01 October, 2020

Creatures That Crawl

Oil slicks and affluent effluents, yahoos and yokels, that's what floats in today's social cesspools—the watering holes of the concrete jungle

Creatures That Crawl

TIMES were when pools were water bodies rather than watering holes. Places you went to not so much to exhibit as to exercise. Sure there was che che quotient. Ye Olde Defense Services Clubs, the bridge-players-conclave variety of genteel, charmed circle clubs peopled by the pipesmoking "Uncle Andy's" and chic-coiffed, french chiffon and pearl-clad, cigarette holder-wielding "Aunty Pam's" was where you always wanted to be. Nobody one knew, for instance, was breaking doors to get into Municipal or Railway Club pools sans filters or the minimal maintenance and hygiene one felt was mandatory in the water one sometimes swallowed, other times plain wallowed in. And chances were the girls would always be better looking at the Gymkhana rather than the Ghatside pools. No value judgement there but just an instinct followed and often validated. For the rest, young and old alike were content to gambol in clean water, have some clean good fun. Like we said, those were different days: when water bodies were not watering holes.

No longer. Pools are more...



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