and having just ordered a pitcher of draught beer I am busy drinking to my health. Let me explain.

Cafe Mondegar 8212; considered a blot on the landscape by those who have not read Tom Sharpe 8212; is to Bombay what Kingfisher is to Vijay Mallya. One without the other is like a fish out of water. 8220;Mondies8221;, as the initiated call it, is the centre for coaching classes that prepare you to play ball in a game called Surviving The City8217;. For the locals, Mondies is just another hangout place, but for us, aliens 8212; outsiders with our noses pressed against that window of lights called Bombay 8212; it is the place that one goes for a crash course on how to cross Regal Circle during rush hour traffic.

And it all begins inside Mondies, on straight-backed Irani chairs. You are surrounded by Mario Miranda-type cartoons ofbuxom women and smiling men raising their curly-haired arms in the traditional greeting of Cheers!8217; In case you missed the point, there are signs that say: 8220;Beer is Best.8221; East or West, you agree. So do the people around you and conversation starts to flow across tables 8212; lesson one has begun: In Bombay, always talk to strangers because hiding under one is a drinking buddy for life. As the evening progresses, the colours of Mondies start to change. The city8217;s nightlife is beginning to unfurl. A steady pilgrimage of people starts to pour in. Activity gets frenzied and Dr Alban8217;s It8217;s My Life8217; starts to compete with the din of bottles being opened. People are singing along with the slightly off-key speakers attached to the slick new CD jukebox. And they are complaining that the microphone smells like a beer 8212; what do you expect, they are using the beer bottles as mikes! Incidentally, let me share one of Mondies8217; best-known secrets: The juke box might be an updated model of the older,record-playing one but the flashing lights still spell trouble. It will swallow your five-rupee coin but even two hours later you will not hear your song.

But after a while, nothing else matters. Two Dickie birds standing opposite a glass filled with red liquid 8212; nectar, ambrosia or just the water from the nearby Arabian Sea 8212; have caught your eye. They sway back and forth, in a steady rhythm, toward the glass. Suddenly, one bird lurches, dips its beak into the glass, stays there for a split second, and reels back. That8217;s it. Now you know. The answer is clear.

Unfortunately, by the next day you are not so sure. 8220;The early bird gets the worm.8221; But you are vegetarian, so that cannot be right. 8220;A sip in time, saves nine.8221; The word is 8220;stitch8221;. And then it strikes you that the answer is: It8217;s time to go back! But you don8217;t need to be in Colaba to learn the city. Bombay has a curious phenomenon, called the Beer Bar or Permit Room dotting its length and breadth. Drinkers8217; lore goes a bit like this:Permit Rooms were places only Permit Holders could haunt for a pint. Issued by the Government of Maharashtra 8212; I think the department still exists 8212; they were your passport to Bacchus. While I haven8217;t seen one in years, my first Permit card went a bit like this: Name of drinker/Sharabi ka naam. Name of drinker8217;s father/Sharabi ke baap ka naam. And the last line said: I hereby declare that I need alcohol for the maintenance of my health. And, listening to the good doctor8217;s advice I find myself back in Cafe Mondegar, saying: 8220;Ek dawai ka bottle.8221; And the waiter understands. It could only happen in Bombay.

Nonita Kalra is Features Editor with The Indian Express