I’m not an alcoholic, at least I think so. I’ve never had issues with drinking nor with those who drink. I drink socially (it’s a synonym for regularly, ain’t it?), I do feel the need to have a drink, sometimes one too many, been sloshed a number of times but alcoholic… No way. It started a long time back… not so long back but I vividly remember that I didn’t even have enough height to reach the bar and ask for one. It probably started with some acquaintance of dad offering me one and since then the charm for single malt never died. By the way, if I forgot to mention ‘I NEVER GET DRUNK’; at times, I’m INTOXICATED but never drunk. Well blame it on my extra strong liver (Thank you God…!) or my luck with the cops; my association with liquor has been good and experiments memorable ones, except this one time…
Well… this one time I decided to call quits. It might have struck as a blitzkrieg on my friends but the decision was made. May be I was going insane in my mind, rebelling against the self made decree but the proscription lasted for more than a month. It was tad easy to begin with, all it required was to refrain from parties, get together and gatherings; avoid night outs. I just required to divert my attention, start playing once again… may be a bit more, catch up on reading that’s all; just stay away from ‘my kinda company’ and consume a lot of caffeine. Life’s ironic; to get rid of one addiction you tend to habituate on something else till it becomes another addiction to get rid of!!!
Alcohol is a sovereign fluid; nothing lubricates the telltale of unsaid, concealed and difficult emotions of love, jealousy, anger, frustration; it acts as a perfect base (Ignore what chemistry book says…) to tone down acidity of ire, grudges, hostility; binds people so tightly irrespective of age, sex and status; a perfect blend that lets mind drown and yet lets them breathe freely; Or for what other reason will it find place in all the occasions; of joy and sorrow; of celebrating birth and mourning over the departed; on engagements as well as partings; to kill ache, hurt or suffering on one hand and diffuse fun, elevate moods on the other. And yet I was being strong enough (or stupid enough) to say NO to this divine offering.
My abstinence continued but weekends had started to give me willies. The customary end of the week celebrations with Saturday Biriyani and Beer were too much to resist now. I wonder who calls this frothy rejuvenating liquid as alcohol… darn! It’s only 4%; the insecticides and pesticides level in BMC supplied water probably would rate more than this. Try understanding this if you will, men break away into two separate factions when it comes to alcohol; the dominating one being the ‘ones who drink’ and other, obviously ‘who can’t be trusted’. As I attempted drifting from my fatherly faction, there were advices at first. Advices draw persuasions, persuasions turn to cajoling, and cajole to summons, but I kept my way.
Pardon my engineering habits to gather statistics (or extracurricular duty of managing Wine stores!), but I tend to observe when the stress levels at work go up, so do the sales of liquor. Men always love two W’s the most in their lives- ‘Whining and Wining’ (nay… it’s definitely not Woman... I said LOVE). Of course, the latter always precedes the former and facilitates it in a beautiful, guilt pang free sort of way. They gang up, consume alcohol (improving insulation is what we call it) and kvetch against the common oppressor. And such was this night when I, with all my colleagues and bosses and their bosses were compelled to stay at work (… on orders from their bosses for reasons unknown to me). Too tired from work and stressed, I had my extra dose of caffeine and retired to bed. Men are predictable unlike women (probably the only reason why these two different species stick together and battle against the nature trying to change each other). They hung their uniforms and made their way to the Mecca, to do what they were expected to do. Such happenings begin at a great note; fine clothes, tasteful music, sensible talks and exquisite choice of drinks but they invariably progress up being sweaty, no one caring for what is being played, talked or consumed. I cannot fathom how and why my absence was felt, may be some song that reminded people of me or my stupid drunk jokes; I’m sure it must have been some ostentatious talk bragging about the amount of alcohol that can be consumed by a mortal which must have drawn my name.
Anyways, multiple calls were made to wake me up from my slumber, all in vain. Finally, a messenger was sent down to drag me out of my cabin which I could not deny. The wardroom welcomed me with waiting eyes reeking of alcohol accompanied by Rammestein pumping all his might in the surround system. The time was inapt as shots were being swallowed down proudly with proclamations like ‘Who's the man now…’ I wonder why amount of pegs you can gulp down, number of shots and bottoms-up are being equated to manhood while the medical science proves otherwise. As expected, questions were drawn on my manliness as I grabbed an orange juice for myself. Challenging manliness acts as an insurmountable weapon against all odds. Guileful challenges to manhood are difficult to apprehend and history stands testimony to disastrous aftermaths when they were accepted. (Remember Mahabharata? Duryodhan did the impermissible act after being mocked. Now talking about the aftermaths… Don’t tell me you believe he was named ‘Du’ryodhan by his parents.)
I could imagine the situation as of some treasure hunters in a boat, which wrecks down mid river leaving all her occupants to fend for themselves. Albeit they swim in opposite directions but all of them make it safe to the banks. Groups on either side are wishful of finding treasure on their own side yet look at the other bank with apprehension of the treasure being there. I looked at the other bank watching people getting drunk and overwhelmed and I doubted my decision apprehensive of losing the treasure. As the rounds continued and bottles emptied, along came the long followed tradition of writing quotes from heart (driven by grievances of course) on the wall. It started a couple of years back when rebel trumpets were sounded for the very first time against the oppressor, and me being one of the pioneering crusaders. Now, I stood clueless before the wall not knowing what to write. The thought process did require some ‘heavy fuel’ which my sane mind lacked. After a great struggle, I wrote a courtly message not befitting the mood and atmosphere which obviously did invite some laughter and a few giggles finally dishonoring me from the crew, I once was a part of.
As the night drew to its end, I felt amused at watching everyone doing their act, completely unaware how absurd and foolish they looked. I wondered if I used to act the same, I didn’t need an answer, I knew it already. Smiling to myself, I bid adieu to everyone and my wandering mind, its irresoluteness. I’ve never slept so well in my life.
