(From top) City models or young celebrities — girls just wanna have fun. The Telegraph file pictures

How many hours have you spent discussing, debating and decrying how unfair it is being the so-called fairer sex, even in Calcutta 2005? If the answer is endless, you’re on.

One of the things that stares us in the face, cocky and cruel, is the ‘no entry’ sign greeting girls at doors through which boys enter with impunity ? those opening into the wonderland of watering holes (be a sport and down a few, Alice!).

On a sudden whim to brave it all for some beer and cheer, sangita sultania g. roy decided to hit a host of pubs on Monday evening. Here’s what happened, on the rocks?

Amber amble

I crossed the road leading from my workplace to a famous refreshment landmark in the vicinity, Amber. The age-old restaurant-cum-bar had expanded recently and I was curious to check it out. My sense of direction has always been suspect and I tried to push open the first door that said BAR, without looking up or down. Before I could put my right foot inside the doorway two burly guards came rushing out, shut the door firmly behind them and asked me, ever so politely, what I wanted. What could one possibly want in a place like this my face seemed to say and they promptly pointed upstairs. Why not here, I enquired. “Ladies not allowed here ma’am, you go upstairs, same food, same drink,” came the firm reply. But not the same price, eh?

Magnolia mix

I had only just started. My next stop was Magnolia. Not trying to get into the pub, separate from the ‘family dining area’ would be to concede defeat (and coughing up at least 30 per cent more). Not being turned away would have been a miracle ? miracles don’t happen on muggy Monday evenings in the middle of Park Street, I guess. All that was missing was a sign saying ‘Women and weapons not allowed’. On asking why I was being denied my right of way, a hapless employee mumbled, “All types of people come ma’am, not safe for ladies.” Sorry, not my idea of a knight in shining armour.

Oly Pub pick

Counting my cash while planning a dash into a five-star retreat, I spied a lone White lady getting into Oly Pub. I stuffed my wallet deep inside my pocket and followed her in. I parked myself in a corner and hollered for the waiter: a chilled pint of the famed draught beer, please. “Is there any man with you?” was the password poser. Not unless he was invisible, I wanted to say but simply shook my head in the negative. “Then madam we cannot serve you alcohol,” he said, slightly embarrassed, as over his shoulder I could see one of his colleagues serving the White lady an entire pitcher of beer at an adjacent table!

The waiter followed my astonished gaze and mumbled, “She is an outsider, so?” How ‘un‘fair’ could it get? I demanded to see the manager. Mr Manager was missing in action so it was left to the man at cash counter to fob me off. His argument: an excise law debarring the establishment from serving alcohol to a woman not accompanied by a male member of the human species. “The law is for the safety of women,” he added, forcing me to play my trump card: “Isn’t the foreigner over there a woman, and isn’t she alone?” Finally, the tide turned.

Trincas tinkle

But I didn’t feel comfortable to roost amid so many ruffled feathers, and beat a retreat? to Trincas. Tavern was a name that appeared appealing. Again, I had instinctively chosen the wrong place. The chilled-out sounding address turned out to be the only place in Trincas that did not serve alcohol to “single women”. I could hear music wafting out of the Gulnar and went in, only to be greeted by a terrible sound system and tacky music. I sat down and ordered a small something. So this is where it all started in the 60s, I thought a tad philosophically. A closer look around brought home the irony of the whole thing ? poor music, poorer crowds, and poor ol’ single woman, me!

Someplace succour

I now longed for familiar surroundings more than anything else. I let out a defeated sigh and dragged myself to Sameplace?er?Someplace Else. As Natalie Imbruglia and Bob Dylan together with some much-longed-for beer soothed my senses, I settled deeper into my bar chair and waited for the band of the evening, Orient Express, to hold fort. Just when I thought nothing could go wrong, a wannabe Romeo walked up to me with the following preamble: “You are drinking alone, how cool, can I buy you another drink?” I had been through enough for an evening and snarled, “Leave me alone!” The fellow was in no mood to, but before he could ruin my day for good, one of the bartenders came to my rescue. “Any problem ma’am?” “Yes, could you please ask the gentleman to leave me alone.” I never saw him again.

Shisha shimmer

A girlfriend joined me a while later. She was in the mood to shake a leg, so we trekked to Shisha on Camac Street to cap it off. Another favourite (but expensive) hangout, its dim, muted lighting and d?cor never fails to put you at ease. Some chill-out lounge was playing and we made ourselves comfortable with refreshments on the low seating.

We thought the nearly empty nightclub belonged to us tonight when a largish group of the white-collared variety trooped in. We didn’t pay them much mind till one pot-bellied man in the gang suddenly chose to plonk himself on the sofa opposite us, seeking permission to join us! We asked him to fade, in many more words. A while later, another middle-aged dude, a foreigner, in the gang came up and offered to buy us a drink. “LEAVE US ALONE”. The Shisha staff sensed our displeasure and asked the gang to leave, foreign clients and all.

Phew, all in an evening’s work! Next time, I plan to just do it at home.