Fortunately this situation is defused by another situation. There is something going on outside the club door. Everyone seems to be trooping out, then trooping back in. It’s some kind of fight. The Sikhs are interested. They leave their drinks on the bar and troop out as well. Everyone is fucking trooping except me.

Everyone is now outside checking out the fight. The sailor and his girlfriend are the only ones who have chosen to stay in. I go and join them. ‘Typical,’ I say, referring to the fight. ‘What’s typical?’ they respond, with identical quizzical expressions.

Something has fallen into the girl’s drink. She complains to the waiter. He gets her a new one. The sailor and his girlfriend decide to tell me how they met. Sailor says, ‘This time when I got off the ship, I just had one thing on my mind—marriage.’ Sailor girl says in a nasal voice, ‘Even I was desperate to get married.’ Sailor boy says, ‘Thank god I met a girl, this girl—I was so desperate to be married I would have married a goat.’

‘Same here,’ says the girl.

By now people are coming back into the bar. They resume their conversations. The DJ continues to play Bollywood remixes, Eminem remixes, all kinds of remixes.

The floor is packed. Men arch their backs and throw their hands in the air. The men dance as couples.

I hit the floor and start dancing on my own. I move around trying to penetrate the privacy of these male couples. One of them moves a step back, allowing me to join in. Now there are three of us. The man spreads his legs, throws his head back. I go down on my knees, slide and land under his crotch. My gaping mouth almost kisses the man’s bulge. I can smell the smell. I can hear myself singing ‘Kajra re, kajra re, tere kale, kale naina.’ We reverse roles. The man twirls around like a girl while I thrust my pelvis at him.

The dance floor is absolutely packed. More and more men crowd the floor, clutching cigarettes, drinks, their best mate’s hands. A couple enters. They don’t look like they are from around here. Everybody turns around and stares. They leave. We get back to dancing. Occasionally, an overenthusiastic dancer loses balance and takes a spill.