My incredible host had come up with another interesting evening and experience. We would venture to an equestrian, golf and tennis club to which he belonged – mostly for its restaurant. Mumbai’s Amateur Riders’ Club sits in the Mahalakshmi race course and polo complex near one of Bombay’s many downtowns (like Houston).   

A gigantic wedding was taking place at the complex and the main parking lot was filling up, mostly with guests treating their arrival like a bumper cars ride. Nrupen started cussing people the second we pulled in. It looked to be a lavish affair, some of the sherwani/saree combos were stunning. Sherwani are the nehru jacket outfits you may have seen on the “Cece’s Wedding” episode of New Girl or the horrifically bad The Love Guru.

When we arrived for dinner, Nrupen gave me a tour of the stables and restaurant’s interior. Extraordinarily well-looked-after on all counts. The horses were gorgeous and appeared well, save some visible ribs here and there. One horse in particular was enjoying his own private portable fan – a lot. He looked headlong into it and didn’t budge. 

We chose a linen-covered table with a wide view of the grounds and Nrupen poked his head in the nearby entrance and yelled at someone. Almost immediately, a fragile young man trotted out with place settings and glasses. After cocktails and hors d’oeuvres, Nrupen chose some go-to Indian favorites for dinner.  

Varan Bhaat, this was an upscale take on a classic, humble dish. A scoop of basmati rice in a small bowl, then you participate by ladling what I would call a lentil stew with some spice to it over the top. Brun Maska, warm crisp on the outside, soft inside bread that goes very well with everything, I asked Nrupen to ask the poor kid to refill it about five times. Mostly just so I could hear Nrupen sound like he was getting all riled up, but in reality, was just speaking Hindi. 

Bombay Duck, which I was excited about because duck is delicious. This, however, was fish. The Bombay Duck, in fact. An ugly bastard, battered and fried and… I’ll say it again… delicious. Kheema, mutton with a thick, coconut-based gravy, just outstanding. 

Then Gujju Thaali, a dim sum of sorts. A variety of things – vegetables, beans, fried things, yogurts and chutneys – part sweet, part savory. A delightful confusion for the brain. Capped off with coffee and ice cream. A proper meal on a calm, warm evening. 

“There’s a guy jumping out of that tree!” 

I felt like William Shatner (or John Lithgow) in The Twilight Zone. In the old movie (Lithgow) version and even older TV show (Shatner) version, the plane passenger claims to see a man on the wing of the plane. It’s actually a gremlin (a word used before Joe Dante’s famous film) trying to destroy the plane from outside. Nrupen and I were having a great meal and, raising a forkful upward, my suspicions were confirmed. 

As the darkness grew after sunset, I noticed movement in the fecund trees surrounding the dining patio. It couldn’t be, but looked like kids were jumping from the highest branches onto the stable roof but would sprout wings and fly off, away from the ambient light prior to landing. Surely I was just insane, I use this excuse with myself daily, no big whoop. 

“Hey, Nrupen?” He was musing over something on his own, likely something thoughtless I had done, “Yes, Todd?” I told him It looked like little people jumping from the trees over there then flying off into the dark. He didn’t even look, just continued eating, calmly saying, “this part of Bombay has vampire bats.” It didn’t make me feel better. ‘Why in God’s name (pick one) would you bring me here?’ I thought. 

A short time later, Nrupen was giving the waiter grief about something again and, after the poor kid walked off, he turned back to me and said, “Flying Foxes.” These creatures are, best estimate, 1.5-2 feet long with wingspans upward of 3-feet. Go ahead, look ‘em up. Unsettling.

What’s this fresh hell? 

Around the time we had dessert, fireworks went off, signaling that perhaps the ceremony was over. A couple of things came to mind, again – why a Wednesday night and – more important, who okayed the setting off of fireworks next to a horse stable? 

The poor horses lost their minds; kickboards were being tested, whinnies of distress could be heard throughout the vast structure and no one batted an eye. When asked how this could ever be allowed, Nrupen’s answer was what it had been two dozen times before when I had a question about something bizarre or ass backward. “It’s India.” I was beginning to understand more each time he said it. 

It was a remarkable, memorable time. After we finished I thought, ‘Eating incredible native food this close to a horse stable wasn’t the greatest idea.’

Check out that episode of New Girl. Taylor Swift’s in it.