“It’s opposite the Vijaynagar Bus Terminus.” There’s an ominous silence in the car. “The bus terminus?” squeaks Diva No. 1, looking down at her metallic mini skirt with alarm. Diva No. 2 squeals, “This Diff 52 place is going to be a disaster.” “Diff 42,” states the sole man with us, calmly. “What did I say?” she snaps. “You said 52. For the tenth time this evening.” She thinks for a moment. “Oh ya, probably because it reminds me of that tablet, Liv.52.” She then shudders dramatically, before shrieking again, “Oh no. We’re spending Saturday night at a club that sounds like a jaundice tablet.”
The cab driver rolls his eyes as he drops us off at Vijaynagar terminus.
We totter out in ridiculously high heels, much to the amusement of the people waiting there for their buses. It’s about 10 p.m., and the inevitable clutch of drunken men is on the street. They ogle delightedly. Diva No. 1 pulls out her phone. “Oooh. Perfect time for a bus stop selfie.” Two passing men try to elbow their way into the picture. Diva No. 2, pulls her arm urgently, saying, “I need a cocktail. Let’s just go in.”
The bar pounds with Enrique Iglesias and energy. “This isn’t so bad,” the girls laugh, as we slide into a chic booth beside the island bar. That’s when I sit on a particularly squishy piece of chicken manchurian. Startled, I grab the table, only to find my palm sliding across what’s presumably the other half of my now squashed seat-manchurian. The tables around us, filled with chunky men, stare with interest. Our waiter, a particularly chirpy guy, bounces up and leans forward to whisper in my ear. “This is the stag area, madam. Come. I'll give you a different table.”
Still greasy with Manchurian, I’m determined not to move. Especially considering the fact that I’ve spent the last 10 minutes meticulously wiping the seats, tables and menu down with tissue paper. “We’re okay,” I shrug. “But. But. All men here,” he pleads. The divas get alarmed enough to stop uploading ‘Velachery bar’ selfies on Facebook for a moment. But just a moment.
“It’s fine,” I continue, in an attempt to mollify the waiter. “They’re not even interested in us.” It’s true. The Diff 42 men are more involved with their massive mugs of beer and plates of chilly chicken than a clutch of random girls. “If you think about it, it’s kind of insulting,” hisses Diva No. 1, patting her metallic skirt angrily. “Every man in this bar is picking chilly chicken over us.”
To be fair, the chilly chicken is addictive. A Thai version, green with chillies, is ideal bar food. And clearly Diff 42 takes its food seriously.
A second male friend joins us, beaming with delight. He’s been dreaming about Diff 42's signature beer tower for a week. However, we end up ordering a pitcher of Long Island Iced Tea instead, and much to his disappointment the waiter ruefully says he can’t pour it into a tower.
The pitcher, however, is zesty, packed with fresh slices of oranges and lemons, and subtly spiked with alcohol.
As we drink our way through it, we order plate after plate of food. Refreshingly, this bar doesn’t take itself too seriously, so you can eat anything from French fries to curd rice here. Yes. Curd rice.
Our fries are fat and salty, flecked with herbs and served with a bowl of creamy mayonnaise. We also try a satisfying cottage cheese satay, flaky fish fingers and spicy sweet corn fritters, which are crisp outside and explosively juicy inside.
By the time Justin Beiber starts rocking the dance floor (Yes, there’s a dance floor), we’re on our second pitcher of Long Island iced tea. Our waiter, who by now is delighted with us, brings across a tray of complimentary shooters, and joins us for a toast. “To Diff 52,” yells Diva No. 2. “42” we all say, wearily. The men at the adjacent tables clap encouragingly, and order themselves another round of beer.
Diff 42 is at No 7, Opposite Vijaynagar Bus Terminus, Taramani Road, Velachery. 044 30853862A meal for two costs roughly Rs.1000. Call 30853862
