If it’s monsoon, it must be ‘Abgari’

Kolkata: The liquor retail in Bengal has a charming nickname ( dak naam) for wet weather. ‘Abgari’, a Persian origin word, is a synonym for Excise. A credible sentiment, as at Rs 23,500 crore, the state topped the nation in 2023 liquor sales. Busting the deplorable myth that Bengalis are no good at business.

Calcutta, chronically secular, has given birth to a diverse breed of ‘Abgari’ aficionados. Each is diligently immortalised by a psycho-demographic pattern in consumption. More aptly, a city bar that best defines their values, attitudes and lifestyles.

At Tripti’s, above the decrepit Jadubabur Bazar in Bhowanipore, the Devdas clones make a spiritual comeback. The furniture creaks with every moving tale, as fellow losers bond with aged monks who dare to listen. It’s never too early to arrive and never too late to leave, as the liquidity of demolished hearts outperforms the most prolific brewery. Fried somethings rarely compensate for sweet nothings, but that be alas the perils of misery.

At Olypub, on mainstream Park Street, Admen and punters find soothing empathy. Bandicoots keep stern vigil, like pushy clients and stern bookers, as the Chateaubriand is rarely not well done. Economists mull over the Oly Surplus, that immeasurable extra-ness to every peg, the Angel’s gift and not share. While noise levels and AQI surpass norms of civility, the graces of the community compensate deeply. Therein lies the joyful equilibrium of civilization.

At Nagraj Bar, Bengal Club, the boxwallah is having his last hurrah. Resident icon, Thomas Macaulay’s IPC has been taken over by the new-age BNS, but the past manfully persists. Liveried Abdars, beer mugs gifted by Gunga Din’s bosses, native prawns on Anglo-Saxon toast, erudite omelettes and a historic elevator that gets hysterical when cranky. Alas, the corporations have disappeared to Mumbai and Gurgaon but the spirit persists. Phantom of the Opera, version infinity.

At The Junction, Taj Bengal, new money makes peace with the aged. The railways' analogy in design is lovably appropriate as within the premises, Vande Bharat syncs well with Bombay Mail via Chakradharpur. Its location is convenient for stock market fiends, race course heroes, anytime heroines, High Court kingmakers and HNI vagabonds of every kind. That it is located next to a zoo is eminently poignant, for its abundant biodiversity, in patronage and repertoire.

At Chota Bristol, Shaw Brothers, trust is clearly at a premium and therefore a refuge for the lovable and disreputable. Pleasures which can’t be postponed must be paid for in advance, unlike most peers. It must be the founding father of the NCR Ahata, as open-source munchies are not penalised for payroll incompatibility. Folks who assemble could well be in the Yuba Bharati Krirangan, cheering for the Calcutta Football League. Rooted and in no way, obsolete.

At Kafulok in Tangra, the vibes are ‘born again’ Speakeasy. Back in the day, liquor could be whisked in without fear of being ushered out. But now, the tidings are clearly legit. The prawns are fresher than clothes washed by Tide Detergent while the sundries pay scant attention to the oil-free diktats of present-day normalities. Much traffic is generated from the suburbs as families converge to share their beer, the ladies graciously included in a special permit picnic mode. In a reversal of role, the bottle is clearly percussion, giving ‘theka’ and not the original ‘theka’.

At Prince Bar and Restaurant, NH 35, both traffic and emotions are clearly transitory. On the high road to Bangladesh, deeply favoured by foreigners who grudgingly must recede to a ‘dry’ regime. As with every highway pitstop, gratitude is never subcontracted, while loyalty cannot be unquestionably granted. The combinations are lovably rustic, with fries of every sheen enlisted to soothe the brews from most domains. South Asia meets Bharat, India given observation status.

At West View Bar and Grill, ITC, everybody is invited. An elegance in intent and upkeep, seeking a swayamvar with those who value occidental, not accidental, alacrity. Don Saigal, the legendary singer, used to be in attendance and his successors are suitably competent. While the meats and fish conform to universal benchmarks, so do the complimentary munchies. A special occasion destination served inquisitively by every classicist. French Foreign Legion, if you may.

At AAEI Club, the quintessential adda finds its spiritual abode. Literary Corleones, tony psychiatrists, sporting gurus, middle-grade accountants and upcoming sales heroes find deep common ground. The ceilings are as high as the spirits and indeed, the eclectic calibre of exchanges. Pakoras served lazily as a gleeful consort while the licence to drive was a necessary condition for access. Perhaps, the soul of Khalasitola, the ancient abode of local spirits, thrives in these bustling climes.

At the many new age ‘modern’ bars, thriving rapidly, the culture is clearly universal and the price points are Gurgaonesque, if not Singaporean. Well-heeled globalised folks arrive with Guccis and gaiety to share accounts of Dubai Real Estate rack rates and cappuccino prices in Bora Bora. Only a few live in the city, while most are on mandatory visits to elderly families, as Calcutta hastily becomes a retirement haven. To keep pace with expectations, the food is chic and the beverages are at their peak. A notable skew towards vegetarian produce can be well understood, customer centricity is the call of the day.

Last and possibly the most, would be the home bars of liberal nuclear families, denied the moralistic barriers of yore. The genial folks from Swiggy and Zomato provide digestive air cover, while considerate pricing permits the inclusion of single malts, where once Blender’s Pride used to reign. A sheer and sure marker of upgraded affluence and ambitions broadened by wanderlust and a Warholian lure of fame and stature.

The weather will indeed be ‘Abgari’ for a few more weeks. As a delightful bonus, the Hilsa seems to be in Virat Kohli form this year, shrugging off recent lean patches. Whether the stoic ‘gada’, the frisky ‘peti’ or the talented ‘roe’, the accompaniment is indeed accomplished. Brinjal fritters and the chips-nut smorgasbord will suffice for the less adventurous while Tong’s Garden is in attendance for sanitised insobriety.

In this melodious journey, every bar has a tale to tell. Fellowship is an understated and underrated fundamental joy unless senselessly violated. It’s again raining outside and I am off to my preferred lubricant, wishing you a Bon Voyage. To fill the coffers of the state and the soul, in no particular order.