Across the tram depot in Tollygunge and behind the Mahanayak Uttam Kumar metro station is a haven for a lucky few seeking refuge from the scorching pace of the metropolis. I spent my childhood not particularly far from this place, staring at its tall walls and wondering what was inside.
The only way, if at all, my working-class ancestors would have made it inside the hallowed precinct of this rather exclusive place was as menial or clerical workers, that too, if an influential distant relative would have put in a word.
My crossover moment came when in a state of desperation for more money and a place to stay, I switched from journalism to a corporate career. Possibly the biggest entitlement that came with the job was a club membership.
A very special privilege
I have often joked that I could never quit my job because of this very special privilege it afforded me. And I have cherished it to date. I must confess that I still wonder what have I done to deserve this! You have markers, ballboys, caddies, bearers, masseurs, chefs, gardeners, coaches, riding instructors, life savers, trainers, guides, hair stylists, manicurists, dry cleaners, housekeepers, and stewards at your beck and call, reminding you that you are amongst the chosen few who get to experience and enjoy all this.
There are occasions when I finish my breakfast, light a cigarette, and stare at the greens, watching people tee off with only an egret for company. I pinch myself. Is this real? A hundred yards away, people are packing themselves into Metro Rail coaches, hoping they will still be three-dimensional by the time they reach their destination. Right opposite the Club gate is a government hospital named after a family whose scion is having breakfast at the next table.
The Early Birds hit the Club even before sunrise for their fill of sports in the swathing green environs of the clubs
But this article is not about my saying, look how lucky I got! It is about the inhabitants of this wonderworld. If I say they are of a particular type, I would be very, very wrong. They are of several types! Some fun, some funny. Others amusing or charming or impressive or entertaining. Some even awe-inspiring. But all of them immensely endearing like the unforgettable characters in Malgudi Days! Let me see if I can classify them for the benefit of readers.
There are three large segments easily divided by the time they visit the Club.
The Early Birds are the ones who hit the Club even before sunrise. They have their fill of whatever sports they indulge in. A quick shower followed by a quicker breakfast and off they go for an adrenaline-filled day.
The Mid-Dayers are looking for a short respite between very hectic meeting schedules. A quiet lunch, a stolen drink maybe, and they return to battle recharged enough to fight the rest of the day. Of course, there also are ladies (and not to mention gents) who lunch. Which are extended affairs over beer, bekti and bhaichara.
The Eveningers and the Nightwatchmen are often one and the same. In their mind map, the Club is the bar and the bar is the Club. They descend on the den when the evening descends on them. If liquor companies could award Knighthoods, a lot of them would be addressed as ‘Sir’ by people other than the barmen.
The other way of segregating the inhabitants would be by activity.
So, there are the Sporting types. Clubbing means hitting the gym, running, swimming, golfing, tennis, riding… the decathlon was invented keeping them in mind. Fitness is the goal. Adrenalin is the by-product.
Then there is the Social set. Clubs mean people. People mean friends. Friends mean parties. The circle of life is complete. And the cycle is in perpetual motion.
Clubs mean people. People mean friends. Friends mean parties. The circle of life is complete TT Archives
Then there are the Solitary Reapers. They probably come every day. Just to sit and read a book, maybe. Stare at the sky. Talk to the birds. Sip a cup of tea without milk and sugar. It is a quiet universe but a content universe.
Then there are the Hawkeyes. They are perpetually looking out for business or contacts or votes. Every member is a prospective client. Conversion rates are the most important. Not of currency but of members into customers or supporters.
Then the Lifers. The Club is the beginning and the end of their lives. And days. They come early. They leave late. They play. They socialise. They eat. They deal. They snooze. They repeat.
But most of us are probably a little bit of each. Varied and unique. Similar and familiar. Much like the hundreds of resident trees that add vibrant colours to this centuries-old meeting place.
Arup Ghosh is a former journalist and a communications expert.
