"How come we get a big car?" said Samreen.
"Because it is 2 am; and, nights are democratic."
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By then, all of us had eaten so much and had walked around for so long and it was so warm and humid that we couldn't care if there was surge pricing or what the model of the car was as long as it could pick us up and drop us at our homes.
The pleasure trip to Jama Masjid had begun two hours ago, soon after we put the edition to sleep. To work so close to the historic mosque - only about 4 km away - and the eateries around it with their offerings of delectable delights, and to not go there during Ramzan was unthinkable for us.
So, the sudden plan: five of us would head off in the office cab; two would follow in their car. It was past midnight already, but during the month of fasting, the eateries remain open till sehri (the hour when the daylong fasts begin).
"That's the Khooni Darwaza," I tell Vikram, Kamalika, Bunty and Samreen in the car. "In monsoon, they say, water drips from the roof, and along with the water, droplets of blood."
The car drops us about 1 km from the mosque. The police have blocked the roads to allow only pedestrians to access the nocturnal festival at Urdu Bazaar. It's a good move because even at that hour it is so crowded that our progress is slow.
(I'm reminded of a similar trip last year with two friends. My right elbow was fractured. It is difficult to negotiate crowds with a plastered arm - but even more difficult to hold a plate of steaming kebabs and eat them too.)
We order tikkas and kebabs, but no butter. This time, Samreen, who doesn't eat red meat, holds the plates while we tuck in, using rumali rotis to pick the meat roasted in front of our eyes on open coal grilles.
Kamalika and I start talking about the real beef kebabs - so tender, almost a dream - that one can have in Kolkata. Not the buff ones we are now consuming at an alarming rate. We debate on which one was better: the historic Nizam's at New Market or Nafeel at Park Circus. I think the former; she claims the latter. Then, I remember a dusk, many years ago, when getting off a taxi on the crossing of Syed Amir Ali Avenue and Congress Exhibition Road and smelling the meat being skewered. It's a pointless argument.
We press on through the crowds, past Al Jawahar and Karim's - both legendary and frequented too often. Our destination tonight is Aslam's, where tandoori chicken and kebabs are bathed in butter before they arrive on one's table.
But we get a little distracted and start on a plate of fried chicken at a shop on the way.
The cooking here is done in the open. It's a performance of sorts. One of the performers cuts the whole chicken into pieces and the other fries them in an enormous kadhai, brimming with boiling oil. If the KFC Colonel saw this, he would run with his money.
Then, I suggest we go for the legendary kebabwala at Chitli Qabar who makes sootli kebabs - wrapping the meat around sheeks with strings. But, not everything can be had in one night. The kebabs are over. We return to Aslam's, where Ram and Abhik join us.
My vocabulary isn't vast enough to describe all the gastronomic pleasures on offer in the eatery. Suffice to say that if a coma could be induced by overeating it would be a miracle for us to have survived it.
Out on the road, we contemplate desserts. Oh yes, we are going the whole hog tonight. No point in prevaricating - we are here for the feast, though only Samreen has fasted. As we slowly consume kulfis, rabris and shahi tukdas, a fire engine makes its way into the road.
"Where's the fire?"
We don't wait to find out.
As the taxi drops me at Malviya Nagar, the lights go out. A power cut on a humid night - but we are now so used to it. In my dark bedroom, I sit cross-legged on the bed and listen to the loudspeaker of the nearby mosque announcing how long it is to sehri: 45 minutes... 30 minutes...