Lead us to Temptation, Dear Lord

Sometimes it’s nice to go to a place where people don’t give a rat’s ass about who you are. (Or, in your and my case, a place where people don’t give a rat’s ass about who we aren’t.) Sometimes you just want a place where you can chill, be yourself and let your society-induced guard down for a bit. Years ago, my friend took me to just such a place. He said it was called Temptation. A cool name for a hip lounge bar, I thought to myself. 

When we reached Temptation I noticed that there weren’t bouncers at the entrance in dark suits over puffed chests with one fist itching to smack you and another itching to grab a tip. I couldn’t see waiters in ill-fitting uniforms waiting to run behind us all the way to our tables. In fact, there weren’t any waiters around. And there weren’t any tables either. 

Temptation Wines (for that was its name) happened to be a little roadside booze shop on Church Street. (One end of this road holds St. Mark’s Church, so you could say that the road to the Lord is fraught with temptation.)  I did see tables finally, but they were more like rough wooden benches stuck by the wall behind where you could see people blowing up a week’s wage in under two minutes. It’s done like this, you take a quarter bottle of cheap  rum or whisky, pour all of its contents into a tumbler, add two drops of water – since it’s dangerous to drink cheap rum or whisky neat – and gulp it down in one shot, then burp loudly while the next quarter arrives.

Folks stood by the curb drinking their stuff and conversing as casually as one would in the Library Bar at the Leela. At Temptation you could order beer or pegs or whole bottles of most brands of rum, whisky, vodka and brandy; and soda, coke or water to go with it. You could ask for a plastic cup to pour the drink in, and you could order light finger snacks. Or hors d’oeuvres, if you prefer. These consisted mainly of small packets of masala peanuts or mango pickle. Those born with a silver spoon stuck in the gob and were, as a result, a wee bit snobbish, usually asked for a pack of Haldiram’s namkeen. Adding atmosphere to the grand setting of Temptation were a few potted plants placed next to the counter. Their placement was a stroke of genius. They didn’t need to be watered ever since everybody used them as wash basins for rinsing their plastic cups. And for other natural drainage activities if the kidneys complained of too much beer. By way of music, we could hear a beautiful, soothing medley of slurred voices, laughter, curses, random honks and engine noises. Sometimes, if a car was reversing we’d hear the opening bars of ‘Om Jai Jagdeesh Hare’. In keeping with the strict pub regulations Bangalore then had, there was no dance floor in the premises.

Complementing this stellar ambience was an equally sophisticated crowd. We saw labourers, drinking away their hard-earned money and cops in civilian clothes drinking away our hard-earned money. And rubbing shoulders with them were creative directors from Lowe, Ogilvy, JWT, ad film producers, creative people, account executives. No kidding. I turned to an art director from a well-known agency and asked him if he was here because of reverse snobbery. He said, No man, it’s just that these days agencies don’t pay as much as they used to. I nodded understandingly. 

I asked him what he did if he got really hungry here. He said, “I just go across the street.” He pointed towards Empire’s roadside shawarma counter on the other side of the road and said, “After an evening of fine drinking in plastic cups, I always like to finish with a bit of fine dining on paper plates.” How posh, I thought.