We went nightclubbin'

So some of my friends wanted to go clubbing the other night, and in their search for a place (criterion included decent music, a reasonable entry charge and a relaxed attitude to stags) we chanced upon a new entrant on New Delhi's nightlife - the Headquarters at the Samrat Hotel. I did not really want to go, but I gave in to peer pressure and a persistent friend who kept taking my blanket away.

What a nice surprise to have a bloke who can have a conversation with, outsdie the club. Uniformly across the city, the hallowed gates of night clubs are manned by humungous men who wear black and grunt. Not this pleasant guy with a cigarette dangling from his lips. Even more pleasing was the midnight buffet that is thrown in when you pay the Rs 250/- entry charge.

Whaaaa? 250 rupees for food in a night club? Too good to be true? Well..

We had arrived at 1130 pm, and by 1230, the place was swarming with men dressed in their best linen. And some women. Maybe one for every five. And the music was of a genre I was not too familiar with, but was informed that it was largely house. We got down to ordering our drinks.

More than the lack of women, it was the lack of "character" in the LIIT that caused misery. It was not really tall, not very boozy, and did not taste excellent. I longed for the Long Island Iced Tea of 13th Floor. The mojito was barely there, and only Chow enjoyed his drink - a fine bottle of some wine.

All this disappointment made me hungry and I walked among the furious dancers, strobe lights and scanty clothes to find the buffet. My search proved futile. Even with my brain screaming "you've just been cheated", I decided to give this place the benefit of the doubt, and asked the friendly waiter, who politely informed me that the midnight buffet would be served at 3 am.

Deflation like I have rarely felt.

But my friends were having a great time, and I was almost sleeping in a nightclub. So to keep me awake, someone ordered some food.

I did not hear anyone order it. Whatever it was, it ws uniformly average. The "forgotten art of public sector service" (Chow) was being revived by Headquarters, and the cluttered and messy route to the loo (that doubled as the dressing room for the swimming pool) exmplified this.

The music had turned to Bollywood remixes, and by now my happy friends were happily sozzled, dancing and very conversational. I was bored, but made a fist of it, gamefully giving everyone my version of "shaking a leg". I forgot about being hungry and wavered beyween drowsy and dancing. Don't ask.

And then the news of the buffet came down the dance floor to our couch. Got myself a plate of rice and dal. And one roti and some butter chicken. A few hours back, I would have nailed this buffet. Now, as good as the dal was, I could not eat much. Very Machiavellian, you people at Samrat Hotel!