While approaching the interiors of The Permit Room, much like our food and drinks, we wanted the setting to stay true to its roots.
That’s why you’ll find movie posters with a South Indian twist to them sprinkled all around, and paintings and catchphrases that celebrate the quirkiness of our culture. Or even the walls that pay homage to street art, with furniture that’s as much an indicator of a city in the south as our food flavouring
Beer maps for world domination
If you look around, everything tells a South Indian story.
Just like our Old Club section.
If you’ve spent enough time in Bangalore, you’ve bound to have ended up in (or at least heard of ) Something-Or-The-Other-Nagar Club. Either for their Annual Dance/Christmas/New Year party or the fact that there is a 10 years waiting list for you to become eligible to sign up as a member. Not a member, just eligible. Something the existing members won’t let you forget.
Talk about retaining some colonial style snobbery!
10 years waiting list, beetcheees!
But ridiculous waiting lists, and general insufferable members aside, these old clubs definitely have a charm of their own, in a way all old-school Bangalore things do.
It could be the furniture, that’s seated everyone from British officers to the intellectuals and politicians of pre-Independence times, sipping away on their tea (and whiskey), smoking a pipe, probably discussing politics, world events, or just cricket scores.
Stand around in one of the halls in these clubs, and you’ll almost hear the walls and furniture around you resonating with the decades of conversation and history that they have been witness to, and seemed to have absorbed over time. (These days, if you stay long enough, you’ll hear some DJ playing the latest Bollywood remix of some song at some party also. Different kind of resonance, that.)
But just like how the walls and everything contained within them tell a story, the idea behind our second floor was to recreate the mood of a time gone by, a place you’d end up at after a game of cricket, or polo, perhaps. Where you could grab a drink (or three), play the role of a gentle(wo)man, eat a good local meal, and return to the comfort of your home.
Simpler times.
Sacred tablets with wisdom from older generations, standing the test of time.
So next time you’re on this floor, don’t be surprised if the ghosts of gentlemen-past compel you to pull out the chair or open the door for your lady love(s). Just don’t blame us if the non-ghosts of feminists-present kick your ass for doing so.
You have been warned!