MID-VIEW / Chilled beer in hot tea-pots

Iqbal Sachdeva

That evening, a few years back, the five-star hotel Chola Sheraton, Chennai, wore a deserted look. The stringent prohibition laws, those days, had taken toll of the wet time hustle and bustle the hotel witnessed every evening—women in their Kanjivaram silk sarees and jasmine flowers on their hair buns, men folk in their sparkling bush shirts and lungis, and several westernised brown sahibs and memsahibs, who would flock to the hotel.

Our sales conference had ended with our heads heavy with sermons of our hysterical marketing war lords. About half a dozen of us loitered in the gorgeous lobby looking for a diversion to kill the day-long boredom.
A colourful poster, advertised Jagjit Singh, then the after-dinner crooner, to sing his passionate ghazals on the roof-top restaurant.

“Hey! Let’s go and see that roof-top restaurant,” suggested Suraj, my colleague. Though it was only at 6 p.m., we didn’t mind fooling around and landed on the ninth floor.

“Sat Sri Akal!” greeted the restaurant manager, Viji Rao, spotting me by my turban and beard.

“Mein cchhe sal Delhi kam keeta hai ji, Tusi dasso tuhadi ki sewa kariyay. (I have worked in Delhi for six years. Tell me how can I serve you?),” he said in Punjabi.

This was a God-sent opportunity for me to demand a favour. “Look we are bored. Can you arrange some beer?”.

“Sir, you are in a dry state that too a very strict one. But don’t worry there is a way out.” and he explained the modus operandi.

“Please tell me your room number and all of you go there in and relax, but don’t forget to come to my restaurant tonight when the mehfil is hot and Jagjit Singh starts singing. I need customers badly.” he insisted.
“Sure, we all will be there for dinner,” we said in one voice.

“One thing more, Sir,” Viji said, “Please don’t step out of the hotel, otherwise the policeman standing outside in plain clothes will sniff you, and take you aside. And if you are trapped, it can cost you Rs 1,000 or more, or a night behind bars. It’s dangerous.”

The room was cool and comfortable. The door bell rang and the bearer brought a decorated tray with half-a-dozen glasses and napkins.

Then the steward entered, with a large tea tray, a rather large kettle, milk pot, sugar pot, and cups and saucers, all well laid out. From his white gloves any one could guess that he was carrying some hot tea.
The steward looked glum and serious. His black, thick moustache, added some cheer to his face, as he placed the tea tray on the centre table.

“But we didn’t order tea,” Suraj protested. “Have a heart, Sir, it is exactly what you want, but in a hot pot,” he said cheerfully, as he removed the large tea cosy from over the kettle. Now he got hold of the glasses and started pouring beer out of the kettle “For your signatures, Sir,” he presented the bill with the word ‘Beverage’ written there, which Suraj signed with a laugh. “When you want more rounds, please ring up the room service and ask for the beverage. Have a good time, Sir, he said politely and left.

Suraj ordered at least five rounds. By then, it was time for dinner and we had a promise to keep. We marched to the roof-top restaurant. “Welcome, welcome”, said Viji receiving us with warmth.

The evening was pleasant, with music for the soul and food for the stomach. Jagjit Singh sang melodiously, and perhaps, found us the only enthusiastic admirers in the sober crowd, for which he must have been grateful to us, nay, the ‘Chilled Beer in Hot Pots’.