Puff goes Perkino II

Saturday night I found myself in a club beneath the Leela Palace (one of Bangalore’s swankiest hotels). I’m two floors underground in the bowels of the hotel, surrounded by a seething mass of hot, sticky people. The deep bass notes of the latest techno track thump out of floor to ceiling speakers.

This is part of India is definitely shining. Here the emerging middle class, the recipients of India’s dramatic IT boom, have come to unwind and spend their hard-earned but eminently disposable cash. Labels – Gucci, Armani, Tommy Hilfiger – are on ostentatious display but its mobile phones that differentiate the “doing well” from the “doing fabulously”. Needless to say, I felt a little out of place with my old school Nokia candy-bar model (one chap even pointed at my phone in disbelief; what could I do but shrug?).

I observe the scene, cold Kingfisher in hand. 750 people make for a pretty good atmosphere and this party is in full swing. Suddenly off to my left, I see the long, white bar light up in an intense bright orange glow. The crowd bursts out into a startling “woohoo” and surges towards the bar. I move with them to get a look thinking this must be the start of some sort of light/laser show.

But to my amazement I see the three barmen have just set the bar on fire. A 20m flame runs the length of the bar. Plastic squirty-bottles in hand, the barmen spray long jets of lighter fuel at it, urging the pyre ever higher. The flames dance, spit, and burst upwards in long golden swirls. They reach the roof, billow big clouds of black smoke, and die down. The crowd roars and the DJ nonchalantly notes: "The bars on fire".

My thoughts: 2 floors underground, no visible exits, 750 intoxicated people. Thank god we're not all wearing polyester.