-"Ninety ml; the usual with soda and ice. Make it together and quick. Thank you"
I looked at the waiter, expecting some amount of strangeness to appear in his voice. However, he was nonchalant to this atypical order, and to a certain extent, he put me at ease with my unknown companion for the evening. His only response was a question-"Would that be all Sir?"
-"Yes, nothing more,"thus ending his short conversation with the waiter on a brusque note. He then turned his sight on me and smiled. Those bespectacled eyes tried to resonate the same, but were burdened by the brows. With a voice that was heavy yet sombre , it felt like his words were failing in trying to find a space in the emotional chaos of others.Yet his presence could not be dismissed, bordering between friendly and overbearing.
-"Would you care to for company?", and I had looked up to this middle-aged man, dressed in complete contradiction to the evening. After he settled down thanking his just found company,he placed the the 'neatest' order I've come to hear or see till now. And so the evening began.
It was dim light interior, some shade of red it might be, lending a mystique blend to the intoxication room. In such situations, putting all the blame on liquor for misinterpreting someone would be a wrong-doing; part of the judgement error is also attributable to high "spirits". The physical space was economical in appearance, having ghettoized itself from the city, which breathed different air and woke up to a different morning. The people flocking here are a separate class, existing in anonymity, knowing that the city belongs more to others and they are just small cogs in the wheel. It is here where they pour out the excreta of daily grind, how hierarchy weighs upon them, how denial glares at them. But sensibility only last a while before the din dies out and then, its only the three of us-me, my glass and my companion.
-"My drinking has reduced considerably. Not like before now..you see health doesn't support my whims!," in trying to justify this peculiar habit given the age to bear, he was offering explanation to a stranger.
-"I started drinking at the age of around 40. Have been a regular here since then-you see the ambiance is lot like home, but not home (and laughed). The usual glasses, the wooden tables and similar ceiling fan, except it doesn't stare down upon as you gulp to glory."
-"How much in a week, it is then?," attempting to pay interest in his account .
-"Just this much, twice a week, preferably when it (week) ends. Earlier, it used be alternate days. But after this heart condition, it had to be reduced," taking another sip, he continued, "My wife would disapprove my drinking and we have had frequent quarrels. To think of it now, it none her fault, neither 'twas mine. Somehow, two persons are brought together and circumstances don't allow them to leave each other. They live it through, like sailing the rough seas."
A music came to our ears; the radio had started its routine-mellow the evening so that you and I can linger little longer here and empty more glasses. Both our glasses were half-way down and would near the end soon.
-"I had once been to the east, posted there for good ten years. People there are attached to earth, grounded and firm; so was she. Once I had brought her a jamdani saree from there and what joy in those eyes..you see a woman always loves to be gifted, to be told that she's the 'present' for you," he chuckled and continued.
-"We need intoxication, no doubt 'bout that. It could be in any form and in any place. Like a necessary poison. But truth to be told, you get tipsy only once, and that's not through liquor."
Winds of the night swayed through the streets: those dimly lit streets wrapped in fog. Its winter in the west and the fog, sailing through the seas, settles down here on the coast. We are habituated with this haze, using our judgment to steer daily life. But sometimes, errors are made, which lead to the wrong path. It's only when you're afar, that return becomes untraceable.
With the last sip down, he said, "We'll I'm done with my evening, thanks for sharing it."
-"Do you still have arguments over these evenings?," eager to know how my companion considers the nights.
-"She stopped complaining some time back. Everything is still inside now," and he left the intoxication room. With the music ceasing, the radio brought the evening to its end, on a brusque note!
I looked at the waiter, expecting some amount of strangeness to appear in his voice. However, he was nonchalant to this atypical order, and to a certain extent, he put me at ease with my unknown companion for the evening. His only response was a question-"Would that be all Sir?"
-"Yes, nothing more,"thus ending his short conversation with the waiter on a brusque note. He then turned his sight on me and smiled. Those bespectacled eyes tried to resonate the same, but were burdened by the brows. With a voice that was heavy yet sombre , it felt like his words were failing in trying to find a space in the emotional chaos of others.Yet his presence could not be dismissed, bordering between friendly and overbearing.
-"Would you care to for company?", and I had looked up to this middle-aged man, dressed in complete contradiction to the evening. After he settled down thanking his just found company,he placed the the 'neatest' order I've come to hear or see till now. And so the evening began.
It was dim light interior, some shade of red it might be, lending a mystique blend to the intoxication room. In such situations, putting all the blame on liquor for misinterpreting someone would be a wrong-doing; part of the judgement error is also attributable to high "spirits". The physical space was economical in appearance, having ghettoized itself from the city, which breathed different air and woke up to a different morning. The people flocking here are a separate class, existing in anonymity, knowing that the city belongs more to others and they are just small cogs in the wheel. It is here where they pour out the excreta of daily grind, how hierarchy weighs upon them, how denial glares at them. But sensibility only last a while before the din dies out and then, its only the three of us-me, my glass and my companion.
-"My drinking has reduced considerably. Not like before now..you see health doesn't support my whims!," in trying to justify this peculiar habit given the age to bear, he was offering explanation to a stranger.
-"I started drinking at the age of around 40. Have been a regular here since then-you see the ambiance is lot like home, but not home (and laughed). The usual glasses, the wooden tables and similar ceiling fan, except it doesn't stare down upon as you gulp to glory."
-"How much in a week, it is then?," attempting to pay interest in his account .
-"Just this much, twice a week, preferably when it (week) ends. Earlier, it used be alternate days. But after this heart condition, it had to be reduced," taking another sip, he continued, "My wife would disapprove my drinking and we have had frequent quarrels. To think of it now, it none her fault, neither 'twas mine. Somehow, two persons are brought together and circumstances don't allow them to leave each other. They live it through, like sailing the rough seas."
A music came to our ears; the radio had started its routine-mellow the evening so that you and I can linger little longer here and empty more glasses. Both our glasses were half-way down and would near the end soon.
-"I had once been to the east, posted there for good ten years. People there are attached to earth, grounded and firm; so was she. Once I had brought her a jamdani saree from there and what joy in those eyes..you see a woman always loves to be gifted, to be told that she's the 'present' for you," he chuckled and continued.
-"We need intoxication, no doubt 'bout that. It could be in any form and in any place. Like a necessary poison. But truth to be told, you get tipsy only once, and that's not through liquor."
Winds of the night swayed through the streets: those dimly lit streets wrapped in fog. Its winter in the west and the fog, sailing through the seas, settles down here on the coast. We are habituated with this haze, using our judgment to steer daily life. But sometimes, errors are made, which lead to the wrong path. It's only when you're afar, that return becomes untraceable.
With the last sip down, he said, "We'll I'm done with my evening, thanks for sharing it."
-"Do you still have arguments over these evenings?," eager to know how my companion considers the nights.
-"She stopped complaining some time back. Everything is still inside now," and he left the intoxication room. With the music ceasing, the radio brought the evening to its end, on a brusque note!
