Drunken Dairy: Part I
People drink for different reasons: to quench thirst, to loosen up, because it tastes good, to enhance a meal, because they're addicted, as part of a ceremony, to celebrate, to mourn. And every soul that has tasted the “elixir of life” has gone through the “first time ever” blues.
We’ll I’ve had my fair share of “drinking joys” - I say “joys” largely because I don’t remember much of what all happened after I decided to give up my “teetotaller” status on the frozen New Year’s Eve of 2008, and even more significantly because the friends who had egged me on to “taste divinity” later narrated tales of how the “cute little sozzled head” in their house created a ruckus of sorts after downing a few shots of Vodka.
My first tryst with the mystical world of spirits dates back to December 31, 2007. On fervent insistence by my bestest buddy and colleague Anjali, I had gone over to Bathinda, her husband Manish’s place of posting at that time, to celebrate the New Year’s with the newly married couple. They were throwing a big bash and Anjali’s party would have been incomplete without me, her closest pal.
We were all geared up to usher in the New Year with full gusto even though the bone-chilling Bathinda winter made us numb deep inside our skins. Preparations were in full swing till late evening. With war paint and our besties on, Anjali and I were all set to rock the dance floor. It was almost 8 pm but Manish and his juniors, who lived on the first floor of the mess Anjali was temporarily occupying, were missing.
A phone call informed us that there had been a death in the Unit and that, the officers would return home well past midnight.
Returning to our old “plain Jane” selves, cosily buried inside the quilt, we made ourselves comfortable in front of the room heater, when power decided to play truant. With a long night staring in our faces and freezing cold threatening to anaesthetize us, Anjali and I inadvertently got into a lengthy discussion about the unfortunate incident that took away the life of the soldier.
Hours passed quietly and the clock stuck midnight. The New Year had dawned. But we had little to cheer about. The frailty of life had shaken us badly. Our hearts went out to the bereaved family. The thought of celebration did not even as much as crossed us. Few more hours passed by. The officers returned – weary from the news and unusually extended office hours, only to be greeted in silence by two equally dejected women.
Bidding goodbye, the other three officers retreated to their respective rooms. Unhappy and sad at the turn of events, Anjali wished aloud that the New Year’s should have been better. Manish instantly came up with the idea of a small celebration among the three of us, which got Anjali all excited.
“Hey gal, let us all get drunk and forget the sad evening incident. Ok, Ok, I know, you have never tried hard drinks,” she went on, adding “but you will never get a better chance and company to taste alcohol. After all, first time should be with reliable trustworthy friends and where would you ever find more trustworthy people than Manish and I,” she reasoned.
Not caring to listen to my reasons and apprehensions, Anjali hurriedly walked out of the room and returned as quickly with three glasses, apple juice, chips and a fancy-looking Vodka bottle.
She was determined. “Don’t behave like a school girl. Try it, believe me, you will not regret. It is fun to let go of yourself at times,” she insisted. Manish joined her in convincing me: “You are my little sister. We will take care of you. You are in safe hands,” said my chubby-cheeked"veer".
Now a little excited and inquisitive about “alcohol”, I decided to take the plunge. The first few sips tasted bitter. Anjali cautioned me to go slow and have chips in between the sips. Few minutes later, I was feeling light headed and kind of enjoying the “halo” around my head. Gulping down the drink, I demanded another one and was served lovingly by the gracious hostess. The couple was still relishing the first drink while my second one was gone within seconds. The head was now lighter and I demanded a third glass of the “magic drink”.
Anjali was now worried but Manish gave a polite green signal for “4 meduim”: “We will handle sweetu. Let the kid enjoy. She might never get another chance,” he whispered to her.
Third drink down, I was now in a different world altogether and ordered the “waitress” to get me my last drink the bill for which “my cute bhaiya will pay”.
Anjali was sitting next to me, on the couch, holding my hand, and Manish was standing a few meters away from us in front of the TV.
All I remember of that night was that I laughed uncontrollably for no apparent reason – my heart was happy, head was light and I felt like a tiny bird with a big sweet song.
Before Anjali could make another drink, she signalled me to visit the washroom, while I was still in my senses.
Dismissing her fears and worries, I put my feet down to prove that I was not drunk but shockingly, the floor beneath my feet had gone missing. I shrieked and made a noise about the drawing room floor caving in. Anjali tried to reason but in vain. There was no way I would listen. To make things worse, even the ceiling of the room had started “rotating”. The couch became a revolving restaurant and Manish the butler.
Anjali, “the maid”, was to take me to the washroom because I was a “princess” who would not even step on the floor without my assistant. But I could not stand because I was puckish, "of all that incessant laughing", I had reasoned. Threatening the “maid” of vomiting on the “silk” under my feet, I forced her to make me stand on the floor. Dragging me all the way to the washroom was no mean feat for the tiny “maid” but she managed.
Inside the washroom, I threw another tantrum. How could I allow the “maid” to be present while I did my stuff. But I could not stand, “because of the immense cold”, I again reasoned. Leaving me leaning onto a wall, the “maid” left, to wait upon me outside the loo, calling out to the “princess” to be careful. After what seemed like an eternity of a struggle, I, the “princess”, let my “maid” help me.
Once again the “maid’s” drag-a-drunk-to-the-drawing room struggle began. Perched on the side table of the couch, I ordered for another drink. The butler was only too happy to serve with a grin. Before I could even take the glass to my lips and raise a toast to my “beautiful pink pyjama” (for some weird and NOW-unknown reason), the butler interrupted. Overcome with a strange emotion, he started to speak about the perils of being in love with the idea of marrying an Indian Army officer. “He is drunk,” I whispered to the “maid", asking her why and how did she resemble my friend Anjali.
The butler went on even as I smiled, laughed, cried, sang, danced and even dozed off in between his never-ending sermon.
After what seemed a few hours, sanity prevailed. I could now recognise Anjali as my buddy and not "the maid". The "b
It was 6 am and my buddy wanted me to take some rest. But the drunkard in me was fully active, wide awake and in mood for “some more”. After persistent pestering and pleading, I managed to get a large. The drink tasted bitter but was blissful nevertheless. What happened after a few sips, I do not remember. But Anjali and Manish’s versions are embarrassment enough to be recalled.
Well, apparently, I wanted to play ring-aa-ring-aa-roses but settled for a round of juicy office gossip instead, on Anjali’s insistence.
I ripped apart the till-now seemingly "sober, simple, dignified" characters of many-a-colleague. I challenged the imaginary boss in front of me to come and beat me at kick-boxing and even hit him in the face with my blustering kicks and punches. And when he fell to my feet, pleading and crying for mercy, I kicked his a** once again, for the final time, and turned away.
The till-now quiet, calm and a little sloshed Manish was now inspired to take on his boss who could give Dracula a run for his money. Instead of engaging in fisticuffs, Manish preferred to shoot the Dracula. I suggested that Manish should nail the Dracula’s hands and feet – that would make things more exciting (I reasoned). And since Manish was “too drunk to lift his AK 57”, I shot the Dracula dead on his behalf.
Having dealt with the monster and Dracula, I now decided to take another important task in my own hands – to sort out the Indian Judiciary.
Needless to say, I made elaborate amendments in all major laws and proclaimed that henceforth, all eve-teasers will be paraded naked, molesters will be blinded and rapists will be castrated under the new law. (This was probably the most sensible thing I said that evening though I still can't really recall having said that).
Too tired after racking my brains over such important matters, I was now tired and decided to take some rest. Here again, Anjali and her sozzled hubby had a tough time dragging me to the bed even as I kept pushing and shoving them around calling them “drunkards", "pests", "thieves" and "snatchers".
Their misery did not end here. The bed was "revolving" so I wanted it to be put on stationary mode, the ceiling fan was threatening to fall on me with its heavy “round belly” and the curtains were all trying to strangulate me. Anjali was “mamma” now and I wanted to sleep in her lap because I was scared of the “motu uncle” standing near my bed. After much persuasion, “mamma” agreed to put me to sleep with a lullaby which, incidentally, called forth the need to pee more than once. Each of the three trips to the washroom was like a bull fight for the hapless and exasperated but amazingly poised Anjali.
After a few hours of disturbed sleep during which I kept swearing at the pot-bellied police wala for passing lewd remarks at a girl in public, I woke up to severe headache and guffaws from Anjali and Manish.
A glass of salty lemonade proved to be of little help and the head throbbed the entire day. The ache was entertainingly intercepted by loud guffaws, jabs and stabs and leg pulling by my darling friend and her equally darling hubby who is more of an elder brother to me than a friend.
The visit ended with a vow to never get drunk again. But as they say… promises with self are made only to be broken… so was this one!!
More to follow soon… :)
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