"The city of Mumbai is known for its night clubs and fine dining, sir", said Jeeves. "Perhaps you would like to visit some of them."
"Sounds like a topping idea!" I replied. "Bring on the gentleman's raiment and let us make merry."
And thus did I find myself at a prominent night club which, for reasons of legal prudence, I shall leave unnamed.
As far as the eye could see, there was a sea of wriggling humanity packed like so many sardines and dancing in the manner of felines who have accidentally found themselves deposited on hot tin roofs (or is it rooves? Must ask Jeeves).
I had had the foresight to reach early and occupy a vantage point, for otherwise, Bertram Wilberforce Wooster would surely have been known to posterity as Bertram Wilberforce Wooster The Flattened, such was the chaos on the floor. And the rum thing was everyone seemed to be enjoying it immensely.
The music too was a bit mystifying. It might have been named "Concerto for Pneumatic Hammer in C-Minor", for all its tonal qualities, but the attendees welcomed it in the manner of the rats welcoming the Pied Pipers flute number. Moreover, I had every reason to believe that, like me, they were paying through their respective noses for this pleasure.
I spent the evening sucking up some potent strawberry martinis and before long, felt an overpowering desire for quiet repose. I staggered outside and got the doorman, who looked like he was the Maharajah of Patiala, with twirled mustaches you could hang hats on, to find me a cab.
"Jeeves," I said, after I had been brought back to life by one of his excellent pick me ups, "this is not the life for us. I must find something more sedate to amuse me of an idle evening".
"Perhaps we might purchase a television set, sir," he said. "I have heard that the Indian soap operas are most entertaining".
And on the morrow, I found a large carton with an enthusiastic gentleman attached, ringing the door bell. Jeeves having stepped out for something, I opened the door and got it installed. And here's the thing. No matter which channel one tuned to, one found a stout actress of uncertain age answering to the name of Smriti Irani, gritting her teeth and looking like she was about to explode.
Switching off the device, I stepped out for a spot of lunch and when I returned what should I find but Jeeves glued to the television, a Hindi-English dictionary in hand, staring at the aforementioned stout lady like Hillary Clinton eying a super delegate. The man was hooked.
Well, what does add to such a tragic tale? We are now in the process of receiving advanced instruction in the nuances of the Hindi language and all our waking hours are spent in either watching or talking about the said soap operas. Jeeves has built a large network of informed sources who tell him what happened, what is happening and what will be happening soon, on "Mere Apne" and "Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi bahu thi". I fear for my sanity after spying a respectable looking middle aged gentleman (one N. Shenoy, of Malad west, for the record) walking down the street pulling out his hair and muttering silently to himself. It is said that he watched three soaps back to back.
(Author's note - I know, I know, this is the rottenest story you ever read, but I watched three soaps back to back, as you have noted, and I think I am more to be pitied than censured)