The New Girl at the Bar

Apsara dance bar had a new bar tender. Birat was one of the two drowsy looking men who waited for their drinks, watching her, concentrating hard to get it right. All the tables were booked with tipsy people and apart from two dance girls at the stage and one at the bar, the visible population was all men. Music was the collection of remake from seventies.

Come to me, come to me, I am your love…
Allah, allah, and yet you resist…

Men were hooting and whistling, and the girls were prancing like Helen, the Bollywood Cabaret dancer.

Before entering, Birat had enquired about Shilpa. Or Deepa, or…he could not recall the name of the furious dancer who had promised to get him beaten up, with whom he had a brief affair two years back. “Rita.” The boy reminded him. And apparently she had left for good, which was a relief.

Basant, the owner who was well acquainted with Birat’s reputation with his “Bar-Queens” did not seem to care. He welcomed him with open arms. “Please bear with Junkiri…She’s new.” He’d announced as he ushered him towards the bar.

“Jun-What? Another ridiculous name of your future bar-queen?” Birat had asked him.

“No, no, that’s her actual name. Junkiri the glow worm.” Basant had told him translating Junkiri in English.

Distracted by the unusually overloaded interior, Birat had not paid attention to the new girl at first. It was when Birat ordered his first whisky sour and tasted it, that he noticed her already frail features shrivel further in absolute terror.

“What’s wrong…please tell me. I’ll fix it in no time.” She’d said.

If she wasn’t a female and attractive one at that, Birat would’ve made sure to get her fired after she produced three of his drinks which were far from his approval. The bartender she replaced was efficient and he knew exactly how he liked his drinks. But her presence made a difference. She was like a delicate fresh bloom, tempting him with her fragrance saying, “Pluck me! Pluck me!” in a room full of toads, croaking, making a nuisance of themselves. The sight of Junkiri cheered him up. He liked how vulnerable she was. Without ogling like other men, in his own unobvious way, Birat noted every tiny detail about her.

He noticed how her delicate hands, pondered over different shapes of glasses in uncertainty – they seemed to wonder which glass for which drink. She wore many thin silver bracelets with tiny bells that tinkled with every movement and her nails were painted yellow, to match a pair of denim that outlined her cute curves. The black figure hugging tank top was partly soaked in sweat as she labored in the bar. The boy was there to help her but no sooner did he appear he disappeared with a tray full of drinks. He then entered one private cabin after another, popping in and out through the thick maroon curtains.

She made mistakes – a lot of them, and frantically tried to fulfill the demands turning her space into a tiny amusement park for the customers. She would fumble and spill. The ice cubes, olives, toothpicks and slices of lemon were scattered all over the counter and five eggs had already been wasted on the floor. Birat was impressed with the girl’s natural talent at keeping people entertained by making small talk although she was in a panicky mess. Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, she would apologize, explain that she was new and to bear with her. She would laugh her short nervous laugh at every lame joke and cast a spell with her imperfection on every individual who came to quench their thirst.

Junkiri seemed intimidated by Birat. Her hands trembled when she served him his fourth whisky sour. Perhaps because he did not shower as much attention on her like as others did, or perhaps because he was the only customer who told her that she should enroll for a professional bartender course.

He took a sip. “Not bad. Could be better though.” He said, looking unimpressed. Sometime later, “Why are you so nervous?” He asked her. “You see all those ogglers?” Birat leaned towards her pointing at four men at a table who never took their eyes off her.

One of them winked at her “Hey Junkiri babe! It’s getting a little too dark here. How about showing some of your glow this way.” He said.

“See?” Birat said. “They’ll eat you alive if you keep looking like that. Loosen up. Here, take a sip.” He pushed his glass towards her.

As she looked at him in disbelief, her raven hair shone brilliantly under the bar-light and it made him want to reach out…run the silky strands between his fingers…smell it.

A folk song was throbbing annoyingly loud, for it was Basant’s favorite song. And every time this particular song played he asked the workers to make it louder. Birat wished to be somewhere quieter with Junkiri.

Don’t fall in love…
with the countrymen’s words…
with the songs of the hills,
the rivers, and the trees…

“Go on.” Birat pressed.

She shook her head. “I can’t. He’s looking this way.”

“Who?” Birat probed.

She looked behind him in a brief gesture.

Birat looked back from his shoulder, and waved at Basant. Hands folded backwards, Basant had vigilant eyes hooked on the bar. It puzzled Birat to see him devoting all his attention to the bar which he had shrugged off in the past saying that it belonged to his late father, and he did not care much for it. Basant only visited like a customer, hung out at the bar and having downed some free drinks he would retire in the room upstairs with his girlfriend. His father’s manager took care of the business.

“That fatso?!” Birat said.

Junkiri looked appalled at the word Birat used to address her boss.

“He’s an old pal! He won’t mind. Come on…You need it.” Birat urged. He had yet to meet a female who could resist an offer like that from him.

She looked reluctantly at her boss who has just left his spot to receive more guests, and quickly took a gulp from his glass. Then she coughed. The ogling men from the background clapped.

“One more. No. Take two.” Birat ordered.

“Go for it Junkiri!” shouted one man.

She took two quick sips and coughed some more. “Sir, I don’t think I can drink anymore.” She said hoarsely; as if she was drinking as a part of her duty – like a singer singing a number on customer demand.

“Ok. Now that you nearly finished my drink, you should buy me one.” Birat told her.

She stared at him aghast. Her wide horrified eyes seemed to be comparing the cost of the drink to the amount in her purse.

When the girl started to turn pale looking exceptionally sad, “I was kidding.” Birat told her, and blood gushed back to her face.

She gave him a shy smile and went to fix tequila shots for a man who smelled of fried beetle nuts. He leaned on the counter while he ordered, displaying a gold ring on his plump finger with a large diamond. His droopy eyes reminded Birat of a Sleuth Bear when he appeared to be mentally undressing Junkiri. He did not blame the man though; Birat felt no differently than him. He wondered why he hadn’t stayed back and married someone like her. Junkiri, the glow worm. She would enchant his days and brighten his nights…Why did he have to cross seven seas and get married?

“Junkiri!Junkiri!” Basant approached screaming. “What-are-you-doing? That glass is for whisky for god’s sake! Are you planning to doom me?!”

“Sorry…I forgot.” She said stumbling towards where smaller glasses were arranged.

Birat laughed. “Give her a break. Aren’t you cashing into your new girl a little too much? Do you remember the last time when this pathetic place was filled with so many people? You should thank Miss Glow Worm for brightening things up for you, and allow her to make more cute mistakes like that.”

Basant scoffed. “Cute huh? Biratji, these cute mistakes of her, are costing me a fortune! I don’t know about her brightening up my bar, but she did brighten up a lot of people’s night last night, when she served them beer glasses full of whisky.”

Birat burst out laughing, “I should’ve been here last night.” He said.

Junkiri looked up from the tequila bottle with flushed cheeks.

“Now I understand why you’re all vigil tonight instead of being upstairs with Mona…Monalisa. Isn’t that the name you gave her?” Birat teased him, then leaning closer he asked, “I think you gave your new bartender her name too…didn’t you?”

“Biratji, I think you should call it a night. Please go home.” Basant told him.

“If you did, let me tell you, it is genius…it suites her perfectly.” Birat babbled on. Basant waved him off and walked away, but not before he shot a final warning look at Junkiri pointing his index in a firm gesture.

The alcohol was taking effect. Birat noticed that Junkiri’s movements had become less jerky, she had started smiling more, communicated more confidently, maintained eye contact...She continued to make mistakes, but seemed less embarrassed by them, and did not apologize as much, talking and laughing more spontaneously.

“How about I drop you home tonight?” Birat asked her when the counter was clear.

“Oh that’s very kind of you, but this is my home.”

“What do you mean?”

“I live upstairs…with my mother.”

“Mona?”

“Yes…do you know my mom?” She asked in an innocent eagerness.

END