Clubbing with the Gods

I was about to climb onto the exercise bike at my neighbourhood gym the other day when strains of a popular Indian devotional song began blaring from the loudspeakers. I stopped dead in my tracks thinking the gym manager, a brawny young lad with an abundance of gel in his hair, had somehow mixed up the tapes. I waited expectantly, one foot suspended in mid-air, for the usual peppy dance number to follow.  As if on cue, there was a rhythmic thump of an electronic beat and the devotional song had turned into a dance number. I looked around me in alarm. Was the gym hosting an flashmob satsang? Were we supposed to step off our machines and fold our hands in prayer? 

The others around me didn’t seem to be affected by this rather strange choice of music. The gym folks were on their machines or flexing their dumbbells, as usual. My neighbour Mrs M leaned over from the next bike and whispered with a smirk on her face. “Arrey, don’t look so shocked, babes. They are playing the new bhajan club mix.” Seeing the confused look on my face, she let out a shocked gasp. “Haven’t you heard of bhajan clubbing?”
 
Now it was my turn to look shocked. Bhajan Clubbing. Two words I never thought I'd hear clubbed together. But Mrs M proceeded to tell me, in between huffs and puffs, that bhajan clubbing is a thing. And judging by the crowds that turn up for the bhajan clubbing concerts at stadiums, a very big thing in this part of the world. Mrs M tells me that her friend’s housing colony hosts regular bhajan nights featuring live dhol, remix aarti, snacks included. She started attending them for the snacks initially but somewhere between the third “Radhe Radhe” remix and a catchy dhol beat, she felt something awaken inside her. She says it’s devotion. But I suspect it was her long-forgotten desire to become a dancer.
 
Almost overnight, Mrs M has become a nightlife enthusiast. She has a bhajan themed wardrobe. She’s ditched her sensible cotton suits and acquired an assortment of sequined dupattas reflecting divine light, jangly bangles to add to the percussion and a glittery pair of juttis that lights up when she stamps her feet during the chorus. Her friend circle has evolved too. No longer just kitty party companions, they are now her satsang squad. Mrs G is the lead vocalist, self-appointed of course. Her falsetto can shatter glass. Mrs V makes up the rhythm section with two spoons and a steel tiffin dabba. Mrs S is backup vocals and freestyle devotional choreography. Stay clear of her arms if you see her though. You could land up in hospital with grievous injuries. The colony also hires a DJ for the events – Devotional Jockey in case you were wondering.
 
Ever since my strange encounter at the gym, she’s invited me for various dos. Retro Bhajan Night, Bollywood Bhakti Fusion, Garba with God. The colony children are fascinated, she says with a giggle. “Your mom goes clubbing?” one kid asked her son recently. He shrugged. “Kind of. But instead of alcohol, they have Rooh Afza. And instead of ‘DJ Wale Babu,’ it’s ‘Bhagwan Wale Babu.’ 
 
I haven’t been a single of these clubbing nights yet. I’m still not convinced prayer and clubs go well together. But I’m tempted by the sound of the free snacks. Maybe there’s hope for me yet.