Chapter 5: “We got SEX, boss”

After seeing the nice, but politically boxed, kids, I headed off for my next project.

When you are spending a day by yourself just waiting for time to tic tic bye hoping that you will get someone calling to say, “To-Bi-Us! Hey man, what you doin’ tonight? Want to come out drinking with us? We’ll do the needful, boss,” you make little notches in the hours:

12pm – Stick on Brigade Rd., find out prices to compare to other spots.

2pm – Get coffee or tea where you can people watch for an hour.

4pm – Get books at bookstore.

5pm – Lounge in park reading book.

5:05pm – Call friend, here, in Bangalore.

5:35pm – Call friend again to see if the line is connected yet.

6:00pm – Call one more time, just to be sure. Last time, really.

7pm – Get coffee at the other place on MG Rd. and people watch.

8pm – Eat dinner. Whether hungry or not, or alone or not, eat. It is something to do.

9:30pm – After dinner, get one beer at each pub you know of.

I had finished dinner, so now it was time to call my friend one last time and then head off into the pubs alone.

Of course, his phone was still disconnected or the phone was turned off. I let out a gasp of air from my lungs, centered my backpack, put my thoughts in a row, and got ready to shoot each one down with a beer. The first pub I saw was on MG Road called “The Underground.”

The Underground is a scummy poke at what they think a pub in the UK might resemble. There were 10 people there, cricket on the telly, and kingfisher, kingfisher, kingfisher. All of the bar staff had black slacks, white shirts, and black bow ties. 130 bucks for a tall beer. Probably about 2 pints. Nice. Three US dollars for two beers. I can handle that, but I can’t handle staring at a game of cricket for 30 minutes while listening to Sammy Hagar blast his lungs through speakers that have long since been pushed past their limits.

Luckily I had practice from an ol’ Irish friend of mine who could gulp a 40 of Ol’ E (Old English Malt Liquor 40 oz., for those not in the know) in 30 seconds flat. You just open the back of your throat and let the beer just slide through, like a very large and frothy oyster. Hell, the guy who taught me kept a case of Ol’ E in his trunk at all times! Hats off to ya…

I wanted the underground behind me, so I pushed on. I plowed down Brigade Rd. with a very slight ting of booze in my head. “Just push through like you fucking mean it!” I thought to myself to avoid any confrontation. I was heading, I thought, to a bar recommended to me by my local new-found-friend; ‘Purple Haze’. Classic rock is big here. Really big. The kids sit at tables and bars, putting down a good amount of beer and really killer small plates of Indian snacks while music is blasted at smashing dancehall volumes. It was like taking the sound system at 1015 and putting it in a tapas bar. No one danced, they just stared at the TV’s or projections and occasionally drunkenly sang along to the music.

I couldn’t fucking find it. I knew that I had driven past it on the way to downtown. I knew which street it was on, but I had lost it. Fuck. I wandered up and down the street. “It couldn’t be any further than this, really.” A little alcove of a shop had people, booze, and music oozing out of it. It was near where I thought the damned place should be. Maybe I just can’t see the sign.

“Excuse me, is this Purple Haze?” I said very deliberately and with as many body and eye suggestions as possible. It is quite likely the person I am talking to, not only doesn’t know much English, but also is probably much more drunk than I am.

“Hrm?”

I repeated myself, but I probably slurred or something.

“Oh yea, go in! Go in!”

So this little tiny shop was a cross between a bar and a liquor store that had it’s face right out onto the sidewalk. No doors. I could hear music pounding through the walls and coming from a stairwell at the back. I nudged my way through. People were, as usual, staring at me. When I got up and came to the restaurant of a room, the entire place was looking at me. A couple of guys held up their beers, nodded at me, and did an international version of the “Right on, man!”

Hrm, there was no bar up here. I went back down the stairs. I was positive they all thought I was taking off like I had walked into the wrong place. I could have sworn I heard someone yell something, not English, but I knew it meant “Why the hell the white-dread-boy taking off so quick?!” Ok, I had walked into the wrong place, but that wasn’t going to stop me from my one beer::one pub rule. I just had to go back down to buy a beer.

“30 rupees, sir.” Said the boy that couldn’t have been more than 11 years old.

Nice…less than a buck for a beer. I can deal with this.

I headed back up the stairs to try and find a spot. A few guys (there were no women) seemed really excited that I came back. A group of guys going up the stairs in front of me, maybe 4 of them, sat at a table for 8. Someone working there motioned me to sit on the end of the table. The group of guys offered me a cigarette and some food. They also offered up some conversation. Good people.

One of the guys closer to me filled me in where Purple Haze was. “We just came from there. It is about a kilometer away, 5min. walk. Just go straight down the street, it on your right.”

So I did know where it was, I was just off 1km.

After I sipped my last sip of beer, I said my goodbyes and thank-yous, then headed out down the street. I went down the street, saw nothing, figured they meant “go down that street,” being the one perpendicular to the one we were on. I wandered for a while. I gave in and asked someone. I was right not only the first time, but also the second time. I just needed to push on for another two blocks. I felt like an ass.

I decided to just hail one of the riks that would slow down next to me for a while. (This happens wherever I go. A rik will be driving by, see me, slow down and follow me for a block or so.) None of them knew either where Purple Haze was, or they just couldn’t understand English. As I was trying to talk to the second rik, I heard someone in a car next to me shout, “Hey boss! We are going that way, get in!”

I had no idea who was in the homely white car with near opaque tainted windows; Just two guys yelling at me to get in. What the hell do I do? Screw it. It’s just as dangerous as getting in a cab or rik. “Where you going, man?” “Purple Haze,” remember?

“Man, you come with us. Party with us. We got SEX, boss.” He pointed to the passenger side glove box.

“We usually have all condoms here man. A big pile! Ha!” he and his friend joked.

“You come with us, boss. Three girls waiting. You have girl back home?”

“Err….uh….” he cut me off.

“Don’t matter! Ha! You come with us, you get sex. Party man!”

“No, no. I’m sorry, man. I can’t. I have to meet up with friends at Purple Haze,” I lied.

They seemed like they had forgotten why I got in the car to begin with. They seemed like they had good intentions: partying, and fun. Two things that are good to shoot for. But I just wanted to go to Purple Haze and not deal with a completely unknown situation like this. Part of me just wanted to say, “Screw it, just go with them and see what the fuck happens!” But I felt that just the notion that these guys might try to rob me would just make the experience too edgy. Purple Haze, on the other hand, I knew where it was. I knew what I would be getting into, even though I’d never been there before.

I was wrong.

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