A game of dice once led to the loss of a kingdom and a wife—in a gamble that eventually led to the epic battle of Kurukshetra. Unfortunately, much of this lesson,recounted in graphic detail in Ved Vyas' Mahabharata, has been forgotten by the modern-day Pandav—if today's pre-Diwali gambling is any indication.
At stake in these days of the Kali Yug are neither kingdoms nor wives. Just plain hard cash, with fancy cars thrown in for variety, as the festival of lights explodes into a "season of excess". Gambling on Diwali night is traditionally believed to invoke Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, who may then shower blessings on the player's household for the rest of the year. To propitiate this fickle goddess, denizens of mega cities like Delhi and Mumbai are going out of their way. As a result, the ritual familiar to most Hindu families—of playing with nominal money—is giving way to a whole new card game. And as gambling for money during the festive season becomes de rigueur, it cuts across all strata of society. In some groups, gambling starts as early as the shraadh days, which fall just before the festive season and were intended as a period of remembrance and respect for long-departed ancestors and relatives.
In Delhi, the gambling season kicked off on October 1. The lowest stakes being played are Rs 5 and Rs 10. And the highest could go up to as much as Rs 50,000 to Rs 1 lakh. The most popular game of chance: teen patti, also known as flash, an indigenous hum-dinger. And this world of teen patti has its own set of rules, code and ethics.
First, and the most important, is to stay clear of a card party in case you don't play—and at this time of the year that is the only kind of party that happens. Social life is restricted to intense card-playing sessions. Conversation is at a bare minimum and is limited to the game at hand. Says Tikka Shatrujeet Singh, India chief representative, Moet Hennessy: "I loath cards. It's extremely unsocial."
All players are expected to put cash upfront. Big-time gamblers who put down Rs 50,000 to a lakh of rupees a chaal, carry their money in suitcases. If the cash runs out, chips are allowed or obliging accountants called to bring in more money. And if an unfortunate loser doesn't pay up, that would be the end of his social life. A fate, no doubt, worse than death. Says Sumita Sharma, who is a regular at these card parties: "You have to pay up. If you don't, you are never invited to a party again. You are just dropped from society."
That's just for starters. In a notorious case two years ago, the trouble-happy Mumbai-based elder son of a famous Delhi industrialist sat down to play cards with a politically well-connected businessman. By the time the game wound up, the former was down by Rs 3.5 crore. Things turned ugly when the loser couldn't pay up. Over two days, cajoling gave way to serious threats and much ill-feeling before Papa stepped in and hard cash passed hands. Stories of big losses and equally big gains are legendary. The youth who had lost Rs 3.5 crore two years back won a Pajero last season. And Sanjay Puri (name changed to protect identity), a Delhi-based garment exporter and a hard-core party animal through the year, is said to have won a cool Rs 10 lakh last year. This year, his stakes are as high and Puri is once again on a winning track. Claims 35-year-old Raminder Singh: "I asked this friend whether he had made enough to get an Opel Astra from this season's loot. He scoffed and said he's playing for far higher stakes. That's the scale people play at." Money is the name of the game.
Five years back, when this trend of big bucks at Diwali first took off, an ageing Mumbai-based socialite was heard asking her husband for Rs 30 lakh to stake at a card party.
IF the rich and the famous play for money, 'timepass' and sport motivate the middle class.Groups are formed for the sole purpose of playing cards and many friends meet only at this time of the year. The stakes are low and one night's picking often doesn't exceed Rs 500 to Rs 1,000. Says Leena Prasad, who played cards for the second time this season on Karva Chauth: "We played Rs 5-Rs 10 and only for an hour, till the moon came out. It helped pass the time and diverted our attention from thirst and hunger." In the middle-class setting, the mood is lighter and far more enjoyable. Generally families and close friends play together and late nights are the norm.
Given the pervasive nature of these parties, many non-players in the 18-plus age group feel the peer pressure to play. One such beginner is 21-year-old Mandira Malhotra. "I used to find card parties very boring. This year my friends kept forcing me to learn, which I did. There is a definite peer group pressure. I gave in to it. Otherwise there is nothing else to do," she moans. Night after night only the venue of the party changes, the focus is always cards.
It wasn't quite this way a few years back. Recalls 83-year-old John Lall, a former member of the ICS: "I had no contact with gambling. In the official and social circuit that I moved in no one was interested in gambling. It wasn't quite the done thing. Nobody quite gambled away diamonds." Now gambling away a minor fortune is only a chaal away. With high stakes comes high pettiness. The High Rollers, as people who play very high stakes are called, show little generosity at this time of the year. Says PR consultant Radhika Vishwanathan who witnessed one such incident this year: "By mistake I sat on a high stakes table and it was amazing but people were fighting over five rupees. The higher the stakes, the more tense and cheap you get."
With the giddy cocktail of money and alcohol and the wild West ways of the Delhi social crowd, things can at times get a bit out of hand. At a card party last year, given by a newly-wed industrialist, things got so overheated that one of the players whipped out a gun and pointed it at one of his fellow players. This, at a socially high-voltage party for which invitations are greatly coveted, as apart from teen patti, the host organises blackjack and roulette.
With the new social acceptability, it's become commonplace for parents and children to gamble together pre-Diwali. Gone are the days when, as a fashion designer recalls, he would get beaten up by his father for gambling while still in school. Now the star of this year's card parties in Delhi is the 15-year-old daughter of a Calcutta-based film star. Says designer Tarun Tahiliani whose father served in the Indian Navy and who now, by the virtue of his profession, moves in the rarefied circles of Mumbai and Delhi: "I did not grow up seeing gambling. Now the viciousness and greed are unbelievable. "
As unbelievable are the superstitions attached to card playing. The most rational person (who through the rest of the year scoffs at palmistry, astrology, and other such grey mind-sciences) is willing to try anything to get favourable cards. So while some cut while dealing, others just tap the pack to indicate it has been cut. One gambler takes precisely three minutes to see his cards in every hand as he considers it lucky. Another ensures that no one else touches his cards. Others have lucky cards and if a group doesn't get good cards for a couple of hands, then the packs are changed.
The men continue to be the High Rollers still but the women now are as pro as the men. Only, the stakes aren't as high yet. For them, the excitement comes not only from the cards but also from the inevitable fashion parade. If cheating at cards is bad, repeating an outfit is outrageous. The big night is Diwali night, and the tempo at these parties reaches fever pitch a week before the festival of lights. But, given the recessionary trend in the market, this year has been more low-key than usual. And a bit of a backlash has led to many people backing out from the circuit. For the rest, gambling is no longer about losing wives and kingdoms, but about stepping on to the realm of social acceptability. n
