The tile-high club: How mahjong became the hottest social currency

Unexpected but true: Mumbai's elite have a new passion, and it's called mahjong ! Living rooms and club lounges from Chembur to Churchgate echo with the clack-clack-clack of 144 tiles shuffling - a sound that has decisively dethroned the genteel clinking of silver tea services and the buzz of kitty parties. Forget idle gossip or the thrill of a Prada bag, the new badge of honour is slamming a tile declaring mahjong with the drama of a Bollywood climax.

What began as a curious pastime, a let's-try-this diversion brought back from holidays in Singapore or Hong Kong a couple of years ago, has morphed into a full-blown, designer-clad, avocado-toast-fuelled obsession among women. Age and profession don't matter; an entire gamut of elite, be it the ladies that lunch, Bollywood actors, young mothers and even a multitude of working professionals have been drawn into its orbit. The weapons? Hand-crafted tiles of bone or even jade and gold. The armour? Statement Cartier bangles that risk damage with every aggressive move. The battlefield? An impeccably polished mahogany table where social capital is won and lost.

The origins of mahjong are shrouded in mystery. Most historians agree the game was codified during China's Qing dynasty in the 19th century. But the romantic legends are far more entertaining. Some say Confucius himself developed the game, its three main suits - Bamboos, Characters, and Circles - symbolised the virtues he admired. Others insist it was a clever invention of a bored concubine trying to win an emperor's favour.

By the 1920s, it had become a roaring craze in America. Articles from the time fretted over ' Mahjong Madness ' as a dangerous addiction, a seductive Oriental diversion that was causing women to ignore other obligations. A headline from a 1923 edition of The New York Times might as well have been written about today's Mumbai: 'Society Women Abandon Bridge for Mahjong; Fear New Game Will Cause Neglect of Homes'.

In India, it led a quieter life - in Kolkata's Chinatown where it was played in smoky, neon-lit clubs over steaming bowls of hakka noodles and chilli pork; in army cantonments where wives wielded strategy with the same precision as their officer husbands; and among the well-heeled and internationally travelled Indian upper classes.

But like all fads, it faded till its dazzling revival in the last year when the contagion spread through Mumbai's drawing rooms with a velocity of a viral meme. One season, it was the quirky thing your cousin from Singapore did. The next, it was 'the' thing to do. From its South Mumbai epicentre, the tremor is radiating outward. Pune's leafy clubs have begun hosting mahjong tournaments alongside golf championships. Bengaluru's tech-world wives are swapping startup talk for tile strategies. And this has even spread to the guarded farmhouses of Delhi.

In this new order, your status isn't your last name. It's your mahjong set. Starter sets made of lightweight plastic or bamboo tiles are treated with the same disdain as a fake Birkin. The intermediate player graduates to a weighty set of bone, the tiles clicking with a satisfying, authoritative tone. A lucky few have an ivory or a jade set in their collection. But the grand masters of this social game play on a different plane entirely. We are talking bespoke luxury sets crafted from malachite, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and housed in leather cases that cost more than a family sedan. The latest additions are automatic, self-shuffling tables imported from China that whirr and hum, dealing perfect walls of tiles at the push of a button, effectively eliminating the one bit of manual labour of the afternoon.

The refreshments match the sophistication of the game. In Mumbai, it's a parade of exotic hummus, truffle-infused arancini, sushi rolls crafted to look like miniature works of art, and gluten-free, sugar-free desserts that are photographed intensely before being nibbled. The peak of this foodie one-upmanship was a party where the cheese platter was meticulously carved into the shapes of the green and red dragon tiles. In Delhi, the approach is more robust: mini kebabs served on silver skewers, delicate kathi rolls, and paneer tikka. The conversation that flows around the game is fairly spicy -whose marriage is shaky, which builder is going bankrupt, which art gallery has the next big thing, and which doctor does the best non-surgical facelift.

Clearly, a social sport would not be complete without fashion. Mahjong afternoons are as much about Louis Vuitton bags, Patek Philippe watches, Hermes scarves and chic co-ords (coordinated sets for the uninitiated) as they are about tiles. Food, fashion and fortune now sit comfortably at the same table.

Even the hallowed, tradition-steeped halls of the Willingdon Club, a bastion of bridge, badminton, and complex membership rules echoing with the sound of clattering tiles. One can almost hear past presidents muttering into their favourite drink, "We survived the British Raj, the permit era, and the new money, but by God, we couldn't survive the mahjong mania!"

As it happens with any obsession, demand rapidly outpaces supply. So, mahjong instructors are more in demand than Bollywood fitness trainers and celebrity chefs, with wait lists stretching for months. These senseis of the tiles impart not just rules of the game but also its secret rhythms and advanced psychological warfare techniques. Their students form WhatsApp hives, buzzing at midnight with scoring queries and images of complex hands. The real bragging rights, however, belong to the circle that pools their resources to fly in a 'Master' from Macau or Hong Kong for a weekend retreat.

For some, the game itself is secondary. This provides them the oldest currency of all: access. An invitation to the 'right' mahjong table is the new-age equivalent of making the cut for a private yacht party in Monaco or an exclusive pre-wedding sangeet in Udaipur. The mahjong table is a sealed universe of four. To be one of those four is a tacit announcement that you are 'in'. As one Mumbai hostess, a queen bee of the mahjong scene, confided with a wave of her bejewelled hand, "It's not about the money, dahling. If you're not at my table on a Thursday, frankly, you don't exist." Another Delhi socialite was even blunter: "Mahjong is the new membership committee. It tells you who's rising, who's falling, and who's desperately trying to buy a set to get in."

This has not gone unnoticed by astute brands. The opening of a high-end jewellery store in the city recently featured not a champagne fountain, but four mahjong tables. The lure was simple: "Play a hand, win a discount."

Curiously, men remain at the periphery of this revolution, retreating to their golf courses, poker games, and the new fad of padel. Perhaps the potent combination of intense strategy, endless gossip, and the requirement to sit still for three hours is a biological impossibility for the male species.

So why has this particular game, above all others, captured the collective imagination so completely? The answer is simple: it combines skill, luck and endless conversation. It offers the thrill of competition without the brute force of sports. It's sophisticated enough to feel exclusive, yet social enough to make new friends. Above all, it fits beautifully into the rhythm of modern social life: it takes time, attention, and provides the perfect excuse to meet three times a week without guilt. What's there not to love?

And in many ways, it mirrors our own journeys - from the ambition to build a winning hand, to the lessons of failures and missed chances, to the wisdom of patience and strategy, the exhilaration of seizing the right moment - and when all else fails, the quiet art of bluffing with confidence.

The writer is chairman, RPG Enterprises