“The bottled poetry”
How does it feel to be out of your wits? To give your intellect a pause from thinking? To be stupidly brave? Or may be, bravely stupid? To be in a state of transient Euphoria?
Well, I am not sure if we had any such inspiration to drive us; nevertheless, we were still driven to the idea of 'getting drunk'.! Smita conceived the idea and I conceded. Again one of those times when I wonder, why? :). [Smita, now when I look back, I realize we were over-ambitious by every measure. :D].
So.! The project was ON.
Chosen day, Friday!
(how badly I wish I would have remembered the date). Alright.! It was very carefully chosen, so that next two days are enough to get over 'The Hangover'.! :D
Chosen company, Well, none. just the two of us :)
Chosen drink, here comes the red flag.!
How to choose a drink? C'mon, We couldn't have asked the guys around, 'hey, we wanna get drunk, please suggest how to?'. I was having late night shifts at that time. smita ke taane still reverberate in my ears, 'tumhein kya lagta hai, tum roj roj pati ki tarah office se late aaogi aur main roj roj biwi ki tarah khana bana ke tumhara intezaar karungi? bus aur nahi chalega ye.!'
Well, an over occupied pati left a very obedient biwi to do the honors. The only store we could think of, 'Giants'. And from the account of things that Smita narrated, she looked up for a lady attendant there, 'explained' the situation to her."you see, we are the first timers, so please suggest something mild". The red flag was closed with the bottled poetry - a bottle of wine.!
All set. The impending Friday had to be the D-day. pati was instructed to be back from office on time. Dinner was winded up first and fast.! The party girls slipped into pyjamas, a big plate full of bhujia, jagjit singh in the air, lights out and yellow lights on. maahaul was complete.! All set. Nothing can spoil the party now.! To get the poetry rolling, the bottle was to be uncorked. A knife should come handy. Nopes. Pair of scissors. Didn't work. Some 'instruments' from the vanity kit too made it to the table. Aargh.! it refused to budge. The hopeful thought 'arre, it will open in while', transformed to 'its not even moved a mm', eventually ended with 'ah. i am sure it has moved a couple of mm's further in.' The bottle's neck proved to be the bottleneck. The party was spoiled. After struggling for an hour or two, we surrendered. Had we not yielded then, we would have for sure shattered the poem, spilling the verses all over the house. Disappointed, disheartened and dashed, we went off to sleep.
We were not to give up yet. Next day, the account was narrated to Ashish. The charming suitor whom Smita eventually married. And we were enlightened with the concept of 'corkscrew'. "Naah, its not there in our kitchen, else we would have discovered it". We borrowed it from Ashish. Only to realize later that we had one in our apartment's kitchen too.! Alright, we decided not to tell anyone the tales of our idiocy :D. We were now in a position to setup a Saturday evening. maahaul restored.! Damn.! it tastes so pungent. I am not sure if I could have anything more than a few sips.! As Smita reminds me everytime, for every half a sip, I consumed at least 4 spoons of bhujia. And after every quarter a sip, she would ask, 'priyanka, kuch hua kya?'. And then she will freeze for moments trying to 'feel' things. :D :D jaise taise, we wound up after an hour or so, concluding that we can't take any more sips, and that we were perfectly 'normal'. more 'normal' then regular 'normal' :D. To continue with the spirit of absent-mindedness, next morning, she came to my room and asked, 'priyanka, theek to ho na? hangover type feeling to nahi aa rahi hai'. And then she repeated the act of freezing of last night, sincerely trying to 'feel' something. :D
Only later did we discover that the wine was so mild, that guys visiting our apartment used to gulp down a few sips in case they didn't find water in the fridge.!
Here we are, the aim not fulfilled even remotely, rather we were the subject of ridicule for days to come. But giving us memories the mention of which can get us on the floor laughing. The mere utterance of word 'wine' in faintest of sounds can bring a smile to the face.
For Robert Louis Stevenson, Wine is bottled poetry, for us, It is bottled comedy. :)
Well, I am not sure if we had any such inspiration to drive us; nevertheless, we were still driven to the idea of 'getting drunk'.! Smita conceived the idea and I conceded. Again one of those times when I wonder, why? :). [Smita, now when I look back, I realize we were over-ambitious by every measure. :D].
So.! The project was ON.
Chosen day, Friday!
(how badly I wish I would have remembered the date). Alright.! It was very carefully chosen, so that next two days are enough to get over 'The Hangover'.! :D
Chosen company, Well, none. just the two of us :)
Chosen drink, here comes the red flag.!
How to choose a drink? C'mon, We couldn't have asked the guys around, 'hey, we wanna get drunk, please suggest how to?'. I was having late night shifts at that time. smita ke taane still reverberate in my ears, 'tumhein kya lagta hai, tum roj roj pati ki tarah office se late aaogi aur main roj roj biwi ki tarah khana bana ke tumhara intezaar karungi? bus aur nahi chalega ye.!'
Well, an over occupied pati left a very obedient biwi to do the honors. The only store we could think of, 'Giants'. And from the account of things that Smita narrated, she looked up for a lady attendant there, 'explained' the situation to her."you see, we are the first timers, so please suggest something mild". The red flag was closed with the bottled poetry - a bottle of wine.!
All set. The impending Friday had to be the D-day. pati was instructed to be back from office on time. Dinner was winded up first and fast.! The party girls slipped into pyjamas, a big plate full of bhujia, jagjit singh in the air, lights out and yellow lights on. maahaul was complete.! All set. Nothing can spoil the party now.! To get the poetry rolling, the bottle was to be uncorked. A knife should come handy. Nopes. Pair of scissors. Didn't work. Some 'instruments' from the vanity kit too made it to the table. Aargh.! it refused to budge. The hopeful thought 'arre, it will open in while', transformed to 'its not even moved a mm', eventually ended with 'ah. i am sure it has moved a couple of mm's further in.' The bottle's neck proved to be the bottleneck. The party was spoiled. After struggling for an hour or two, we surrendered. Had we not yielded then, we would have for sure shattered the poem, spilling the verses all over the house. Disappointed, disheartened and dashed, we went off to sleep.
We were not to give up yet. Next day, the account was narrated to Ashish. The charming suitor whom Smita eventually married. And we were enlightened with the concept of 'corkscrew'. "Naah, its not there in our kitchen, else we would have discovered it". We borrowed it from Ashish. Only to realize later that we had one in our apartment's kitchen too.! Alright, we decided not to tell anyone the tales of our idiocy :D. We were now in a position to setup a Saturday evening. maahaul restored.! Damn.! it tastes so pungent. I am not sure if I could have anything more than a few sips.! As Smita reminds me everytime, for every half a sip, I consumed at least 4 spoons of bhujia. And after every quarter a sip, she would ask, 'priyanka, kuch hua kya?'. And then she will freeze for moments trying to 'feel' things. :D :D jaise taise, we wound up after an hour or so, concluding that we can't take any more sips, and that we were perfectly 'normal'. more 'normal' then regular 'normal' :D. To continue with the spirit of absent-mindedness, next morning, she came to my room and asked, 'priyanka, theek to ho na? hangover type feeling to nahi aa rahi hai'. And then she repeated the act of freezing of last night, sincerely trying to 'feel' something. :D
Only later did we discover that the wine was so mild, that guys visiting our apartment used to gulp down a few sips in case they didn't find water in the fridge.!
Here we are, the aim not fulfilled even remotely, rather we were the subject of ridicule for days to come. But giving us memories the mention of which can get us on the floor laughing. The mere utterance of word 'wine' in faintest of sounds can bring a smile to the face.
For Robert Louis Stevenson, Wine is bottled poetry, for us, It is bottled comedy. :)
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