4th May
“Is it open?” Meghna asked, not knowing who the right person to answer her question would be. “Yes ma’am,” said a man. She realized that he had spoken from a small area behind a partition on the left of the bar counter without looking up from the computer screen. The only source of light was a panel on a wall where bottles were displayed. The bottles may as well have quoted Coleridge and said 'water water everywhere and not a drop to drink' thought Meghna. As her eyes grew used to the semi-darkness, the silhouette of a seating arrangement became visible.
The 3-star hotel in which Shake n Stir Bar held out against the forces of the lockdown had its gates closed but not locked. A solitary security guard and a dim light in the reception area were visible from the road. Policemen passing by, if they hadn’t already been paid to look away, wouldn’t notice any violation of the fortnightly guidelines.
“One large Absolut, do you have tonic or ginger ale?” Meghna asked the man who appeared to be the bartender, accountant and manager. “No ma’am but we have Pep…” She cut him off before he could finish and ordered a fresh lime soda.
Meghna stopped briefly near one table which had a musty smell and was shrouded in darkness like all others. A few seconds later she settled down at an identical one two rows behind it. “Will you remain open over the week? Won’t there be trouble?" she asked the man as her served her. “We are open,” he said simply, refraining from addressing the mechanics behind it. She muted some WhatsApp groups to get a respite from the barrage of details of people in need of oxygen and plasma before taking her first sip.
7th May
A policeman got up from his chair as Meghna approached a barricade. He took purposeful steps as Meghna slowed down but stopped as she came within a meter of the check post. She made eye contact, smiled and drove past with no attempt to accelerate. The ‘essential service’ label on the windscreen had done its job.
The security guard recognized her as she entered the hotel and asked her to park inside when he noticed her car outside the gate on the main road. “Hello ma’am,” the jack of all trades said with folded hands from behind the counter as she entered the bar. “Absolut and fresh lime,” he added before Meghna had a chance to return the greeting.
“We need cash ma’am,” the man said as Meghna reached for her card after refusing his offer of a repeat. “We aren’t using our card machines and online payment systems for now,” he added in an apologetic tone. “I will need to go to an ATM then,” Meghna said, flustered. There was a pause where each could sense the haplessness of the other. They might have tried to read each other’s expression with the available lights and failed. “Do you have GPay?” the man asked finally. “You could GPay the amount to me and I will pay by cash.”
“Thank you, Virender,” said Meghna as she typed his number in the app and his name popped up. He tried to guess what essential service she was providing as she walked towards the door. Meghna had worn a dark kurta on both days; any distinctive accessories or tattoos she might have had were obscured by the darkness. She sounded young but tired. There was an ICICI branch nearby but its employees always came in a group, thought Virender.
11th May
“Don’t take the vaccine yet, new research has shown that there are more deaths in districts where a large number of people have been vaccinated.”
Meghna could barely see the person justifying the statement at length to someone over the phone. A gangly shape sat on one of the bar stools and used its pivot to sway fromside to side. The AC was on, amplifying the smell of staleness. “One large Kingfisher Premium today,” she told Virender on her way to the table which seemed to be the furthest from the bar stool. “Number of cases have come down a little ma’am,” he replied.
“Kal chaudvin ki raat thi, shab bhar raha charcha tera…” Jagjit Singh sang from near the bar stool after the discussion on the merits of vaccines had ceased. It was a live version recording, and Meghna pictured herself in an open-air concert. She found it hard to reconcile the musical sensibilities of the man on the bar stool with his opinion on vaccines. Her beer got over sooner than she expected.
“Pints are out of stock ma’am,” Virender said when she asked him for one. “Excuse me,” the gangly figure interjected from the bar stool, raising his voice over Jagjit Singh’s. Meghna asked Virender for the menu, her voice almost a whisper as if in response to the gangly man.
“Excuse me ma’am,” he repeated. “I don’t want one full either, we can split…if you have no problem. It will be cheaper also...”
“Yes yes no problem, that’s a good idea,” said Meghna, now finding it hard to reconcile his opinion on vaccines with both his taste in music and presence of mind. There was silence while Virender poured them half a bottle each in turn. Meghna wondered whether she had been too brusque in her response and made it too obvious that she was wary of conversation. “Nice song, the last one,” she told the gangly man.
“Oh I will play it again for you,” he replied; playing the studio version this time. Meghna was unable to imagine being in an outdoors concert.
On the way out, she tried to make eye contact with the gangly man. He didn’t look up from his phone, unaware of her exit.
15th May
Meghna walked towards her car after her shift and saw a colleague at some distance trying to administer CPR to a patient who had just been brought in. She caught a glimpse of his expression behind the face shield and quickened her step, moving behind the line of ambulances that hid her from view.
“The number of cases has decreased more ma’am,” said Virender as he took her order.
“They have,” she said.
“The lockdown should lift now,” he added.
“It should,” she agreed.
“What time do other customers come? Am I the last one?” Meghna asked Virender as he brought an ice bucket to her table.
“They start coming from 4.30-5 p.m. ma’am.”
She nodded. “We been having sales of about 20-30,000 a day since the lockdown,” he added.
“Could I buy a crate of beer from here? My car is parked inside so I will put it in, no one will see me take it outside,” Meghna asked Virender while punching her debit card number into the machine.
“Let me see ma’am,” he said. “We are a little short of supplies now and I have to think how to show it in the accounts. You already have my number, if you call me tomorrow, I will confirm.”
24th May
“Beer finished ma’am?” Virender asked with a smile as he saw Meghna enter.
“No, vodka today,” she said, muting a chuckle, lest she sound over friendly.
“No leave for you during the lockdown?” she asked him as he removed a half-eaten bowl of peanuts and replaced it with a fresh one.
“No ma’am, the problem is not with leave. I have been thinking of going home for a while. There are a few people staying in the hotel who have no work, they can easily fill in. Trains are also available. But none of the dispensaries nearby are doing RT-PCR tests for travel purposes. There is such a rush that only people with bad symptoms are getting tested,” he said.
“Would a prescription and doctor’s certificate work?” Meghna asked.
“I will find out ma’am,” he said. “But today there were very few cases. Maybe by next week the lockdown will be over."
17th June
Meghna tentatively pushed open the door of Shake n Stir and peeped inside. Most of the tables were occupied, all by men. The kitschy colourful lights felt jarring to her eyes, as did the demeanour of the average patron.
“This is too shady, let’s go somewhere else,” she said to a friend who had accompanied her.
Virender saw the door close without anyone entering from the corner of his eye. He was relieved, he wouldn’t have to be extra vigilant on account of just one table.
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