CasinoUnroyale: Why a hangover is preferable to hittingGoa’scasinos
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Every cis-het male in this country – whether he admits it or not – has the same adolescent fantasy – to relive the plot of The Hangover and have the Las Vegas experience. Sadly, while the protagonists of that particular movie couldn’t remember a single moment of their Las Vegas shenanigans, our casino experience in Goa will be forever etched in our minds.
Foregoing other susegad-appropriate activities like lazing on the beach or collecting raindrops in one’s collarbones, a group of us ended up at one of those floating vessels which promised the Las Vegas experience.
When we called to book our places, the casino’s call-centre employees, listed out extremely specific sartorial instructions like we are being invited to join the Kingsman or an unnamed posh, but uber-exclusive club.
No open shoes. No beachwear. No pretending to be James Bond and ordering a martini. Sadly, it was less Casino Royale, and more of what can only be described as the microcosm of the worst things Indians have to experience on a daily basis.
A Dante’s version of hell if you will, if Dante was desi.
Even getting to the casino was a task, as a bunch of us were crammed onto a dodgy-looking ferry – which would’ve been rejected by white refugees trying to flee their homeland – to a huge floating vessel.
Firstly, once one gets there, all wobbly from the trip, one is greeted with humongous lines to collect or even buy one’s chips, lines which are longer than some of the queues witnessed during demonetization. And this time, no one remotely pretended that standing in line was a patriotic activity of any sort.
After we collected our chips, we were forced to navigate crowds that made Kurla station during rush hour look isolated.
Once inside, we realised that the long lines at the chips counter weren’t an aberration but the rule.
There were serpentine lines for everything – buying chips, getting a drink, finding a table, playing blackjack, and even when one wanted to make a Chinaman sing.
Seeing that it was impossible to move, let alone gamble while packed like sardines, we decided to head for a meal where he encountered a setting which could easily be the prime attraction at the Museum of Gustatory Aberrations at the Generic North Indian Wedding section.
There were all the usual staples. Paneer in a Trumpian shade of orange which still hasn’t picked its preferred pronoun between shahi, butter, lababdar or pasanda.
The rotis were stiff enough to double up as bulletproof vests. There were mounds of sugar masquerading as pastries which were so poorly made, that even diabetics would give it a wide pass.
It wasn’t just the food which is reminiscent of a North Indian wedding. There were inebriated uncles guffawing at lewd jokes while grandmas tried to handle their grandchildren as their sons and bahus did shots and danced to a loud band.
Fed up with the desi version ofThe Last Supper, we moved to the gambling room where we were re-acquainted with another ancient Indian tradition – drinking like a fish whose girlfriend has left him. Anyone who has ever flown abroad knows that an Indian will never say no to a free drink.
Many moons ago when one saw Casino Royale dubbed in Hindi, the Bond’s seminal drink order: “One Martini. Shaken not stirred” had been translated into “Ek Martini. Milakar Nahi. Hilakar.”
Here, the junta no longer cared if it was either hilakar or milakar as they tried to recoup the evening’s losses – one drink at a time.
Finally, realising that eating or drinking was just out of the question, we moved back to the gambling room. But it again turned out to be a procession of endless lines and closed machines.
Completely fed up with the experience, we decided to leave, but even that’s as complicated as leaving Ukraine. Turns out you can’t just leave but you’ve to wait for a ferry to come pick you up which it finally did after 30 excruciating minutes.
So, do yourself a favour. Laze at the beach. Knock back a few beers or whatever tickles your fancy.
Go pose like Aamir Khan and Co. at the Dil Chahata Hai fort. But just don’t channel your inner Shakuni because your fate will be worse than Yudhisthir’s.
