Oh what a night!

A few weeks ago we had visitors from Mumbai and we decided to go to a nightclub. We hear of Dubai having a buzzing nightlife but having hardly experienced it, we thought we would go see what it was all about. There has been quite a buzz about the Cavalli Club and so my wife booked us on to their 'guest list' for that night. Unfortunately we landed up a bit later than the cut-off time for people on the guest list, and were politely but firmly refused entrance.

 
As we were all spruced-up and raring to go, we decided to try our luck at a few other places. Being a week-end night, the whole area was alive with expensive cars, elegant men and fancier women. We got similar refusals from a few other "in" clubs that we sought entrance into. As we were walking from one to the other, the thought prevalent on my mind was that, I did not really feel too bad about these rejections. I could see that we were not the exceptions, as almost everyone who was trying their luck on a busy weekend night, were similarly being refused admission. Without exception all clubs had hostesses “manning’ the entrance, and just to see them was worth the trudge.  
 

Anyway, to cut a long story short, we eventually got admission into a club. This used to be a very happening place a few years ago - but competition and the fickle nature of the 'clubbing set' had obviously taken it past its glory days. Once inside it was like any other night club - dark, smoky, flashing strobe lights and pulsing music. There was a crowd on the dance floor and a larger crowd standing around it. As there was no place to sit, we had no option but to get straight on to the floor. I sort of recognized the song (which is a BIG deal), and hence was quite enthused, until I realised that almost all the music the DJ was playing was sort of familiar. Sort of - because they were old popular numbers on steroids. You know what I am talking about - right? Like most popular music nowadays, the songs were plagiarized from older ABBA and Boney M versions, with a Rapper featured in the chorus, and synthesized drumbeats to accelerate the pace. I think it is called a remix! Basically old wine, in an uglier new bottle!
 

After a few minutes the beat started getting quite monotonous. Quite likely that it was the same DJ who had remixed all the songs. We were all mechanically moving around - not dancing, as that is what you do when your brain and your body are enjoying and in sync with the music. I could see that I was not alone. There was no one on the entire floor, who I could see was going wild, but then I realised that most of the crowd here had not come to enjoy the music and to dance. Most had come for a completely different purpose. And the others had a drink in their hand and were swaying around without any enthusiasm or vigor. Like people who had come there to boast to their friends the next dreary working day about the fabulous night they had. 
 

Anyway there is only so much of this type of computer generated music that one can take on a clear mind - one needs a barrel of alcohol and a tenth of one’s normal wits, to enjoy this crap. Since I was the nominated driver I had no choice on the beverage front, so I had most of my wits around me. With loud music there is no chance of a conversation either, so curiosity got the better of me and I started to look around to observe what was happening.

 
In the last ten years or so, we must have come to these places maybe as many times. I realised that unfortunately all the nightclubs were now just pick up joints. It seemed almost as if there is no place for couples to go to and have a good time.


There was one large group of single women, who were obviously not the "how much" variety. All the others (I think) fell into the professional category. So apart from that group of ladies and ours, the whole place was jammed with women and men with only one objective. There were single men circling like vultures, bottle in one hand and cigarette in another. From time to time they would venture on to the floor, trying to see if there were any victims available. Since we had a mixed group, most of these men would gravitate towards the group of single ladies, either dancing outside and behind, or once in a while thrusting through into their circle and making a fool of themselves in the center. Obviously they were completely ignored. I do not know what is worse - the fact that a man could actually think that he could 'hit' on a woman by doing this, or that this behavior has probably been reinforced by previous success.


Anyway after a while we decided to rest our feet and went to stand next to a waist high partition, separating the floor from a seating area. The seating area was reserved only. We were leaning against the parapet when one of my friends drew my attention to what was happening behind me in the reserved area. I turned around and my jaw dropped. There was a girl pole dancing around a pillar, for the benefit of two guys seated on a sofa. She was dancing with abandon, like the way one would in the privacy of their house. It was a virtuoso performance and I was so fascinated that I did not realise I was gawking like a yokel, until my wife literally snapped my head back. So I take back my above comment – there 'was' one person in the room actually dancing. That performance was the highlight of the night as far as I was concerned.
 

Loud music without heart, room filled with cigarette smoke, and a shady crowd (70:30 was the male to female ratio) do not make for a fantastic night. I know I am seeing the darker side of the night life in this city, as all my friends commented the next day when we were recounting the experience. But I could not help and notice it. If you were to walk the streets of Mumbai you will notice the filth - it is so in your face. You can choose to ignore it, but that does not make it go away.


Anyway I left the Club feeling sad and dejected. Dejected by the thought that there probably no decent clubs (disco's) like the ones we used to go to. I wonder where the youth and the teenagers go to now? And sad for the men whose frustrations compel them to do this every weekend, and for the women whose economic circumstances forces them to endure such men.