It is the middle of December, the winter is yet taking stuttering baby-steps to an elusive full-blown chill. It could not, however, in the least bit dissuade the ladies and gentlemen from turning up that evening in all their winter finery. While the ladies looked elegant and soignee in their haute couture and coordinates, debonair and suave are the two attributes that come to mind to qualify the gentlemen’s sartorial tastes. The tone was predominantly black and gold, -- in contrast to the almost vibgyorish vibrancy of the ambience, with the purple fairy lights at one end of the spectrum and the long red strips of the marquee at the other. The Christmas tree on the dais set the tone of the season.

The occasion: the President’s awards and  Candlelight dinner on Saturday, the 15th of December, in the year of our Lord two thousand and eighteen, an annual feature that sets the Yule festivities in motion. The event, as the emcee, Leslie D’Gama, explained at the beginning, had been preponed -- to take recourse to a word that, until recently, had been frowned upon by the puritanically inclined -- to avoid the clutter in the calendar of the club in the second half of the month. The evening got under way with the address of the President, Jayajit Biswas, to the 185 members spread across 39 tables. He traced the origin of the institution, the eponymous baptism of the square at the centre of the business district of the city after the club, where it had originally stood until commandeered by the American army during WW II, when it settled at its present address. He went on to dwell on the uniqueness of the club, be it the only social institution with its own property, – and a sprawling one at that, one boasts, –  be it the home of quizzing, made popular by the legendary Neil O’ Brien, one notes again with pride.

The loyal toast followed. The President then gave away the awards to the staff,  Md. Shirazuddin, a bearer who has served us since 1985, and Satyabhama Naik for her diligence in the powder room, -- a no-no precinct for men,  the emcee rued, tongue firmly ensconced in a visibly protruding cheek.

Linda and Brian Sweeney were next conferred Life-membership for their long association with and outstanding contribution to the club.

Rohit Sanyal and Paarth Sabarwal were presented with the club colours; the two youngsters have been splashing around the pool for fifteen years now and have contributed -- prolifically -- to many a trophy that has rained on DI, to borrow the expression from a recently published article by Samir Doshi.

Dhruba Jyoti Basu, steering the club through quite a few sticky HR situations,  was honoured with the President’s Award, as was David Biswas who has contributed meaningfully to the culture of the club. The lucky draw for the ladies went to Mita Sen. Ms Sen was, indeed, lucky; her name came to be drawn after two announced earlier failed to show up. That for the men – I deliberately elect to omit the inflectional formative, gentle, the reason will be obvious to you presently -- went to, or rather, came to yours truly. The last and only other time I had bagged one was some fifty odd years ago, a Gillette shaving stick that I had little or no use for then. The bottle of whisky I look forward to uncorking.

The club’s own Mobile App was next launched. Available for Apple iOS and Android, the tech-savvy now have at their fingertips, to quote from the tag, the calendar of events, information on the club, notices, directory of members, privacy sharing options, kitchen menus, focussed feedback, council members, photo gallery, billing information and affiliated clubs. Tech-illiterates like me have been urged to contact the office. The vote of thanks was tendered by the Secretary, Michael Rao.

All of the above was punctuated by the deft fingers and tenor of Nigel Mitra and a mouth-wateringly lavish spread, to name in the order of appearance.

To narrate in the reverse order, the dinner was served by JMJ Caterers under the stewardship of Raju Gomes, a consummate cook. While the cream of tomato soup with basil and the Russian and green salads were common, the menus steered clear of each other thereafter, the one looking disdainfully at the other, that other reciprocating with a look of disgust. The meat loaf, salami and smoked ham comprised the cold-cut platter on one side of the aisle, bruschetta and assorted stuffed bell peppers made up the other. Fish belle meuniere, chicken roast with brown gravy , stuffed turkey with cranberry sauce and roast mutton with mint sauce brought up the main course for the carnivores. Vegetable au gratin, lasagne, paneer Mexican with herbed rice and grilled paneer made up the foursome for the herbivores. Plum pudding with brandy sauce and lemon soufflé brought up a lip-smacking end. It would be giving candidness a wide birth to say there were no murmurs: the items were being served with too much delays in between, some complained; but then the chef would make no compromise on his resolve that the food be served hot and freshly cooked. The entire process, from the food-tasting a couple of weeks ago, the laying of the tableware, the wait detail, to the supervision of the cooking was conducted under the strict and watchful eyes of Ruth Crizzle, Debra Alexander and  Michael Rao. The three were on their feet, there in the kitchen and the Indoors where the spread were being laid out, for the entire length of the function.  Yessir, for a period extending no less than three long  excruciating hours. May we all raise a toast to these three unsung, unseen heroes?

And finally, Nigel Mitra who debuted here on that very stage way back in 1974, then a stripling of sixteen. This evening his clavier keyed out numbers from the early jazz era, -- such favourites as Fascination, Strangers In The Night and Summer Wine. At Ms Joyce O’Brien’s request, he rendered Faith Can Move Mountains, a number Nigel claims, the late patriarch had paid court to his lady love with. Do we detect a blush creeping up on the cheeks and a wistful look in the eyes of the grand old lady? The carols ushered in the Noel spirit. No evening at DI can end without a dance. This was no exception. Couples swayed, they whisked, they sashayed, they promenaded, they fishtailed till lights were dimmed to signal the end of yet another memorable evening.