I don't drink. Never have. As a kid, my parents always told me that drinking was bad. I grew up with that in my mind.
It was the first time my boss was taking us out for dinner. At least that's what he had told us what it was. I was expecting paneer and rice and curry and what not. We all sat at a corner of Taj, Bengaluru. There were comfortable seats, but really small tables. I didn't know how I was going to eat. But I knew I'd manage.
It started with drinks, and well, ended with them too. I said orange juice, and everyone stared at me. They ordered everything from wine to whiskey and scotch and beer and... blah blah blah. I didn't care about the names. I didn't know the difference. Still don't. All I cared was that I was going to see drunken men for the first time in my life.
Nothing happened for a long time. I was almost disappointed. But after three glasses of orange juice and two bowls of peanuts, I heard something. My senior was shouting at my big boss. He wanted his glass of wine. Boss didn't mind. He's a seasoned fellow, you see. My senior disappeared with a bottle and the glass. Next I saw him dancing near the swimming pool. All alone.
I still tease him for that night. Wish I had taken a pic. Anyway, I did that on the next occasion, just that the pics were vulgar.
My flatmates of those days were drunkards. Big time. I got to know only after my night shift was changed to morning. I would hear sounds. Weird noises. I would keep my door closed. One day when I opened it, I knew it was time to leave that house.
Five of my colleagues, two of whom were those who shared the flat with me, were high... and, well, on top and bottom of each other. I didn't bother to find out who was with whom. There were no couples for sure... they were five after all. I set an early alarm to click their pics in the morning. I still have them, saved somewhere on this system. I don't share them, so don't ask. They are just a strange memory.
Two days back, my best friend called me up at 2 in the night. He was down two cans of beer, a peg of vodka, tequila, whiskey and scotch... that's all I remember him telling me. But more than that, I remember him telling me stuff that I could have never imagined he would say. Not in my wildest dreams.
In the hour that followed, he punctured every artery and vein of my heart. He was sloshed, and I was shattered. He was stabbing me, stomping on my heart, cutting it into pieces that can never be stuck again. However filmy it might sound, but his words did sound like undiluted acid that night.
I didn't sleep after that. I couldn't. In his drunkenness, my friend, my best friend, had lost me. I called him in the morning when I thought he would be awake. With a fake cheerfulness in my voice, I bid him goodbye, without making him realise that it was the last time we were talking.
It was the first time my boss was taking us out for dinner. At least that's what he had told us what it was. I was expecting paneer and rice and curry and what not. We all sat at a corner of Taj, Bengaluru. There were comfortable seats, but really small tables. I didn't know how I was going to eat. But I knew I'd manage.
It started with drinks, and well, ended with them too. I said orange juice, and everyone stared at me. They ordered everything from wine to whiskey and scotch and beer and... blah blah blah. I didn't care about the names. I didn't know the difference. Still don't. All I cared was that I was going to see drunken men for the first time in my life.
Nothing happened for a long time. I was almost disappointed. But after three glasses of orange juice and two bowls of peanuts, I heard something. My senior was shouting at my big boss. He wanted his glass of wine. Boss didn't mind. He's a seasoned fellow, you see. My senior disappeared with a bottle and the glass. Next I saw him dancing near the swimming pool. All alone.
I still tease him for that night. Wish I had taken a pic. Anyway, I did that on the next occasion, just that the pics were vulgar.
Five of my colleagues, two of whom were those who shared the flat with me, were high... and, well, on top and bottom of each other. I didn't bother to find out who was with whom. There were no couples for sure... they were five after all. I set an early alarm to click their pics in the morning. I still have them, saved somewhere on this system. I don't share them, so don't ask. They are just a strange memory.
Two days back, my best friend called me up at 2 in the night. He was down two cans of beer, a peg of vodka, tequila, whiskey and scotch... that's all I remember him telling me. But more than that, I remember him telling me stuff that I could have never imagined he would say. Not in my wildest dreams.
In the hour that followed, he punctured every artery and vein of my heart. He was sloshed, and I was shattered. He was stabbing me, stomping on my heart, cutting it into pieces that can never be stuck again. However filmy it might sound, but his words did sound like undiluted acid that night.
I didn't sleep after that. I couldn't. In his drunkenness, my friend, my best friend, had lost me. I called him in the morning when I thought he would be awake. With a fake cheerfulness in my voice, I bid him goodbye, without making him realise that it was the last time we were talking.
