the men were waiting

freud would have had a field day.

that was my first thought when i walked into pooja, situated somewhere along the dusty western express highway.

it was 2345 hours, and all was calm outside, the silence broken only by trucks roaring past without headlights. a turbaned guard saluted me -- as was customary, i'm told -- before pushing back the huge, ornate door to the 'restaurant and bar' within.

there was nothing at first. then a sudden rush of music enveloped me completely. i stepped into the gloom, eyes adjusting simultaneously to patches of inky black and shimmering yellow. for the aural senses, it was a huge dose of bollywood, from start to finish. loud, fast, and raucous, all i could feel were beats; the accompanying vocal exercises all but drowned.

the room was fairly huge, stretching into specially designed nooks and corners in all directions. it was dark everywhere, except for the centre, where a brightly illuminated dais demanded attention.

on the fringes of that platform, i looked up for my first encounter with the famous nautch girls of bombay. there were around 10 of them, or maybe 15, or 20. all in a tight knot of whirling skirts and tapping feet. hips were swung somewhere, arms beckoned, and fingers acted out a variety of poses in the air.

all around me, the men sat and stared. if there ever was a tribute to testosterone, this room had to be it.

next to me sat a smallish man, feet neatly tucked under his chair, hands cradling a frosted glass. he looked around the room nervously, not at anyone in particular. when his eyes got to the girls, he smiled to himself, and held up a finger. moments later, a waiter appeared quietly by his side, bringing with him a small bundle of ten-rupee notes.

others elsewhere continued to watch, hands fondling similar bundles. some held out notes discreetly, nodding towards a chosen girl who walked demurely to take the offering. others fanned themselves with money, trying to get a woman to talk to them. still others handed bundles to stewards who, in turn, showered the notes over a dancer in a manner akin to shuffling a deck of cards.

my neighbour waved his own note, and a girl walked over. "and your name is?" he asked, smiling.
"renoo," she replied, and moved away quickly, note in hand.

was this it, then? was this all that remained of those traditional court dancers from the 1800s? were the women before me the same as the nartakis, kanchanis, apsaras, ganikas, devadasis and tawaifs from varying periods of our history and mythology?

according to informed sources, the answer to these questions is a stifled 'yes.' dancing girls, initially, belonged to a class of professional entertainers who were accomplished singers and dancers. they flourished even after the british arrived, which is when the word nautch was coined -- an anglicised form of the hindi-urdu word for dance: nach.

there is a darker side to it all, echoes of which can be seen in the devdasi system. a sanskrit term denoting the female servant of a deity, devdasis are, according to tradition, women married to a god, and thus blessed at all times. in reality, they are offered, repeatedly, to male members of the community. when not offered to a man, they simply dance at public functions, to entertain.

remnants of these traditions were, then, what i was confronted with, as the dancers swirled gracefully to tunes that were anything but religious in content. small groups of men smirked at each other, their eyes taking in all.

how and why did it all work, i wondered? it had to be the sense of power these bars loaned to customers, albeit temporarily. mock obeisance to all requests that evoked in clients a feeling of strength, virility, power. power that could make other men rush to do your every bidding, and women dance to your tune, literally.

what it all boiled down to was a titillation of all senses. from the saluting doorman to grovelling waiters, to the lingering pleasure of touching a girl's fingers: the ostensible ability of a man to attract the attention of anyone he chose, as opposed to contradictory reality outside. if that wasn't escapist, what was?

renoo continued to dance, looking at every man as if it were him alone she moved for. her attentions weren't wasted, as clients responded in kind, tenner following tenner. most patrons were regulars who had their favourite girls, visiting daily to do nothing but gift them a thousand rupees and leave.

why did the women do it? why and how did they come to terns with this subtle, metaphorical stripping, night after monotonous night?

it could be the money. according to the revenue department, the amount spent on these dancers in over 650 bars in greater bombay, thane and raigad districts, is tremendous. on a good night, the best dancers can earn over rs 20,000, leading to a monthly turnover of hundreds of thousands.

meanwhile, back at pooja, life went on. renoo came back, picked another proffered note, and ran off. there was money to be made. the men were waiting…