It should’ve been a few minutes past ten in the evening and before marching into ‘The Whoof!!’, a reasonably good Mujra in East London, Kuppi, Kuttappayi and I must have had a few rounds of drinks and quite a few tequila shots from a nearby pub. I could feel the fire coming up from my stomach and the heat escaping through the exhausts of my nostrils and ears.
‘Elo Mate!! How aaaa youuu?’ I burped at the security guard at the entrance of the Mujra. He searched me thoroughly before giving an all-clear signal.
‘I have a gun. You wanna see?’ I kept my fingers on the zip of my jeans.
‘Fuck off!’ came the reply and I happily accompanied my friends up the stairs to reach the club.
We weren’t shown a table because unlike a strip club nobody ushers you to a table here. The reason is that in a Mujra, the management do not expect a crowd, who know how to mind their own business and confine all the trouble within the limits of their own table.
To the people who haven’t visited a Mujra yet – It’s not like any club. There would be an elevated stage or a dance floor at the centre usually built in the shape of an amoeba. Unlike a strip-club, there are no poles. A few girls (some look good, others don’t), all dressed up in Indian costumes would be dancing with the rhythm of fast moving Bollywood music. Most girls are not Indians and they do not speak any of the Indian languages but they do dance hours together better than any Bollywood actors you might have seen.
Wherever you sit, a girl or two may come to dance near you. If you show that you’re paying attention and enjoy watching her, you would need to pay her (usually £5) at the end of every song. Unlike what you see in movies, nobody throws any money at them as the currency notes are very costly in this country. If you choose to throw coins instead, a £1 coin is pretty heavy that you can easily hurt anyone with it.
There would be colourful laser beams and lightings flashing across the tables on the girls. You wouldn’t be served alcohol on your table. You pay and get them at the counter. You can request your preferred song to the DJ who sits in a corner with his Mac book. And remember… Absolutely No Touching!!! You’re at the wrong place if want to touch the girls. This place is only to make you feel that you’re Vivek Oberoi for sometime and that you’re doing “Beedi Jalaile”* with Bipasha Basu.
Half an hour into the pub, Kuppi and I were on the stage dancing along two beautiful girls. Again that is not allowed in a Mujra. Only the girls dance. The ambience, the stupid dance moves and the cheering customers (cheerleader was Kuttapayi) let the management close an eye on it for sometime.
After half a dozen songs, Kuttapayi requested the song ‘Kajra Re Kajra Re…’ from the movie Bunty aur Babli. A girl opted to dance between us and 2 mins into the song…
“…
Aaja Tute Na Tute Na Aangdai
Ho Meri Angdai Na Tute Tuu Aaja
Ho Meri Angdai Na Tute Tuu Aaja
Kajra Re Kajra Re Kajra…
…”
…Kuppi accidently stepped off the edge of the dance floor, stumbled and on fell on Kuttappayi. Kuttapayi (weighs at least 100kgs and intoxicated) who could barely stand fell into the lap of a customer who was sleeping on his chair. Scarred and lost in the sea of alcohol he jumped out of the chair and pushed the table in front of him. A bouncer who had come running to get things under control took the impact of the falling table on his toes. The hefty 6 foot guy screamed like a baby. ‘Aaaayyyyyyyyyooooooooo……..’
I laughed and the girl who was dancing with me laughed. I laughed, laughed; I dropped down on my knees and laughed. I laughed until I threw up. I threw up at the girl’s feet. She ran away and I lied down on my puke on the dance floor. I could hear the loud music blaring in my ears. Somebody pulled me by my arms. I threw up again on his hands and my shirt. I tried to get up but my right arm that supported me slipped in my own vomit and I fell on the dance floor again.
Some time might have passed, the lights became dull and the music faded away. I could hear the honking of a car. I remember watching a tube station pass by and a few trees running away from me and then everything faded away.
I woke up due to extreme dryness in my throat. A few hours might have passed; it was still dark but I could see a street light and a signal at a distance. I found myself sleeping on the steps of an HSBC bank. I couldn’t find Kuttappayi anywhere but I saw Kuppi sitting and sleeping against the door. I crawled up and slapped him on his cheeks to wake him up. ‘Daa… Wake up. I need water.’
He groaned without opening his eyes.
I took a quick glance at every corner. It was not a place I knew but the streets made me feel that I was home still in London.
‘Wake up.’ I pulled Kuppi by the collars of his jacket and screamed into his ears. A few minutes might have passed; finally I was successful in waking him up.
‘Do you remember what happened?’ I asked.
‘I remember.’ He replied.
‘What? Tell me.’
‘I remember. My password is JackDaniels123$$’ He dozed off again.
Beedi Jalaile* - a raunchy dance item number from the movie Omkara that hit the charts and continues to be a hot favorite at parties and friendly gatherings.
‘Elo Mate!! How aaaa youuu?’ I burped at the security guard at the entrance of the Mujra. He searched me thoroughly before giving an all-clear signal.
‘I have a gun. You wanna see?’ I kept my fingers on the zip of my jeans.
‘Fuck off!’ came the reply and I happily accompanied my friends up the stairs to reach the club.
We weren’t shown a table because unlike a strip club nobody ushers you to a table here. The reason is that in a Mujra, the management do not expect a crowd, who know how to mind their own business and confine all the trouble within the limits of their own table.
To the people who haven’t visited a Mujra yet – It’s not like any club. There would be an elevated stage or a dance floor at the centre usually built in the shape of an amoeba. Unlike a strip-club, there are no poles. A few girls (some look good, others don’t), all dressed up in Indian costumes would be dancing with the rhythm of fast moving Bollywood music. Most girls are not Indians and they do not speak any of the Indian languages but they do dance hours together better than any Bollywood actors you might have seen.
Wherever you sit, a girl or two may come to dance near you. If you show that you’re paying attention and enjoy watching her, you would need to pay her (usually £5) at the end of every song. Unlike what you see in movies, nobody throws any money at them as the currency notes are very costly in this country. If you choose to throw coins instead, a £1 coin is pretty heavy that you can easily hurt anyone with it.
There would be colourful laser beams and lightings flashing across the tables on the girls. You wouldn’t be served alcohol on your table. You pay and get them at the counter. You can request your preferred song to the DJ who sits in a corner with his Mac book. And remember… Absolutely No Touching!!! You’re at the wrong place if want to touch the girls. This place is only to make you feel that you’re Vivek Oberoi for sometime and that you’re doing “Beedi Jalaile”* with Bipasha Basu.
Half an hour into the pub, Kuppi and I were on the stage dancing along two beautiful girls. Again that is not allowed in a Mujra. Only the girls dance. The ambience, the stupid dance moves and the cheering customers (cheerleader was Kuttapayi) let the management close an eye on it for sometime.
After half a dozen songs, Kuttapayi requested the song ‘Kajra Re Kajra Re…’ from the movie Bunty aur Babli. A girl opted to dance between us and 2 mins into the song…
“…
Aaja Tute Na Tute Na Aangdai
Ho Meri Angdai Na Tute Tuu Aaja
Ho Meri Angdai Na Tute Tuu Aaja
Kajra Re Kajra Re Kajra…
…”
…Kuppi accidently stepped off the edge of the dance floor, stumbled and on fell on Kuttappayi. Kuttapayi (weighs at least 100kgs and intoxicated) who could barely stand fell into the lap of a customer who was sleeping on his chair. Scarred and lost in the sea of alcohol he jumped out of the chair and pushed the table in front of him. A bouncer who had come running to get things under control took the impact of the falling table on his toes. The hefty 6 foot guy screamed like a baby. ‘Aaaayyyyyyyyyooooooooo……..’
I laughed and the girl who was dancing with me laughed. I laughed, laughed; I dropped down on my knees and laughed. I laughed until I threw up. I threw up at the girl’s feet. She ran away and I lied down on my puke on the dance floor. I could hear the loud music blaring in my ears. Somebody pulled me by my arms. I threw up again on his hands and my shirt. I tried to get up but my right arm that supported me slipped in my own vomit and I fell on the dance floor again.
Some time might have passed, the lights became dull and the music faded away. I could hear the honking of a car. I remember watching a tube station pass by and a few trees running away from me and then everything faded away.
I woke up due to extreme dryness in my throat. A few hours might have passed; it was still dark but I could see a street light and a signal at a distance. I found myself sleeping on the steps of an HSBC bank. I couldn’t find Kuttappayi anywhere but I saw Kuppi sitting and sleeping against the door. I crawled up and slapped him on his cheeks to wake him up. ‘Daa… Wake up. I need water.’
He groaned without opening his eyes.
I took a quick glance at every corner. It was not a place I knew but the streets made me feel that I was home still in London.
‘Wake up.’ I pulled Kuppi by the collars of his jacket and screamed into his ears. A few minutes might have passed; finally I was successful in waking him up.
‘Do you remember what happened?’ I asked.
‘I remember.’ He replied.
‘What? Tell me.’
‘I remember. My password is JackDaniels123$$’ He dozed off again.
Beedi Jalaile* - a raunchy dance item number from the movie Omkara that hit the charts and continues to be a hot favorite at parties and friendly gatherings.
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