For all Bangalore's nocturnal animals, "drinking and doncing" is a strict no-no. This is the diktat as decreed by local law and enforced by the bawdy beatsmen (not counting the overbearing women of one's domicile). It's bad enough that the city's night-life ends at the stroke of 11 pm, when even the Women of the Night have to slink into the shadows. But if the coppers discern any slightly inebriated regalers emerging from pubs with even a hint of alcoholic reverie in their demeanour - a sobering shout-down, shake-up and shove-off, is in order. "No drinking and doncing on the street aphter lavan (11) pee-yam", emanated the words of wisdom from a heavily-brassed copper, as his henchmen subordinates man-handled our already shaky group. Joseph, the gentile runt of the litter, was flung headlong into a stationary auto-rikshaw (three-wheeler tuk-tuk scooter-like vehicle), while the remaining quintet was roughed-up with a tad less melodrama. No doncing, indeed, but thanks for that forceful jive! Now, many sunken moons later, every time I do a jig after a swig, "no drinking and doncing" are the words that wring my ear raw. No wonder, the British Colonial Era Irish settlers, picked up their bottles and left Bangalore, straight after "Independence". The aftermath is the after-party... is the shout-out from your irate, un-laid, Brahmin neighbour, who doesn't know how to party, "No drinking and doncing after lavan pee-yam!"
If you emerge from a popular pub in the city, ping at prohibition time, and see a plain-clothes-or-polished policemen in plain sight, you can rest assured, the demeaning discharge will be, "No drinking and doncing aphter 11 pee-yam"