A visit to Dewars bar in Bangalore’s cantonment area is like travelling in a time warp of sorts. Dewars is probably the oldest bar in Bangalore, and arguably the one with the most character. It was the favourite watering hole of young defence officers, bachelors and burra saabs left over from the Raj. A place steeped in alcohol-initiation traditions!
Nestled in one of Cantonment’s infamous little lanes, you’ll find it hiding surreptitiously beside a small over bridge... a cozy, colonial bungalow that has a distinct Raj hangover. Its unassuming old-world allure is a bizarre blend of religious piety coupled with the kind of gaiety that a peg or two brings.
Dewars used to be a Hakim shop before P.D Kanainaidu converted it into 1,485 sq.ft of bar space in 1933. His grandson Vardaraj has since taken over, but the old traditions remain. Like first offering a drink to the Gods, before opening the bar to the tipplers that roll in. Vardaraj performs this quaint ritual everyday, garlanding the long line up of sacred pictures that adorn the wall, just above the array of liquor bottles!
Amongst the pictures is a yellowing photograph of an Englishman in trousers and a summer shirt. Vardaraj explains that his name was Corroro (or something like that!) He was a soldier in the British army who ‘lost everything’ after the Second World War. Vardaraj’s grandfather gave the young soldier shelter and in exchange Corroro helped run the bar till the day he died.
Dewars is a delightful peep into the past. Quaint booze bottles on the shelves rub glass shoulders with flashy Smirnoff’s. Seated at the sturdy teak tables are old men playing cards, enjoying their evening drink, and the rare group of youngsters fed up of the disco ball syndrome A haunt for ‘hard core’ drinkers, Dewars stays open between 10 am and 11.30 pm with mainly men as customers. They sit slouched in cane chairs, legs stretched beside the muscled carved legs of the table.
Order your drinks by the quart and punctuate the pegs with chips, “mixture” or better still brain fry, liver dry, chicken, mutton and other animal spare parts. Either way, you can still stagger home with a heavy wallet and a blissful grin.
Dewar loyalists consider it a heritage house and their blood shot eyes get misty as they reminisce about the day they began flooding their livers here! There is no loud music, no ranting DJ, no sweaty, swaying bodies. Just the drone of deep-throated conversation and sounds of traffic mingling with the occasional clink of glasses.
‘Cool’ in a very quaint way, Dewars is a quiet, reassuring flashback and with a little help from well-placed customers will hopefully live on as a legend.
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