Kissing a much-loved TGI Friday's Good-Bye

My first memories of TGIF are of my skipping along Connaught Place’s Inner Circle, playing with the columns, and standing to stare outside a bar (at that time, we were unfamiliar with the words pub / watering holes / lounge), painted in red and white stripes.

Music wafted from the inside, as did a delicious aroma of what were probably potatoes in melted cheese. Slurrrrrrp! A steady stream of tourists kept stepping in, affording me a better look into the interiors – a fascinating place with wooden floors, red and white table cloths, bartenders with cocky hats taking orders merrily, colourful posters on the walls and very exciting-looking drinks.

The notice outside the bar which stated sternly that minors weren’t allowed, and the admonishments by my parents to get my nose (which was pressed against the bar’s tinted windows) away, were two primary reasons that accounted for my melancholic face, a face that continued to droop till the time we entered the more ‘tame’ Nirulas, and the pull of the Hot Chocolate Fudge took over, overruling my initial resentment at being whisked away from the object of my Peeping Tom-ism.

However, I didn’t forget TGIF.

Not for once.

Circa – first year of college -1998. Four girls walked jauntily into TGIF, CP, well remembering to carry their college IDs lest the bartenders or the management wanted to check their eligibility to enter the pub. Smart move! As they did check. Thankfully, all of us had already celebrated our respective 18th birthdays. And we weren't turned away, as was the similar-aged group which tried to enter around the same time, but their lack of IDs turned out to be the dampener. Too bad for 'em!

As we took in the interiors and the customary hats and boots, wide-eyed, one thing caught our eye – the shiny, whacky buttons that the bartenders wore on their uniforms. The friendly bartender guessed it was our first time there - we looked the average college-goers who didn't have too much money to spare, and for him we were probably just a group of hood-rich teenagers.

He very kindly suggested we wouldn’t be disappointed if we tried the Mozzarella Sticks. We weren’t. And I also suspect he put in a few extra pieces for us (God bless his soul), as the bloke who ordered for the same at the next table, got a smaller serving than us. Our very first Screwdrivers didn't let us down either, though they did reinstate our having scraped our pocket allowances to be able to afford our treat’ there.

From that day, we were hooked!

Of course the regular visits began only when we started earning, and didn’t have to pinch pennies to down a drink there.

The memories are the sorts that one cannot forget in a hurry.

Like the time I celebrated a birthday there once, and it became lovelier, thanks to the FREE FREE FREE finger-licous chocolate cake by the management (they did check my ID to verify it really was my birthday). And the merry song-and-dance routine by the bartenders that accompanied the cake.

Or the time when a totally-sloshed me, knelt in front of a hugely-embarrassed bartender at TGIF, Basant Lok, begging him for one of his badges. (I’d like to think it was my persistence that paid off, as he handed me not one, but two of ‘em – my friends begged to disagree though, citing various reasons for his having done so, the most frequently-cited one being his unwillingness to grapple with a half-crazed, high-on-energy (read drowned in Long Island Iced Tea) chick.

Or the time when a friend, much to my horror, spilled the last of the ‘Buy-One-Ger-One-Free’ Happy Hours tequilas, and we couldn’t spend on more. Fingers were pointed, scowls were exchanged, and the management – taking pity on us, gave us a free one.

Or the time when yet another friend decided to notch up his experimenting quotient by ditching his customary scotch on the rocks for an Everclear cocktail, a move that let’s just say, ended on a sour note, my clothes being soaked in puke that would make a skunk proud. Oh, and did I mention that fine detail that it was winter?

Or the time when a good friend, very very partial to her Strawberry Daiquiri, kept giggling throughout the course of our hour-and-a-half time there, much to the curiosity (and then amusement) of the patrons sitting nearby.

Or the time when my friends and I would wait outside patiently for the clock to strike 5pm, and then step inside to be able to get one-on-one Mojitos. Hey, we are smart, not cheap! Grrrr!

And now, I hear that the TGIF in Basant Lok looks ready to follow in the footsteps of the CP one, which closed sometime back. It is downing its shutters this Monday - June 22, to reopen in one of ‘em dime-a-dozen malls in Vasant Kunj.

While this may not exactly be in the nature of a national calamity or bring the roof crashing down on my head, it does move me.

Quite a bit.

Since I associate TGIF, especially the one in Basant Lok, with very very fond, sloshed memories.

So while many people, including hubby dear, call it a commercially-hyped establishment, one where there is no VFM (Value For Money), where the red and white stripes only induce a dizzying effect (and the dim lights don’t help much either), and flagging a bartender makes flagging a cab down in a congested area a cakewalk – I still remain a staunch loyalist.

After all, how can I forget, among other things, it was TGIF that invented the Long Island Iced Tea and Loaded Potato Skins.

Besides coining that word which brings a smile to our lips – ‘Happy Hours!’