May Day

May Day is a big deal in India, particularly in West Bengal, where the Communist Party of India-Marxist has reigned for “30 Glorious Years” (or so it is painted on cable cars). So, my colleagues are rightfully pissed to be working on this national holiday. Particularly since we are at work only because some big donors from GlaxoSmithKline (UK) and the Sir Dorabji Tata Trust (India) will be visiting this afternoon. Later the “stakeholders” will travel to our social franchises in Jharkhand (a new tribal state) and Bihar (the poorest state in India) to see evidence of what my organization claims to do on paper. Strict guidelines have been requested/demanded by the stakeholders including hiring an extra empty car to drive behind their three vehicles just in case one of the cars breaks down (wasted and unnecessary use of resources and funds), informing all field NGOs and villagers to be visited that they will only eat food that is packed by their hotel (that is just insulting and should alone warrant a visit cancellation. Anyway, don’t they know that boiling water (for tea) kills most bacteria), and refusing to travel after dark (but they are in a group, primarily made up of men. If they fear these states then please don’t visit.)

Moving on. . .

There are a lot of bars and clubs in Calcutta. The nightlife in Calcutta, apparently, runs later than in any other Indian city. I have heard complaints many times from the Bengali and foreign night spot regulars that Bombay and Bangalore (or Mumbai and Bangaluru as they are now called) are underwhelming because their nightlife ends at 11:30pm, after which time house parties are the norm, as long as you know someone in whose house to party. In any case, while Calcutta may have the latest nightlife it remains to be seen (by me) whether it has the best (imho). There are two bars in central Calcutta that probably see the most traffic. One is a shithole (Oly Pub) or dive or whatever one calls a place where tetanus and lung cancer are possible results from an evening of cuba libres; the other (Someplace Else) is a pub style bar with expensive drinks, in an adjacent upscale hotel. In any case, I have a love/hate relationship with both locales. Oly Pub’s neon lit atmosphere can only be had at Oly Pub, and drinks are cheap and generous. A cloud of smoke hangs over/throughout the place, which provides a beat-era ambience. But when I am by myself, Oly Pub’s usual 95% maleness is not where I head. Instead I’ll go to Someplace Else, where the mere 80% maleness and the nightly live music is more comfortable/comforting. At least, if I am by myself I have a band to stare at and dark lighting.

Last Thursday, I headed to Someplace Else. It had (purposely) been a while since I had visited. When I first arrived in Calcutta I went there multiple times each week, and the bad bands mixed with the unwanted attention from men combined with the bands' obsesion with Pink Floyd and Doors covers got to be a bit much. The comfort became annoying and monotonous, as comfort often is when it is taken for granted. However, last Thursday, Someplace Else was comforting. Surprisingly, when I walked in an acquaintance greeted me and asked how I was eating now that Diya, my closest friend in Calcutta, had left, and was no longer cooking me healthy veg food. She mentioned that we should grab a meal this week (this will never happen, since she has promised this for months). The band- Back Pocket, Hip Pocket or something like that- started playing. Usually the cover bands play crappy music but are pretty good singers and musicians. Unfortunately, Hip Pocket is 100% terrible and out of tune. Still, there were the regular air guitarists and lip synchers in the crowd doing their thing to encourage the band. The highlight of the night, for me, was when Hip Pocket covered Rage Against the Machine (a band that I respect). There are times when I am overjoyed to be able to experience the truly terrible (imho) art of the world. This was one of those moments. RATM should only be covered by RATM, and this night proved as much. I was loving the refrain, as the whole bar started jumping up and down in unison with raised fists in the air chanting, “Fuck you I won’t do what they tell me! Fuck you I won’t do what they tell me Motherfucka!” It’s a song about police brutality, btw. I think RATM was followed by the Doors’ “Riders on the Storm." After that I had had my fill of Americana, and I headed home.