MUCH ADIEU SET, THE SCENE
By Vandana Verma
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F
ollow the thumping,” the voice at the end of the line intoned as I slowly did a second loop past Tivoli Daffodils in Chhatarpur. “Look for a marble shop,” the voice elaborated, having chanced upon the destination only minutes before, and sensing that the cryptic clues weren’t going anywhere. Until finally, “I think I saw a sign on an A4 sheet of paper outside, look for that.” That was the first edition of City Sessions, a sweaty throwdown in Delhi the summer just past, that forsook the cheek-by-jowl bars of Hauz Khas Village and the schmancy clubs of South Delhi in favour of a pokey room above a marble shop. By day this space sits in a dusty neighbourhood notable only for a preponderance of farmhouses for hire, hardware stores, and well, lots of other marble shops. But on this sticky summer night, many hours after all the contractors had headed home, it transformed into a pop-up party space complete with a makeshift bar that ran dry only hours in. There wasn’t a sign after all, but the crowd came armed with Google-Mapped coordinates and knew they’d find a party that’d go on until sun-up. At least. If, like me and everyone else I bumped up against or trod on at
that crowded Chhatarpur terrace, you’re feeling done with the big corporate club, with the doormen and the cocktails that round up at 1K and all the other frippery that goes with, then these might be for you. If you’re still keen on proper gigs, and not just the odd bounce around the bar, then these parties are for you. The term pop-up has been overused to the point that I groan every time someone trots it out; although, these pop-up club nights are nothing but a party in a space you probably wouldn’t have thought to throw a party. Delhi’s nightlife has had a shaky trajectory, having to battle safety issues and closing time issues like the rest of the country, and in the past, a resolute resistance to new music. Not everything’s changed, but that last one has: there’s an appetite for freshness that’s brand new. It’s the most significant change from a time when the city presented three novel places to see and be seen one ‘season’ that fell out of favour the next, only to be redecorated and relaunched soon after to the tune of fervent prayers for longevity this time round. No, this movement out of the bars and into the streets, into marble shops and into warehouses (more of that in a bit) represents a genuine desire to shake up those staid club nights into experiences that are altogether more inventive, and more affordable to boot. It’s win-win really. You find an unused secret space for me to dance in, and I will come and buy enough of your cheap beer so you can go out and do it all again. These aren’t the cornfield parties of 2002. But this set of club nights does blur the line between those old-school raves and regular clubs. Except this time you don’t have to mosey into the nether regions of Haryana with your fingers crossed, because nights like City Sessions are accessible, and still short-lived enough (one night only for the most part) to keep the fickle among us keen on having another go.
There’s a new venue in town called Bakheda that promises more where that came from. It has already been nabbed for the Red Bull Music Academy workshop at the end of the year, and hosted a bunch of relaxed acoustic performances and the odd party. With its whitewashed brick walls and high corrugated tin roof, this venue delivers atmosphere in droves. Situated in Said-ul-Ajaib, a stone’s throw from a massive field (can you say parking jackpot?) and with a little patch of green out back where the smokers congregate, Bakheda’s not just a party spot, although I’m certain that in time it will be a great one. It’s also perfect for intimate gigs, book readings, art launches, or hell, birthday parties.
This movement out of the bars and into the streets represents a genuine desire to shake up those staid club nights Elsewhere around the world warehouse parties might’ve kicked off sometime in the ’80’s, but an embryonic scene’s meant that it’s taken some time for a similar spirit of exploration to take root here. Run by a twelve-partner team, Bakheda isn’t making any real money but it radiates the group’s commitment toward not only making use of the area, but also investing in it and making it better. Using it requires a little more DIY effort than walking into a fullyloaded nightclub, I’ll grant you, but honestly, it is worth it. So many club owners spend tons creating identikit drinking dens that blend into one another and then fade away as quickly as they emerged; while the greatest, sweatiest scrums, the ones that end with a
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bleary-eyed stumble home at 6am, well, those happen in raw urban spaces like this one. Still, it’s not necessarily about traipsing off into an unexplored venue, or grimy city takeovers. My appreciation of this new wave of party planning, and to the consideration given to the site of a shindig, extends to luxe endeavours as well. The Magnetic Fields festival, at Alsisar in Rajasthan this December, brings together a super line-up with an even more super venue: a palace! I’m happy to swap muddy shoes and moderately grotty hotels in favour of palace suites and luxury tents. But is it just the venue? Not really, this is a fest that promises morning yoga sessions, carefully crafted staging and a thoughtful, locally flavoured menu. Peace and love can be thin on the heaving grounds of Sunburn Goa, but I reckon I’ll be brimming over with love for my fellow festivalgoers when I don’t have to queue for ages for my drink and even more so later at night when I’m safely ensconced in my glamorous tent with running water, heating and proper beds, free to revisit the day’s best musical moments. Move over yuppies, I’m doing it right at this boutique fest. And what of City Sessions? A third edition this month saw a new venue, same crowd, and another till-dawn party. There was a golden patch when cafe-bar TLR (The Living Room) dished up that sort of party every week. Before Hauz Khas Village became the stinking heap it is today, TLR was the pub that morphed into a sweatbox with startling regularity. When things got really nuts on weekends, you’d often find yourself elbowing the DJ in the ribs, or standing on someone’s toes while they good-naturedly pretended you weren’t. It didn’t last, more’s the pity, but I’m feeling pretty optimistic about what comes next. Vandana Verma is the editor of Motherland magazine and travel website The India Tube. She also blogs at singforyoursupper.in.