‘Oww! Oww! My head hurts. What time is it? 10.30!’
I was battling a Saturday morning hangover. The sun slapping me on my face, the effervescent birds rustling up quite a din outside my window, nothing seemed to help the struggle.
‘I need sleep.’ With those words I hit the pillow once more.
It had begun on Friday night at
After a movie, such as this, if eight crazy people do get talking, the conversation invariably veers around to getting drunk. Esben’s place was next door, the booze shop was even closer and the inevitable happened.
There was yours truly, Bob – crazy American storyteller, Esben, Udaya – proud Kanada boy brought up in America, Boby – a party hearty soul, Diya – equally, if not more, party hearty soul, Phejin – cautious girl from Nagaland more interested in watching the proceedings, later on we were joined by Wendy – done it all girl from the shores of America, Moritz – always has a joint German and Kevin – a travelling American doing thesis on music from across the world.
The booze began to flow, conversation floated all over the place, the music kept beat with our words. A few notes I made to myself from all the chatter that went back and forth. Bangloreans love to see their city progressing, but hate to see their culture evolving. There is a language that dies everyday. In another 100 years we may just be left with 5 languages. After a good number of drinks and a round or two of the weed people readily tell you the most embarrassing stories. Once the embarrassing stories begin everyone feels like contributing something and try to dig out their most embarrassing episodes.
Now you think that’s a happening party, people laughing their guts out on embarrassing episodes, but no, somebody decides to kick up the music and put on some groovy tracks. Drunk, a bit stoned, me and bob couldn’t help getting our asses of the seat and shake it to the beat. The party just got better. The highlight was me and bob have a dance floor battle on a Michael Jackson song, I think it was ‘Thriller’. It was hilarious to the nth degree. Just the memory of it is……haa…haa…jlkrnlkeioujfhoineklhaaa n;lkehaaahonelkdkgfhon kdjfnioef (excuse me I need a break because right now I am rolling on the floor and I am trying to keep my fingers on the keyboard)
After the dancing, came the singing. Esben and Kevin jammed with their guitars and belted a number of tracks. After a few more rounds of rum I crashed out at Esben’s place around
At 4 in the evening I got another call for a house party in Bandra, but I happily declined. Nothing felt better than turning my ass to stone on the couch and staring at the television set. Ahh! The joy of being a couch potato.
After an uneventful Saturday evening where I watched my cricket team being ass whipped by the Bangladeshi’s at the World Cup, Sunday looked kind of dull. I needed some tender, loving, homely care, so I headed of to meet parents. It is a ride I love doing on my bike. Gets me out of the city, open wide road and the wind rushing through my hair at a steady 80 kmph; at some point during the ride I enjoy being; being what I am, not what I wish to be. And that day under the hot sun with nature taking on the fiery colours of spring the questions and pressures of life just melted away.
It was around 1 in the afternoon when I got home. It’s funny, I always feel excited with the thought of going home, but an hour at home and I feel like running out back again. I enjoy the journey and the anticipation more than being at home. I think it’s because I know what my dad’s going to say, my mom’s gonna pester me about and my brother’s going to ask me about. The script never changes on that front.
Mom as usual ticked me off on my long hair, beard and how I won’t get any girls to marry me if I kept growing them. Then she nagged me about getting married soon. Dad had a round of intellectual discussions which veered around to the same conclusions that I have grown up on. Well somewhere in between all of us this I did tell my parents that I do ganja on and off. That was a big revelation that they managed to take in their stride quite well, but then I suspected that they suspected I was doing some kind of drugs for quite some while. That kind of set the record straight between us, but next time I see mom I am pretty sure this would be our conversation, “You have gone darker and thinner. Keep having ganja, that’s what you get for it.”
Me, “But Mom I don’t do it regularly. It’s at some parties that’s all.”
Mom, “But why do you want to do it. You start once and then you keep doing it regularly. When I was in the hospital I used to get patients whose blah, blah, blah.”
Me, “Mom I am watching TV”
Mom walks away with a huff, “You just watch TV your whole life.”
Well I didn’t get any of that conversation that day, but some good food, which was basically mom’s yummy mutton curry and fish curry. The next day we planned on visiting mom’s sister who lived in New Bombay.
Getting to Jose Uncle and Leela aunty’s place was fun until the sun became really hot at around 12 in the afternoon and started frying me up. That’s the disadvantage of being on a bike, no shade when the sun decides to play it a little hot. My parents and bro had the advantage of the shade though since they came over in my parents’ SUV.
One look at my cousins, aunt and uncle when they met me and you knew they hadn’t seen me in a long time. I felt their look reflected more of pitiful surprise than joyful amazement. “What the hell has he gone ahead and done with himself.” The steady stream of visitors, my uncle’s acquaintances, later that day made me feel like I had stepped out of rehab.
I come from a family with a conservative lineage, boys are supposed to be clean shaven, have short hair, go to church, be studious in college and work like a donkey and bring home money after that, get married, have kids and stay with their parents till eternity. Well, I didn’t adhere to any of the principles and had now gone ahead and broken the first two rules that would have at least let me pass off as the good Mallu family boy.
Thankfully India was playing Bermuda that day and the way the Indian batting juggernaut rolled on everyone pretty much lost focus of my existence in that room. Well I had my dinner quickly and pretty much ran out of the door before the 50th over got over and they had time to ponder over my beard and hair again.
