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Where devils, angels vie for market bite

C.J. Punnathara

KOCHI, Aug. 9

THE Embassy Bar sits snugly beside the Grasshopper Restaurant, just a stone's throw away from the bustling Ernakulam South railway station.

But the similarity ends there. One is a watering hole for rustic commuters while the other tempts connoisseurs with Kerala's ethnic and natural food. Quite like their names, they are windows to two different worlds.

The Embassy Bar is dingy, dimly-lit, loud and crowded. But it is from these dingy bars that one learns the basics of economics. The theory of decreasing returns is scoffed at here. For the revellers, the more you drink the thirstier you become. The retur ns from the next drink is invariably higher than the returns from your just-finished one. Examples of people who have had one too many are a dozen in the dark recesses of the corridors.

The demand-supply theory hits you in the face the minute you cross the threshold of the bar.

Bearers are in great demand as hundreds of parched throats place their orders. But having been in several dingy haunts, these stalwarts realise that it is a seller's market. With the astronomical licence fee for bars in Kerala, they know demand will cont inue to outstrip supply. The vanishing act continues till the bill is presented and the bearer makes his ingratiating presence felt.

Then there is the Malthusian theory unique to Kerala's bars -- the more you drink the more you pay. It might sound prosaic. But the fact remains that while you drink in arithmetic progression, the bill grows in geometric proportion. How so, you might ask the next morning. But for the moment, your befuddled mind refuses to function and you cough up.

It all adds to your hangover the next morning. The pain of having been fleeced to the bone and the persistent feeling that you should not have had the last round. Then, there is the bonus of the headache too.

However, no amount of pain will bring stress marks on the forehead of the proprietor. He knows the rallying cry from parched throats will always remain ``give me more''.

And more is what the blender of local spirits has to offer, hooch. In order to maximise his returns, he has to produce the most heady drink at the lowest cost. Practising the finesse of his profession, he cannot be blamed if he adds a dash too much of me thyl alcohol. Then, the reveller takes a one-way ticket for a trip to the other world, quenching his thirst once and for all. He invariably wakes up with the angels singing besides him.

The land of ayurveda and spices has much more to offer than `kick' and revelry. Ethnic and natural food is its forte. Demand meets supply as a good sprinkling of bearers are at your call at the Grasshopper. The spicy tang of Embassy is lacking but the fo od is tasty. Recycling, however, is absent. Food, which is over three hours old, is not served at the Grasshopper. ``The older the food, the tastier it get,'' retorts the bar hopper.

The bogey of capitalism and competition is also lacking.

The bar hopper will never haunt the Grasshopper. But one thing is certain. The angels will never sing you to sleep or croon you awake at the Grasshopper!