I Put a Spell On You

On the right kind of day, CCR is the only rock band worth listening to! Apocryphal, perhaps, but so true. There's something about how the deep bass lines, tinny-lilting lead riffs and the strained, gravelly vocals all come together that creates music that's quite unlike anything else.

Today's one of those days and all morning has been a long, unbroken chain of
SuziQFortunateSonHeardItThroughTheGrapevine
PutASpellOnYouBadMoonRisingLodiGreenRiver
DownOnTheCornerHeyTonightSweetHitchHiker

And, on the right kind of day, I shouldn't have to say any more than this. Do I hear the crowd say Aye? Do I?

Dance all night to this DJ

So we went clubbing the other night.

Just the four of us- Aby, Om, Ben and me. Saturday nights are usually complete write-offs for stags in Delhi but there are times when you just have to get right down and jiggy with it. This was one of those times.

Earlier in the evening we'd done The Village Cafe- good place for metalheads and classic rock fans, and, one of the few places in Delhi where they'll still let you smoke away to glory, or death- as the case may be, and we'd slummed it out at Al Bake and stuffed our faces on some of the best schwarma this side of the Yamuna. The point being- we were four very satiated beings on the long drive back to Noida, looking forward to a night of Beer-ing and Weed-ing, until Meeoow happened! Meeoow being the sole reason we still, occasionally, tune in to FM in Delhi.

Methinks its hard not to sing along when the theme for the night is cheesy-singalong-songs-from-the-80s-and-90s. So sing along we did. All the way. From New Friends Colony to Southex and up and down the numerous flyovers and over the DND in to Noida. By the time we got off the DND we had this irresistible, almost primal, urge to go dancing to cheesy numbers all night!

So we went clubbing that night.

But, as I said, Saturday nights are usually complete write-offs for stags in Delhi. So mission one turned out to be hunting down a club that would let in four delirious stags singing cheesy 90s numbers at the top of their voices. We finally found one. It had a dance floor the size of an average Mumbai bathroom and a DJ called Harkirat-Singh-something-or-the-other. But, and these are the good bits, it was packed to the rafters (something like that, anyway) with nubile bodies of the female persuasion all writhing to the cheesiest, desiest dance numbers ever, and they threw in bottles of beer into the bargain!

So we went clubbing that night.

We got right down and jiggied with it. Just like that. Thanks to the Molotov Cocktail of 90s pop, writhing women and good old spontaneity the night turned out legen - wait for it - dary!