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The Rediff Business Special/Business of balls

'Take a cue, pool money, turn the tables, line pockets'

Syed Firdaus Ashraf in Bombay

College canteens, out. Discos, out. PYTs, out. Picnics, out. Rides on the highway, out. Cybercafes, out. Libraries, out. Television/movies, out. Out, out, out. So what's in? Pool is in. Yeah, pool. It's cool! It's fun. It's business.

Lights. Tables, cues and balls. Action!

There's plenty of it. Sample: "Tell Rahul to make his choice: either Pallavi or pool," an aggrieved teenaged girl blurts out in a Friday afternoon chat-and-song show on All India Radio's FM channel in Bombay. If Pallavi turns green with envy, Rahul just might bend over her to play pool, mistaking her colour for his favourite tabletop. Listen to her complaint with the half-amused, half-surprised radio jockeys: "These days, Rahul's always at the pool club. He doesn't have time for me. Not even on Sundays. This won't do."

As Pallavi and thousands of her ilk cry in desperation, operators of hundreds of "pool clubs" -- they have mushroomed in lanes and bylanes of Bombay and several other Indian cities -- might smile contentedly at their "achievement".

Why not? The cash registers ring almost incessantly at the newest hang-outs of fun-loving college-goers such as Mahesh Sathe and Rakesh Haritwar.

In these times of recession, it seems, pool -- "also called pocket billiards. Any of the various games played on a pool table with a cue ball and 15 other balls that are usually numbered, in which the object is to drive all the balls into the pockets with the cue ball" -- makes better business than most other traditional enterprises. And so smart people are setting up recreation joints by the minute with fancy names like Pool Garden, Pool Eden, Pool Oasis, Pool Galaxy, Pool Park....

"I've been a regular for the last four months. I'm here at least four times a week. I've become an expert at this game. It's so much fun. The college canteen can wait," gushes Haritwar, a patron of Pool Plaza at Kemps Corner in south central Bombay.

It is not as if only the guys wanna have fun. Girls, too, seem happy swimming along the pool tide. Sapna Choksey spends five days a week at Buddy's, a family entertainment centre at Nana Chowk and, like Haritwar, calls herself an expert. Her monthly pool budget is "Rs 2.5K". She is convinced she draws value from the money sunk into pool.

"Well, I'm learning a game, acquiring a skill, which can't be said of a disco. My parents don't object to it. They visit this joint to watch me in action," says Aakruti Jalaal. Shabbir Alam advances a similar theory, but with a difference. "I'd rather spend money on pool and acquire some skill than please gals by buying them things."

Sure, pool joints have captured the imagination of Indian youth. A typical pool joint: it is on the wayside, or amidst other commercial establishments or shopping plazas. Outside, in the parking lot, is a row of sporty mobikes and cars. Behind the curtain-laced glass panels is the arena. The air-conditioned interiors are slightly dark, illumined only by the suspended lighting systems that lit up the three or four or more pool tables. Western music is in the air.

The scene is a phalanx of colours, odours, material: green or blue tabletops, shiny wooden cues, multi-coloured balls, golden-hued lighting, yellow skirts, blue denims, formal trousers, T-shirts, orange tops, jazzy goggles hung around the necks in a chain, white cigarettes, grey smoke, red Coke cans, masala wafers, Poison fumes, pigtails, ear-studs, high-heeled shoes, brown flesh. The scene is also vibrant with small talk and jokes: "Silly you. Can't you bend, wink, aim, shoot the balls with the cue so they go scurrying to the holes? Didn't you ever play carroms?" says Sunil while coaching his pal Santosh.

The ambience is that of a disco, casino, restaurant, all pooled into one. Youth crowd around the tables. At one table, there is a greying, 60-plus gentleman in grey trousers and full-sleeved white bush shirt, cue in hand, trying to get a feel of the scene. At the next table, the players are surrounded by 15-odd onlookers, most of them their friends, each awaiting his/her turn to play and spend money.

And then there are the operators, the newest "entrepreneurs" about town, waiting to make money out of the "low-investment, low-gestation, high-returns" business.

A pool table -- "a billiard table with six pockets, on which pool is played" -- measures 8x4 feet, and costs anywhere between Rs 40,000 and Rs 120,000. Invest on a few pool tables and the attendant paraphernalia, and some space, and the show is on -- that seems the story. Pool associations are non-existent so no affiliation is required. Nor are there laws or bans, so there is no need for any government licence.

Pool clubs charge Rs 50 for a game (called frame) which usually lasts 15 minutes. Each club on an average has three tables, and is open for 15 hours a day. No holidays. No nothing. Non-stop, from 11 am to well past midnight. A conservative estimate of 100 customers a day would net a minimum of Rs 5,000 for the pool owner. Or, Rs 150,000 a month. Pool's cool, we said, no? Expectedly, pool clubs are averse to sharing financial details.

The situation suits Pankaj Adatia fine. He owns Texas Corporation which runs a family entertainment centre. He is planning to open a mega 10-table pool centre in Bombay's northwest suburb of Malad. "If you have your own place, and time (for maintenance and management), you can take a cue, pool money, turn the tables, line pockets," he says, smiling, but with an air of certainty.

Raju Rane, a real estate consultant in Baroda, is excited, in spite of the bearish mood in the industry. He is planning to take the plunge into the pool business. "I found people waiting in queue to play pool in Baroda. I've ample space. So I've decided to set up a pool club. I'm sure I'll be able to break even in just six months."

Adatia traces the pool fever to the United States. "The pool culture has caught on with everybody there."

Adds Nelson Lobo, manager, Buddy's, "Youngsters prefer pool to other indoor games in our club. The fever is on."

Agrees N Nagee, proprietor of Nagee & Company, the largest supplier of pool tables in India. The Nagee family has been in the table-making business from the days of the British Raj. There was a time when the Nagees made billiards tables for clubs and hotels. Now, he says, there is a spurt in the demand for pool tables (which are slightly smaller).

Nagee, too, declines to part with details of his business turnover, but says his business has nearly tripled in the last five months. And, yes, he is finding it difficult to cope with the pan-Indian demand. "I am making a table a day."

One reason why the demand outstrips supply, he reasons, is that not every carpenter can make the pool tables. "It's an art. The surface has to be real smooth. Only imported ones can match my quality. But then, imports are expensive." Former world billiards champion Michael Ferreira endorses Nagee's claim.

Interaction with a cross-section of pool-lovers reveals that though the game is becoming popular and commercial, there is hardly anything happening on the coaching front. Former billiards and snooker champions are conspicuous by their absence from the 'pool-side'.

Ferreira plans to fill the void by opening his own joint to train youngsters. "I'm planning to set up the Pool Association of India, to popularise the game in India. Those who run the pool clubs don't know how the game is played. The tables are not really of the right size. They are into business and are not involved in game-building."

But youth like Ajay Bhandari, 18, have no complaints. "I love music. I love the company of my friends. I love to play games with them. The good thing about pool is that, it allows us to play at the same time. We Dutch the bill, so it doesn't punch a hole in my wallet."

"It's fun, given the fact that there is hardly any place to play outdoor games like cricket. Pool's better -- it doesn't disturb anyone," says Sanjay Joshi, a student of Bhavan's College who plays pool at Jogeshwari. Maybe. Girls such as Pallavi may disagree and complain on radio chat shows. But it will only prove that there is no business as cool as pool.

Photographs: Devyani Chandwadkar

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