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Articles: My Experience | The Complex:
- Mr. Indra Nalli
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A shocker of monstrous proportions. One in which my predatory instincts came agape like my hidden, briefed eye.2 floors of pulsating music blaring from 4 dance floors catering from hip-hop, hard rock, techno and a mish mash of all with Jamaican accented DJs thrown in. Guys and gals in all assorted colors, hues and wear moving their bodies or to be specific, their hips imitating dirty dancing or respectfully, the tango . It was like in one of those MTV videos and me being transposed in midst. The modus operandi was to go behind a gal, latch onto her hips; then start grinding horizontally, vertically, clockwise and anti-clockwise. Yep, cavorting and courting was the winning combination.It was eye candy at first but I finally gathered the strength to follow up after observing this quirky activity. Suppose a chick doesn’t or as the case here is, her friend doesn’t like you (like in that CUPID reality-show shit)she moves away to face you 90 degrees, to glance on the sly and nod approval at heeding her pal. My probability was .3333 recurring in almost 2 hours of jumping, moving, shaking and wriggling. It was self gratifying as I recovered a percent of my investment here. Perspiring, most of my time was spent in envying puckering lips and damn-clothes-are-in-between roll/shake outs. The rock room brought out the hidden fantasies of the Spears/Aguilera kind in post-puberty gals standing on the bar, exposing their g-strings and occasionally m-glands, to the cheer of white males. Entry was cheap at 5 but beer cost 3.50-4.50 a piece. At quarter to 2:00am soaked to the skin in my specifically-Mumbai-brought-dance-shirt (Rs.350) and my eye watering heavily I fled, sadly alone.
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