Since we are discussing pub culture so hotly, and since we are so confused about whether it's good or bad, we could try answering an easier question: What's the opposite of pub culture?
Since we are discussing pub culture so hotly, and since we are so confused about whether it's good or bad, we could try answering an easier question: What's the opposite of pub culture?
Bar culture? Club culture? Lounge culture? Tavern culture? Ah, that's what the Page 3 sorts, with their grasp of the nuances of stylish drinking, would say.
Temple culture? Sadhu culture? Indian culture? That's what Yeddyurappa, Ashok Gehlot, Pramod Mutalik, and all those spiritually inclined patriots would say.
Arrack shop culture? Hmmm... that's the proletarian theorist for you.
Pranayama culture? Yoga culture? Yes, that should be the Sri Sris and Baba Ramdevs.
Sukh Sagar culture? Vidyarthi Bhavan culture? Darshini culture? Perhaps, if you were a middle class Bangalore conservative.
But what if you were none of the above?
Allow me my two-paisa's worth on this vehemently argued case.
Till after I finished my post-graduation, I had not tasted liquor. Today, I can sip some beer or vodka without feeling guilty. But I couldn't have done this ever in the presence of my father, who died ten years ago.
So have I grown from Basavangudi prude to Cantonment dude? Hardly.
Last week I was at Hampi, and friends scribbled an open invitation to musicians on the black board outside our cottage. At least half a dozen musicians trooped in, with the most amazing instruments, and matching skills.
An Israeli came in carrying a Persian violin, and we got a key flute player who became one of the lead players.
u00a0
Soon a guy with a cornet joined the gig, and a couple of drummers walked in with their djembes. The music had brought together complete strangers, and what ensued was sheer enchantment. Some in the audience were drinking, but not one misbehaved or turned unruly.
That must be the romance of the pub, and it is indescribably beautiful. Its warmth inspires the poetry of Kahlil Gibran, Harvanshrai Bachchan, G P Rajaratnam. It brings forth song and music from aching hearts. It creates comfort in sharing.
I don't know in how many Bangalore pubs you can realise this ideal. We can be a money-minded, class-conscious and pretentious city, and spontaneity isn't one of our strengths. We have perverse laws that ban singing and dancing. And we can distort something that's natural into something ugly.
To desire for good company is human. To want to drink with friends, if you are a drinker, is human. To want to sing and dance is human. Isn't it human then to want 'pub culture'?
But let me also tell you the other side of the story. Early last week, the honey-voiced bhavageete singer Raju Ananthaswamy died of a liver problem at 35. His addiction to 'drink culture', if not 'pub culture', did him in.
Two days later, a poet I know drank himself silly and decided to stage a suicide drama 350 km from Bangalore.
His friends nearly fainted of exhaustion, trying through the night to get help across to him. And as you know, drunk drivers are killing far too many on this city's roads. That's what happens when 'pub culture' is misunderstood, that's what happens when 'pub culture' goes out of hand. Here's a bit of trivia: Shakespeare drew inspiration from pub culture, but then, he was killed in a pub brawl.
