Not so long before Tamarind Court, before lounge bars and comfortable nightclubs became the norm in Delhi, what the capital city had to offer by way of nightlife was the Pussycat discotheque.

This, along with the Lido and even shadier dives, offered what they called “cabarets” ? dances by women who had a tenth of the confidence of Mumbai's bar girls, a third of the income and none of the independence. For family dinners, there was Nirula’s and Moti Mahal; for special occasions, there were the faintly antiquated restaurants at Connaught Place.

But until the mid-80s, there wasn’t much after-hours entertainment in India’s capital city. “Cabarets” and “bars” were shorthand for seedy dives where the liquor was less trustworthy than the management, and where no woman would go for fear that she would be mistaken for the floor show.

Then a few entrepreneurs saw the potential for safe, comfortable nightspots where middle-to-upper-middle class couples and groups of single friends could go, have a good time, and relax without feeling sleazy about it.

Very few people would remember this in today’s Delhi, where A.D. Singh presides amiably over the tables at Olive and Ritu Dalmia offers wine pairing suggestions at Diva. But when Malini Ramani and Bina Ramani started up a pleasant bar in the Hauz Khas Village and then Tamarind Court, Delhi was quite taken with the novelty of having the owner and her friends double as staff.

Cosmopolitan customers loved being served by People Like Them, who knew their tastes and could stop for a chat ? it was like being at a good friend’s party. For men who were used to more conservative environments where women were either there for entertainment or absent, it was an eye-opener. A few bar brawls did happen; many were averted, with sheepish men so unused to being told off by a young, authoritative waitress that they meekly subsided, and learned to be more polite to women.

For some families, the new openness translated into opportunities that would have been unthinkable earlier. Five years before Tamarind Court opened, it would have been impossible for someone from Jessica Lal’s middle-class background to work in a bar-restaurant. But Ramani and her friends had ushered in more flexible standards. It worked well, for the most part; most men and women adapted with relief to the new freedom.

A few remained conservative. One of them was a man called Manu Sharma. He was modern enough to walk into a bar and order drinks; but so conservative that he couldn’t deal with a woman cutting him off and saying no, he couldn’t have more. That woman was Jessica Lal, and she paid for the gap between the old traditions and the new with her life.

This week, we saw all sorts of people demanding justice for Jessica. And it will be a measure of what wins, the old, patriarchal norms where power is its own justification, or the new modernity, where a model turned waitress deserves as much respect from the law as a politician’s son.