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| Vol. 4, Issue 5 May 2012 |
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Reporting & Essays |
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Reportage |
Outside da Club
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| A night out with Delhi’s bouncers |
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Published : 1 January 2012 |
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BIPLAB MUZIBAR RAHAMAN / DELHI PRESS IMAGES |
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| Bouncer Irfan Ahmed standing near the entrance of the nightclub Kitty Su while keeping a count of the guests who enter.
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T WAS THE SECOND WEDNESDAY in October, and Jitender Chaudhury was at his post: standing in the plush lobby of The Lalit New Delhi, a luxury hotel just off Connaught Place. Chaudhury was positioned across from the wall of glass doors common to the entrance of nearly every five-star hotel; over his shoulder, on a wall just above the concierge desk, hung |
a large painting by MF Husain. To his right, a short flight of stairs led down into Kitty Su, the hotel’s recently inaugurated “exclusive” nightclub—whose exclusivity, if you will, Chaudhury was being paid to protect.
On this particular evening, the club—which ordinarily opens its doors only on weekends—was playing host to an invitation-only private event, the final after-party of Delhi Fashion Week, hosted by the Fashion Design Council of India (FDCI). For the first hour or so, beginning at 11 pm, the guests had trickled past in ones and twos; the club, whose gala opening night in August (or so I was told) played host to 1,200 revelers, was still less than half-filled to capacity. But now the crowd waiting to be granted passage through the velvet ropes had begun to swell, and Chaudhury and his fellow bouncers faced a minor but pressing dilemma: they had run out of those paper wristbands that mark each guest with the approval of the gatekeepers.
As a little crowd of restless fashionistas filled up a kind of holding area—delineated by the usual plush ropes and gold-coloured waist-high poles—where they were to wait for their wristbands, Chaudhury stood patiently with another bouncer named Sharad, who had the strong-jawed, pencil-mustached look of a wavy-haired South Indian film star. Together they were to ensure that nobody tried to sneak down the stairs.
Chaudhury, a 26-year-old from Ghaziabad whose friends call him Jeetu, resembles a tall and toned cartoon bear. He has sunken, sparkly eyes, heavy cheeks and thin lips that emerge after a prolonged gap under a short nose. His black hair is neatly parted from the left to right. About six feet tall, he stood with his left hand clutching his right wrist near the buckle of his belt, his 17-inch biceps stretched across his barrel chest. He was dressed in polished black leather shoes, a black leather belt on his black trousers and a black golf-shirt—which, on the back as well as on the front, screamed ‘Kitty Su’ in bright red cursive letters.
The crowd of about 30 that had amassed in the previous five minutes exhibited a rather dramatic contrast in sartorial sensibility, which one might uncharitably call an aesthetic of attention-seeking: they were wearing shorts, Jodhpurs, hats, bandanas, retro sunglasses inside at night, polka-dotted bow-ties in bright and vivid colours and exuding class, sophistication, bling and glamour. Models wore body-hugging clothes; men walked hand-in-hand; men walked with two or more ladies in hand. There was confusion, complaints, cheer and chaos.
| BIPLAB MUZIBAR RAHAMAN / DELHI PRESS IMAGES |
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Guests being frisked before entering Kitty Su, a recently
opened “exclusive” nightclub at The Lalit New Delhi. |
At around this point, a tall dark-skinned man wearing a grey suit and an ascot walked up to the entrance, accompanied by a blonde woman in a short dress and stiletto heels and exuding a sense of considerable wealth—not the kind typically on display among Delhi’s nouveaux riches, but something redolent of a faded era of Indian royalty. Jeetu, however, halted him at the gate. Unfazed—and almost without even acknowledging Jeetu’s rather large presence—the man skipped over the rope and motioned to his female friend to do the same. Jeetu stopped her as she lifted one leg, and the man told him, curtly, to take his hands off. The brief moment of tension came to a quick resolution when Jeetu glanced towards his boss, who indicated that this gate-crasher was in fact a VIP member of the club, whose status transcended even an “invitation-only” event. The rope was unhooked, and the VIP and his lady sauntered down the stairs.
In a society where it now seems commonplace that every conversation should open with one party flaunting their influence, bouncers like Jeetu straddle an awkward line: such transactions invariably revolve, like so much else these days, around status. And at places as upscale as Kitty Su and as downscale as local bars and clubs in Delhi markets, the bouncer is supposed to be an arbiter of status without possessing it, passing judgment on the status of those who would otherwise (and often still do) regard him with unvarnished condescension.
As the assembled members of the capital’s party elite milled about inside the velvet-roped pen awaiting the wristband re-up, it was easy to imagine that they weren’t used to waiting, and especially not at the whim of a country boy making a lowly  10,000 or 12,000 a month. With a few rare exceptions, the crowd on this particular evening was a polite one: the worst thing I heard all night was when a fashionable white man, angry that his friend’s son couldn’t get into the party, called the general manager of the FDCI “a dick” before storming off. By the standards of what Jeetu and the others are used to, this was practically gracious—and whatever the verbal abuse, the first rule of bouncing seems to involve standing there silently with a poker face. The second rule, you might say, is that you shouldn’t notice the bouncer until you do something you shouldn’t: he’s a barrier you’ve got to cross to get into the club, and if you behave yourself, he won’t be dragging you out by your collar later on in the night.
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NDER NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES—apart from swanky invitation-only soirees—the main job of a bouncer involves “screening” guests at the entrance, whether in the interest of maintaining a certain air of exclusivity or simply keeping “unruly” elements from causing trouble inside. As for what criteria determine who gets in and who gets blocked, |
all the bouncers I spoke to used almost exactly the same phrase: guests must have a “decent profile”.
“Profile” is the industry jargon for the screening process—though nobody could tell me with certainty what made a “decent” profile and what didn’t. On a previous evening at Kitty Su, the week before the fashion week party, I had arrived wearing old, faded jeans, a grey shirt and loafers without socks. By Delhi’s glam standards, I was dressed in rags, and I asked the bouncers if they would have let me in. Thakur Joginder Singh, the head security officer or top bouncer for Kitty Su, let out a mildly uncomfortable chuckle. “Arre sir. Of course.”
I tried to argue that I was clearly underdressed for the occasion: how had he determined that I possessed the requisite “profile”? But the process at work—and the complicated business of determining who has status and who lacks it—clearly goes beyond the clothes on your back. Most bouncers I spoke with tossed around words like educated, presentable, sober, shehar ka (urban) and baat cheet mein sahi ho (decent to talk to). As a rule, women are rarely stopped from entering, unless they seem to be prostitutes. (“We can see who’s a call girl—we recognise them,” one bouncer in Vasant Kunj told me when I asked how he knew.) Groups of men without any women are always a red flag, though an unruly bunch of fellows can’t guarantee their entrance merely by having female companions.
| BIPLAB MUZIBAR RAHAMAN / DELHI PRESS IMAGES |
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Thakur Joginder Singh, head security officer at Kitty Su,
has the final call as to who is allowed into the club. |
The most precise description—if that’s the right word—of the ‘profile’ came from Joginder at Kitty Su. “Generally the hanky-panky ones are allowed in,” he told me. “We do not let the locality enter.” Hanky-panky, in this case, meaning anyone who is smartly or stylishly dressed—who looks “educated” and “sophisticated”. I got a further lesson in these terms later that same evening, when a trio of men came up to the door seeking entry. The largest of the three, and the first one to approach, had an unkempt henna-coloured mullet, at least three or four gold chains and rings, and paan-stained teeth. From a short distance away, Joginder had them tagged: he turned to another bouncer and said “yeh andar nahi jaenge (they will not go in).” Sure enough, they left after a small argument with Joginder, whose mind was unswayed by their aggressive challenge to his decision. He walked over to me, satisfied with this demonstration of the system, and said: “Dekha, isse kehte hai locality (See, this is what we call locality).”
While the “locality” tend to attract more obvious scrutiny, the hanky-panky create their own share of problems for the bouncers: arriving drunk at the door, often with a large entourage of friends and with sensitive egos unwilling to countenance the authority of the bouncer—who is himself, after all, much more “locality” than hanky-panky.
At places like Kitty Su, nestled inside five-star hotels, violent confrontations at the door are exceedingly rare, but at stand-alone bars and clubs elsewhere in the city, facing its consequences is a part of the job. At Urban Pind, an upscale lounge in the N-Block market of Greater Kailash 1, I spoke to a few bouncers who were involved in one such incident back in August 2011: a man who was already drunk, and therefore denied entry, began to abuse the bouncers and the manager, so much so that they called the police and a sub-inspector arrived—at which point a scuffle ensued, and the man slit the policeman’s ear with a sharp object, sending the sub-inspector to the hospital and himself to jail.
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Y 2:30 AM, Joginder had ordered his boys to prevent additional guests from entering Kitty Su. In just a few hours, more than 800 people had passed through their watch and into the club, nearly double the turnout anticipated by the initial guest list. Those in the small crowd standing before Jeetu, and vying for entry, were either not on the list or did not |
possess an invitation. Guests who could present their wristbands were allowed to reenter, but without the promise of obtaining a band, the crowd waiting outside began to thin, their faces betraying both longing and envy.
Three young men in their early 20s dressed in shiny suits—a far cry from designer men’s wear—approached the entrance and confidently flashed their wristbands. Suspicious, the bouncer at the door took a closer look at their wrists and spotted dull metal staples holding together the reused strips of paper. Without a moment’s hesitation, he ripped the bands off their wrists, and the three took leave, their heads bent in disappointment.
Downstairs, bouncer Sachin Chaudhary stood guard at the entryway to one of the smaller bars inside that, although more restricted than the dance floor, wasn’t quite as exclusive as the VIP lounge. A young woman approached Chaudhary and suggestively placed her hand on his arm, stroking it as she flashed him a drunken, emboldened smile. On her tiptoes, she leaned forward and whispered something into his ear before entering the bar.
Chaudhary, refusing to tell me what the woman had said, grinned: “Mera toh kaam ho gaya aaj ka (I’m set for the night).”
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Readers' Comments |
Total Comments
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amarendra
17 April 2012
03:40 AM
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liked the evocative presentation of bouncers profession
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Elizabeth
30 March 2012
04:22 PM
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A well written Article!
@vinz- The context in which "Mera toh kaam ho gaya aaj ka" rightly translates to "I'm set for the night". In any other circumstance it would have meant what you indicated but with reference to this article, the writer has rightly translated the line.
@Dimpal- I'm not sure whether you got the Article right or not. The 'bouncers' mentioned in this Article refer to security personnel and not the 'bouncy castles' you seem to be referring to! Sorry to burst your bubble!
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Dimpal
10 February 2012
10:54 PM
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There is a guy I went to soochl with here that decided to actually start an inflatable bouncer business among other things. He has an agreement with our town and is able to do many of our local events. The great thing about it is he doesn’t charge the kids to play on the bouncers. But adults are not allowed to use them. He has three different types of bouncers. One is like the castle type that you see our kids can bounce around in it. Another is simply a baseball station were kids can swing at an air release bouncy ball with inflatable bats. And another is a bungee bouncer which I think is really cool and seems to be the most popular of them! I don’t know of any rental places in our town that have bouncers available for birthday parties, but I’m sure that my soochlmate rents his out for parties. I think offering a deal with our local town was a great idea for him because it allows the kids to try out the bouncers, have a blast, and let parents see just how great these things are. And when parents have an event like a birthday party roll around they remember him because of it. Maybe the rental companies in your area could do the same?
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vinz
17 January 2012
11:29 AM
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Re Sachin Chaudhary and the flirty young woman
“Mera toh kaam ho gaya aaj ka" translates better to "I am done for the day", rather than I’m set for the night”
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PeculiarBlend
31 December 2011
10:06 PM
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Loved the subject! If Madhur Bhandakar will read this he surely will come up with movie like 'Bouncer' for sure. I enjoyed reading it till then end and honestly was expecting it to be little naughtier but it wasn't all that.
Thanks! Have a great year ahead
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