Sunday at the Willingdon

It was a Sunday like any other, except for one minor difference. I was up at eleven in the morning, quite early given my habit of sleeping in on the only holiday of the week. The reason for this exceptional event was that I had a luncheon to attend. My friend Richa had invited me out to lunch at The Willingdon Club. Now Willingdon isn't just any club. It is where Mumbai's elite go to relax, play a game of golf, swim or play cards. It is quite possibly the most elite gymkhana in the city, if not the country. I was partly curious, and partly excited to go check out this exclusive club. I had vague memories of having gone there as a child, but recalled nothing to write a blog about. As the clock struck one in the afternoon, I got into my car and drove to Richa's place, immersed in thoughts of what this oasis of glamour would be like.

I was shaken from my thoughts as Richa opened the door and got into my car. She was dressed well, and I wondered what the occaision was that warranted it. Maybe people dressed up to go have lunch at The Willingdon. At the Radio Club, where I was a member, shorts and an old t-shirt would have sufficed. Maybe they were strict about these things where we were going. We drove to the club, making small talk and discussing the happenings of our respective lives. There was much traffic along the way, and Thrillseekers' Nightmusic Volume 2 playing softly in the background kept me from getting annoyed at it.

We pulled into the driveway of the club, which looked every bit like something the British left behind. The green picket fence, the cobblestone dividers, the uniformed gatekeeper...all lent a touch of serenity to the place. The guest parking lot brought me back to reality. It was one big muddy ditch. It seemed more like a place where the horses from the Mahalakshmi Race Course across the street should've been kept. I grumbled to myself at having to risk getting my beloved Civic Hybrid stuck in the mud, and carefully backed into what could be called a parking slot.

When we stepped into the entrace foyer, one of Richa's friends was already waiting there. They hugged, and she said to Richa, “Happy Birthday!” Birthday? Birthday! It was Richa's birthday? How did I not know this? Had she mentioned a birthday party? Was I expected to know? I felt like a dunce. I admitted to Richa about not knowing the date she graced the planet on, and to my relief she didn't seem to mind. We walked from one restaurant to another, looking for a place to sit. One was full, and they hadn't held our reservation because we were a few minutes late. Another one had a dress code, and none of us were looking spiffy enough to be allowed inside. We finally settled on the verandah, and I soon realized that I was thankful the other places didn't let us in.

It was a breezy rectangular area overlooking the golf course. The ceiling was gorgeous, almost fifteen feet from the floor. Fans with really long stalks hung from it, dispering air at a height low enough to comfort the pampered cheeks of the guests. Some fans creaked under the weight of their own breeze, whimpering in an annoying squeaky tone. They were the same color as the cieling and the walls, a crisp glimmering white that looked like it had just been painted. Large black lanterns with bulbs inside them adorned the walls. The seemed to bask in the sunlight that flooded through the massive french windows that made up an entire side of the room. In one corner lay a massive thermometer, too heavy for one man to carry. The mercury was still accurate, and I wondered of the days, people and events this outdated antique must have witnessed during its lifetime. The sleek marble floor was covered with white cane chairs arranged neatly at spacious intervals. Privacy seemed to be the theme of the verandah, with tables too far apart to allow a conversation to be overheard by anyone. The chairs had lime green cushions, with little yellow flowers embroidered on them. People spoke to each other in a dignified, hushed sort of way, glancing and occasionally smiling at those who passed by. All in all, it was a quiet room with an aura of peace engulfing it.

We hailed the waiters, who all seemed to be smiling almost unnaturaly, with their hands folded neatly behind their backs. They joined a few tables to form one long table. By now, Richa's other friends had started arriving, and we all plopped down wherever we found a familiar face. As for me, I sunk into a chair from where I could see the ongoing cricket match without someone blocking my view. I had a feeling that I would need the cricket to keep me engrossed while everyone talked about unfamiliar people and situations. I had mentally prepared myself to hear a lot of lawyer talk, given that most of Richa's friends would be from the law fraternity.

People started arriving. By themselves, and in groups. Dressed for chilling, clubbing or showing off their bodies. I realized soon that watching everyone was a lot more fun than watching the cricket match. Heck, India wasn't even playing! There was a girl who looked like she was dressed for a tanning session on the beach. She chattered on and on about movies, her home town, and everything else in between. A couple of the guys seemed more interested in the contstant stream of chinese food bring brought to our table. Some looked at me and smiled politely. Some made small talk on where I worked, where I lived and what my thoughts on the stock markets were. Some complained to me about the losses they had made recently, as if I was responsible. But soon their talk switched to work and goings-on at their own offices. It turns out that I know a fair number of people that they know. It isn't uncommon for that to happen when you work or live in South Bombay. Everyone tends to know the same people, and plenty of shared acquaintances surface during first meetings.

I shifted my gaze to the golf course that this spectacular room overlooked. The neatly manicured lawns shimmered in the bright sunshine. There were large honeysuckle bushes lined along the edge of the building, and they stuck their buds out in the welcome breeze. There were a lot of people outside, glad to be able to play a round of golf after the monsoon. Most of the people playing were men, their visors lined with the sweat from their brows, and their fat tummies bulging against their polo t-shirts. The women stood by disinterested, gossiping among themselves. Occasionally, they lifted up their massive sunglasses to take a look at someone handsome walking by. The whole time, they were fanning themselves with large hand-fans. They were only too eager to get back onto the golf carts and move to the next hole when their husbands were done. Tall buildings made up the backdrop of this golf course, and it seemed unnatural to witness such a large open space in the middle of this chaotic city.

I heard my name being called out, and I focused my eyes back to the scene near me. Richa was asking me if I was getting bored. I smiled, nodded lazily to answer in the negative, and took another look at those in front of me. Smiling, laughing, eating, drinking, chattering, teasing...oblivious to the world and the problems that lay beyond the greens. The peacefulness of this place engulfed me. The world seemed a happy place.

*Names have been omitted to protect the author's right to forget them.