Club it Together
by Chitra Singh

Friends get together in their sixtieth season and celebrate their long-standing friendship.

“No,  no Monday is fine, I’ll be there at one o’clock “ and feeling warm and soothed all over I put the phone down. This call was special because it came from a friend whose friendship dated almost sixty years; someone I had been to school and college with. Such a call came about once or twice in the year and left you feeling all soft and gooey like hot chocolate sauce.

This was something I really looked forward to, because when we met, the years just melted away. We were back to where it all began, unsure of ourselves, yet rearing to experience it all. Diffident but calling on hidden reserves. The fun loving and giddy as hell teenagers. Oh what wouldn’t we give if life was but a time machine and we could enter that capsule again.

As luck would have it there were a good six or seven of us in town, and the minute any batchmate  was visiting from out of town, was occasion enough to meet up. Or even if no one was. Any one of us hosted it at our homes, or if it was not convenient, we met in a mutually arranged venue, usually one of the popular clubs which the capital boasts.

​

Clubbing most probably originated around the 17th century and was handed down from the Norse or Norwegian countries because it denoted belonging to a certain clan or country. It is a union of like-minded people or of those speaking the same language, or having the same interests. It was refined during the British era when it became fashionable for like-minded people with common interests to come together and contribute towards these interests. They took it to greater heights, by forming all kinds of clubs like cricket, golf, or even night clubs where people assembled for a night of entertainment like listening to jazz or even light music. There could be theatre groups and so on.

​

When the British ruled India, they brought all their traditions with them and established some of the finest clubs that one could want. There was an eclectic choice ranging from cricket, to yachting, to golf, riding and music. They established all kinds of rules for membership and aimed for exclusivity. Being member of such an such club became a status symbol. They imported all the prevalent norms like dress codes, food habits, the serving of liquor, music and days of special events and the like. The well to do Indians, in order to impress the foreign master, towed the line and did everything to be accepted in this life style. For many it became the hub centre of their existence. Thus all the major cities of India, particularly in the state capitals, soon started boasting of these temples of capitalism. Many became well known, with exotic names like, Roshanara club, Wheelers Club, Mohammad Bagh Club, The Gymkhanas and BoatHouses.

​

We Indians are masters of aping the west, beating them at their own game. Though the British left the country , we continued their legacy with unabated abandon.

​

Life had dealt each one of us our cards, and each of us had played our hands accordingly. Now we had come full circle and were comfortable in our niches. No false illusions, and had reached the stage of accepting life for what it was and being just what we were. Take it or leave it. More importantly of accepting each other without reservation. But all said and done, though all of us were predictable as hell, it was something to look forward too. Each one had a distinct format and flavour. We knew from before that Minni would make a dramatic entry at the very last, when she knew that everyone else had assembled, and she would get maximum impact. She was definitely the prettiest of the lot, and knew it, and went to great lengths to keep up her image. A lecture on the latest techniques of maintaining ones looks was mandatory, and we looked forward to it, though I doubt any one really followed it. Shalu was droll. She breezed in with a casual air and acted as if God had created her to rule over the world, whereas Rashmi had the woes of the world on her shoulders and proceeded to give her incantation of dos and don’ts and so on.

​

After the initial whoops of delight, warm hugs and sizing each other up, we would settle down at the table reserved for us. Immediately a discussion started on the specialities of the place, who would eat what; what absolutely must be ordered and what must be avoided and so on. After gleefully navigating the menu, a final selection was made. Then the difficult part. Getting the message across to the patiently waiting steward who also evicted his pound of flesh by making his own suggestions. Finally after much to do, a semblance of order from the disorder was achieved. The bewildered steward left with a confused and resigned look on his face. We in turn settled down to the attractive drinks in front of us and eagerly awaited the hors d’oeuvres.

​

Now began the most interesting phase of the outing. Each one was bursting to take the initiative. After a cursory review of each ones circumstances we settled down to our unrestrained natter, and with bated breath waited for the recontouring to begin where juicy bits of gossip were exchanged. Each one tried to outdo the previous speaker, but this department was highly specialised. Only those who were permanently residing in town, and were deeply involved in the social circuit came out with the juiciest nuggets. Two members of the group vied for the honour of chief raconteur, while the rest of us tuned in judiciously. We often didn’t know the dramatis personae or had heard of them remotely, but the well embellished yarns had us in thrall. The who’s who of the town and their lives were viewed under a magnifying glass and had us in splits of laughter. No maliciousness was involved, just plain entertainment.

​

Just then someone realised that the service was a bit tardy and tried to catch a waiter’s attention with no success. This was the que for Shiela, the self-appointed leader of the group, to take charge. She at once embarked on a soliloquy on club ethics, of which apparently she was a PHD. There was a list of mandatory dos and don’ts which she superiorly enumerated. These were designed to ensure enthusiastic promptness. Among them was periodically doling out generous tips to the staff, irrespective of services required or not. A knowledge of Bar protocol and liquor was a definite advantage. You absolutely had to know how each cocktail was made and presented. Knowing which drink was to be shaken and not stirred, James Bond style, gave you a definite edge. To make her point, she clicked on her finger with a supercilious air and miraculously someone was materialised at her elbow. Q.E.D. her expression stated.

​

By the time we had dug into the sumptuous meal, and talked and laughed ourselves blue in the face, the needles on the wall mounted clock had moved on. Reluctantly we realised that the afternoon had worn on, and must soon come to an end. Though loth to do so, sentimental farewells were made. It was back to the families for everyone, with its share of worldly worries. However these scintillating moments had warmed us to the core and would stand in good stead for us till the next event.