The news broke like a rogue algorithm crashing a server: Delhi’s most exclusive club, a bastion of old-world intrigue and new-world deal-making, is staring down the barrel of a shutdown. For those in UK diplomatic circles, this is not just a social inconvenience. It is a rupture in the delicate fabric of informal diplomacy that has long oiled the wheels of India-UK relations.
The club, whose name I cannot print for legal reasons, has been a microcosm of the city’s power dynamics. Its leather armchairs have hosted prime ministers, its cigar smoke has veiled billion-dollar deals, and its mahogany bar has witnessed the birth of policy and the death of careers. But now, a combination of regulatory pressure, shifting societal norms, and a digital-age reckoning threatens to pull the plug.
At first glance, the shutdown seems a local affair. The club’s lease has expired, and the landlord, a state-owned enterprise, wants to repurpose the prime real estate for a ‘digital hub’. This is Delhi’s New India moment, where physical gates give way to virtual ones. But the implications ripple far beyond Lutyens’ Delhi.
For UK diplomats, the club was a neutral ground. In a city where every restaurant is bugged and every phone is tapped, the club’s assumed privacy was a rare commodity. It was where ambassadors could speak off the record, where trade deals were sketched on napkins, and where cultural ties were strengthened over single malts. Its loss would force diplomacy into sterile conference rooms and encrypted apps, losing the human touch that builds trust.
This brings me to the core of the matter: the user experience of society. We are rushing headlong into a future where every interaction is mediated by screens, where algorithms decide who we meet and what we discuss. The club’s shutdown is a symptom of a larger trend: the digitisation of diplomacy, the platformisation of power. But as a technologist, I worry about the Black Mirror consequences.
Consider the data. Every digital interaction leaves a trail. In a world where quantum computing looms, encryption becomes a temporary shield. The club’s analogue secrecy was a form of digital sovereignty, a human firewall against surveillance. Its loss is a step towards a panopticon where every whispered deal is a data point.
Yet, there is a silver lining. The club’s shutdown could catalyse a rethinking of how we build trust in the digital age. Perhaps we need new venues, not of wood and stone, but of code that respects privacy. Decentralised autonomous organisations, blockchain-based secrets, and zero-knowledge proofs could become the new clubs. But only if we design them with ethics, not just efficiency.
The UK diplomatic circles taking note is encouraging. It shows a recognition that the future of diplomacy is not just about WhatsApp groups and Zoom calls. It is about preserving the human element in a world of algorithms. As we stand at this crossroads, let us not mourn the club but learn from it. The club was a product of its time. Our task is to build the clubs of tomorrow, places that are both exclusive and inclusive, both private and ethical.
In the end, the shutdown is not a bug. It is a feature of a system in transition. The question is whether we will steer that transition towards a future worth logging into.
