The Rooster

As cars darted past me, I walked on the pavement with my bag slung over my shoulder. It was one of those cool, balmy nights that would guarantee a lot of customers at the bar. With the trees over providing enough cover from the smoke of the traffic beside me, I dawdled on, skipping past puddles of water.

I was tired of the daily grind. I was tired of Bangalore and its countless, soulless bars. After 3 nights a week, trance music is just not the same. I was fed up with the fast life. As I crossed the 3rd signal in about half a kilometre, I tripped over a rock and fell. I did not believe in signs from the beyond, but if this was one, it was not very well placed. I fell in the middle of the junction. Traffic in Bangalore had to stop for me. Talk about a metaphoric rabbit in the headlights. Evening home-goers could not find a better target to vent their frustrations on. I was the perfect foal. I got shouted at by everyone, from the Innova douche to the tired cop manning his signal. The constant honking from the other side of the road did not help. I felt trapped. I got up with difficulty and walked away from the signal. Sadly, I could not do the same with my life. I really wanted to get away. As much as I wanted to, I was well aware that I was 3 years too late. I had fully adapted to my new life and this was the new normal.

I arrived at The Rooster. Surprisingly, there was a lot of room to move around. The flashing red lights were, as always, way too distracting. The bar was also empty, but for a few older guys who I recognised as regulars. I saw Sheila standing by the dance floor, talking to some guy. I scampered over to her, dragging the stuffed duffel bag behind me. It had the costumes we would (should?) use later in the night.

Before I could talk to her, I heard someone call out my name. I did not instantly recognise the voice. I turned around to look at who it was.

“Hello, Kamala, how are you?”

As I’d been here a while, this happened quite a lot to me. I had danced with quite a number of people. Because of this, random people would often walk up to me as if I was a past acquaintance who hadn’t spoken to them for a while. I got used to it, like many other things. I tried placing him. He certainly looked from somewhere out of the city. His puffy pants and shocking pink button-down shirt would not have been out of place in the 90s. He wore a cap that said “Bangalore Naatkal”. The less said about that, the better.

I took a shot in the dark.

“Hello, Stephen, I’m well. How are you?”

“My name’s Jeff. Don’t you remember me? I am from Vellore.”

Well, I did try. “No, not really.”

“I was here for the dance-off, last year at the same time. I was dancing until the very end.”

This is the problem with these village folks. They seem to think Bangalore stays frozen in time and nothing changes while they go off and live their little lives in the villages. They expect everything to stay the same, everyone to remember them. They don’t recognise that the city moves on every day. This guy was here for one day last year! I let it slide, hoping he would give up.

And that he did not.

“How do you not remember me? I’m Jeff Jacob. I quite remember the stir I caused among your crowd that night on the dance floor. I’m sure there’s someone here that remembers me.”

He went on about "that night". I grew blurry and started to zone him out. I was a bit fed up.

In my calmest voice, I said, “If you really have nothing else to say, please get a drink or leave if you want to.”

“Well, I haven’t come here to leave. I have come here to take part in the dance once again. I’ve come to win. It's what made me come here for our honeymoon.”

He showed me his ivory ring.

“You see, I got married a month back. My wife, Angie is with me.”

He pointed to a girl sitting on one of the tables for two. She looked pretty young and very much out of place. After two minutes of knowing this guy, I was already feeling someone was getting a lot more than they deserved in this relationship.

I had to take on guys like this every day, so this was nothing new for me.

“Well, we’ll start the dance-off in a while. Till then, you can hang around.”

This dance competition is a thing we do every week. People come in and dance in pairs for a small prize. It was always either Sheila or me who wins the prize. We are better than almost anybody who comes in. It is not really difficult to compete against sober-ish IT people who spend their weeks hunched over blue screens. It was more of the fact that we can’t afford to give away a prize every week. It was a pretty neat tiara, costing quite a lot. That's why both of us always made sure to get to the last round. We also convince the guys to give the prize to us. It was the gentlemanly gesture after all.

All in all, the whole competition was rigged in our favour. It was a nice way to make some extra money on the weekends. Drunk people did seem very eager dancers.

“I have our costumes here.”

“It’s going to be a big crowd. I don’t want to wear those.”

“Well, the more people there are, the more difficult it is for us to actually get noticed. I think we should get changed.”

Ram walked in just then. Ram was our boss, he ran the place and called, well, most of the shots here. A short, stocky man, he always wore boots that were a couple of sizes too big. Ram had been here since his father had become too old. Back then, the Rooster was just a shack where they sold rough toddy thrice a week after the sun went down, or so they say. Ram’s father had built up the place from an off-beat afterthought to a nightclub, one of the more hip places in town. Ask him, and he’ll tell you about everything of note that’s ever happened here. Ram, a rather more rotund-bellied guy, doesn’t have the same charisma. We liked to fool around a bit with him.

“So, ready for today?”

“Well, yeah. There’s nothing new, is there?”

“I don't like your tone, keep it down or one of these days, you'll find yourself without a job.”

I did not bother to respond.

At that time, our dear friend from Vellore walked over to me, clearly excited and a bit intoxicated.

“Would you like to dance with me? For old times’ sake.”

There was a constant stream of people coming in now. Music had started to play, so the dance floor was not as empty. Here and there multi-coloured shirts weaved their way into the bar, trying to find a place to plonk before ordering their taste of poison. I did feel like having a dance in me before the whole thing began, so I accepted. I quickly glanced at his table to see whether his wife would approve. There she was. The face telling a story the lips won’t. The eyes round and big, awake with wonder at the alien world around her. Her bony nose scrunched up from continuous wafts of alcohol diffusing in the air. She looked like she would rather be anywhere but here at this point.

“Will your wife be okay with it?”

“Oh yeah, she won’t mind at all.”

Despite myself, I followed him to the dance floor.

I could instantly tell that he wasn’t a natural. The forced turns, the stiff arms around my waist and shoulder and the jittery legs all gave him away. He moved in jerks, waving his free arm like a traffic constable. To top it all, the only place he looked at while dancing was at his feet. I could have been dancing with a robot for all it was worth. He wasn’t bad, but he could be a lot better if he just let go rather than trying so hard.

After enduring 5 more minutes of whatever it was, I took off, leaving Sheila and the other girls who’d joined us there to his mercy. I went to sit down on a chair and then noticed the wife sitting alone, still unadjusted to the sights and sounds of the bar. As I was moving away, Jeff called out, “You’re going to be my partner for the contest, right?”

Ignoring him, I went over to Angie. The music was turned up now, I had to shout over it.

“HEY! DO YOU WANT A DRINK?”

She shook her head. I pointed with my thumb, “It’s too loud in here. Let’s go outside for a bit!”

To my pleasant surprise, she followed me. I had a feeling she'd have followed me anywhere if it meant getting out of there. We went out by the side door, taking in the awkward silence after the constant din.

“So, what are you doing here?”

From the furring of her eyebrows, I could clearly see she was taken aback. She moved back a little, and said, “We’re on our honeymoon, and that’s it.”

“But can’t you tell him that you don’t like it here, that you don’t like that he dances around while you have to sit around and do nothing.”

“Well, I haven’t complained, have I?”

“Look, there’s something obviously bothering you. Why don’t you think of me as the stranger that I am and tell me? I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

I’ve done this with a lot of people. I love listening to stories about people. Real stories that are about life. How else do you get through a lean day at a place where people come to unload their memories?

I egged her on, “Well, it doesn’t hurt you, I suppose. I could help you with anything you want.”

She seemed sceptical but started talking anyway.

“So the thing is, I’m afraid he’ll catch a case of the city fever. That's what I fret about. Now that would be bad, wouldn’t it?”

“Why so?”

“I’m afraid he would not want to come back. He’ll get too fascinated by the city life that he’ll never want to return. You see, he loves to dance. He really wants to win the prize today. After he came here last year, he just would not stop talking about it. He thinks he fits in here. But I don’t want to lose him. I love him so dearly. The thing is, it’s happened back in my place before. I've heard of a certain Mr. Sharma. He came to the city with his wife for a vacation. After they returned, they were never the same. The girl was too caught up in the city life. She ran off after a while. He waits for her at the gate every morning, hoping she turns up. He still sets his table for two every day.”

Her eyes seemed to tear up at the very mention of anything remotely emotional so I let that subject slide.

She went on, now on autopilot, it felt like.

“I think the same thing’s going to happen to me. I am almost certain.”

“Oh come on, don’t be sulking around, you can’t afford to. You go there and fight for yourself.”

She looked aghast.

“But surely, I can’t argue and fight with Jeff. That would be a proper nasty look, won’t it?”

I laughed. “Here, in the city, we do it a little differently. I'll do you a favour. I'll save your marriage. You can pay me back sometime later. Come, let me show you. The dance is about to start.”

I caught her hand and led her back inside. I gave Ram the thumbs up.

“COUPLES, COME AND COLLECT YOUR TOKENS, THE DANCE WILL BEGIN IN 5 MINUTES,” Ram’s voice rang.

I didn’t really have a plan to save her marriage, but I thought I’ll make it up as I went along.

“Get ready.”

“For what?”

“A little shake-leg, if that’s what you want to call it.”

“Am I going to dance?”, she asked me.

“Well, that’s up to you. I can get you a partner if you would like.”

She fidgeted with the cloth of her overalls, looking around nervously.

“This is the only chance you’re going to get. If you don’t try anything, you’re going to lose him anyway. You might as well give it a try. Then you won’t feel like you missed out on any chance you had to win him back.”

“Oh. OK then. Yes, I shall dance.”

“That’s great, let me find you a city bugger to dance with.”

I went to a swarm of boys buzzing about the bar, in search of a memorable evening.

“Does anyone here need a partner to dance with? The lady in red is in search of a gentleman.”

I pointed towards Angie and several heads turned towards her. Several of the boys gasped.

A boy who I'd seen about jumped forward. He looked not a day older than 20.

“Hey, I’m Suresh. I would like to dance.”

“Can you dance well?”

“Yeah, I’m decent.”

“Ok, you come with me. Now don’t you dare try anything funny, you hear me? I’ll have your teeth knocked out.”

I left the two of them to talk and went to get their token. Ram was on the elevated stage. Right when I was climbing up, it struck me. The solution was simple.

Ram was waiting for me with my token.

“Hey, it’s your turn to win, so make sure to stay until the very end. Here take the number 5.”

“Give me two tokens, one for the young couple over there.”

"Here, give 'em number 17."

I collected them and joined Jeff rather reluctantly. He was sweaty, ready to dance for his life, literally. Say what you want about him, he was a decent dancer by The Rooster’s standards.

“ON THE DANCE FLOOR, ALL COUPLES HEAD TO THE DANCE FLOOR.”

The music started and initially, there was barely any room to move. Elbows and shoulders were sparring. The music was drowned out amongst shrieks of people everywhere getting stepped on their toes. Ram started calling out numbers at random, hoping he was picking the most blatantly hopeless cases first. What a perfectly fair system.

“Numbers 18, 20 and 23, please leave to make room for others.”

Now that there was a bit of space opening up, there was a bit more quality to the dancing. As I twirled, I could see that our eager friend and I were more or less the best of the lot. That felt weirdly disheartening and uplifting at the same time. I was dancing with this tit, but I was doing it well.

“Numbers 1 through 4 and 7 through 11, please step out.”

The crowd kept thinning and eventually, there were only three pairs still dancing. Me and our friend Mr. Jeff, Angie and her young partner and Sheila, with a guy I’d seen almost passed out a couple of hours back.

All eyes were on the youngest couple. The boy danced really well. He moved gracefully, like a swan. She was trying to keep up with him and together, they were mesmerising the crowd. As they moved about the now-empty stage, the crowd’s eyes followed them like a tennis match.

Our eager friend was oblivious to all of this. His eyes firmly planted on the ground, he was going through the motions. I would have felt sorry for him, but for his attitude. He was the reason this had to happen.

Ram, unbothered by this, called out, “Number 17, step out please.”

As Sheila dragged her partner off the stage, Ram looked perplexed. He couldn't understand what was going on. This was not in the script. His small snout nose shone red even in the dimly lit arena. He scrunched up his face and turned around to look at me, and I quickly averted my eyes from him.

After gathering his thoughts and letting us dance for a bit longer, he decided it was enough.

“Number 12, step out please.”

I stopped moving to the music and removed Jeff’s hand from my waist. You should have seen Ram’s face. Time slowed down and his inside seems to melt right in front of me, he was buckling at the knees.

All the while, the music was going on and the winning couple were now doing a celebratory kind of march-dance around the stage.

That is when our dear friend noticed her.

“Oh my God, that’s Angie!”

“The very same. Well, you are able to see, that is certain now. You aren’t here to just stand around, so let’s get down from the stage and let her celebrate her victory.”

He could not stop looking at her. Her face was unrecognisable. She was a picture of happiness now. Those eyes wide and bright, lighting up her whole face. She had forgotten that she was in an unknown city doing things she'd never imagined she would be doing. She was enjoying the stardom. A moment to savour. Her moment.

It seemed like our friend did not share the same feeling. He was looking smugly, a bit speechless really. So I did what a good girl would do.

“Looks like she’s got a bad case of the city fever.”

“Do you think so?”

“Oh yes, it does look like that. You better go to her and tell her you never want to come back here. Lest she may never return with you.”

“Oh, that would be the worst thing.”

I left him standing there, lost in his thought. This was his worst nightmare coming to life.

I approached Ram carefully. He was looking like a boy who’d just lost his candy. His ever-sombre pallor was even more pronounced. When he saw me approach, he tried telling me something but only air escaped his lips.

“I know you are behind this, you evil hag.”

“Yeah. I switched my ticket with the girl and switched Sheila’s with the one I got from her. I did that so that the girl could win. You know they were the best today. For once, why can’t we just give away the prize? Anyways this was about much more than the tiara.”

“How can you do this? You don’t own this place, do you understand?”

“I know that you’re upset and angry, but I had to do it for her.”

I left him and joined the happy couple making hasty plans to go back to Vellore. She was on his lap, crying tears of joy. The tiara was glimmering on her head. People were staring but they did not seem to mind. They were already back to their happy place.

“So you will come back with me, right?”

“Oh yes Jeff, I’d like nothing more than that.”

Looking at me, she swept to her feet and hugged me.

"Congrats Angie, I'm happy for you."

"Oh thank you so much, I'm happy Jeff's with me. I really can't thank you enough. Oh, I wish I could do something for you."

"Well you could give me back that tiara, Ram there is pretty upset about losing it, he doesn't really have anything else to “give away” as a gift."

"Oh sure, you can have it."

I left them revelling in their love, wanting to do one more thing.

Conveniently, Ram came towards me, now more angry than sad.

“Well, now I don’t think you ought to have done that without asking me.”

“I really don’t care what you think, you know. I never did.”

“You’re running your mouth too much. I can fire you, remember that.”

“Well then, before you do, I quit.” I threw the tiara in the air. He scrambled faster than he had ever done.

He'd caught it by paying the price of going down on his knees. It was like an elephant kneeling, it shook the very floor. “What?! You can’t do that, come on. Then Sheila will have to take care of the dance business all on her own.”

“Not exactly. I’ve made arrangements for that.”

I called Suresh and he came running towards us, red from all the dancing and bowing.

“He’ll replace me. You'll find he is pretty capable of replacing me.”

I left them to talk things over and slung the duffel bag across my shoulder. I joined Jeff and Angie heading out of the bar.

I took a single look at the forlorn face of Ram and said, “If you want any advice, mail me at Mrs. Sharma, 17, M.G. Road, Vellore.”