Drunk India, Part-1

I was already six pegs down when she came in. She insisted on taking my bottle away from me. That glassy and classy Old Monk, 12 years blended. There is a reason they save it for 12 years and sell it out, I insisted. She refused to listen.

Do I say anything when you smoke up and pass out on that bean bag? And come on its winters. They just started putting it on sale. One can’t just get the Old Monk-like a banana, all year long.

She is smiling.

I know her answer, she would say – But I don’t go crazy and fight to listen the whole album of passenger, over and over.

He is my favorite artist, don’t you listen to trance before you pass out? I almost whispered.

I am not scared of her, it’s a respect I pay to all the Indian crazies. Her long black curls always come on her face while she talks. Her plump face like one of those 18th-century painting scares me, but that’s the face I am in love with.

She is the old style. She has the fat around her waist. Her pale color, I prefer pale over tanned. It works for me. I think skin color can’t be the only reason I am tolerating her for last two years.

She is annoying sometimes, but she is also the reason I am alive. She took care of me all this time and I did the same.

And I am not addicted to the alcohol, though I drink almost every day. I am one of those guys who know they can leave the bottle whenever they want. At least they believe so.

She is a short girl but god has fixed it by giving her the equally high-pitched voice. There are times when she tries to sing those choruses from the trance songs, she is not a good singer, but it doesn’t matter when you are drunk. You anyways can’t differentiate between a human voice and a sound of a breaking glass, what would you know about good singing? All sounds same. At least for that period.
I am in more love. Each day.

Okay, don’t throw it. Hide it. Challenge me to find it. If I find it, it’s all mine.

You mean hide it in this one BHK flat? Oh sorry, should I just say BK? I can’t find a hall in this house.

She is sarcastic sometimes. Most of the times. I don’t understand why she does that?

Does she really hate me?

But then why she stays with me?

These are the questions upon which one day I’ll have a crucial conversation with her. I’ll clear all my doubts that day.

That day will never come. I am such a kitty.

It’s 3 o'clock in the morning darling, it’s not the time to fight. Just sleep.

I was sleeping till you played ‘Let her go’ and sang like that song really means something to you. Well, what you and your favorite artist trying to say, I should go and find someone else. You want me to ‘Go’? – She insisted on ‘Go’?

This one is a tricky question. Doesn’t matter what I answer, she wouldn’t leave. I have tried both. Several times. We had this conversation too many times now. The words like déjà vu seem fake now. Or maybe, it is déjà vu.

I have no one in the room to confirm. I am drunk enough to not ask, and she is high enough to not bother. She is always high. I can’t remember the last time I saw her in her senses. But she can say the same thing about me that she never saw me sober.

Thank god our parents are rich enough to afford all the bills. They think we here are struggling with our career. But that’s not completely false, in a city like Delhi you can’t really start from the scratch. You always need a host. Most of the people here are just parasite, living upon other people. Contacts are what this city has for relations. It’s hard to find people who stick around you.

I don’t want you to go anywhere. Ok, let’s sleep. I give up. You can throw my bottle if you want.

She is staring at me. I have no idea what to say.

I LOVE you, I passed the plate on her side. We boys always fill these gaps with our inability to be single. LOVE YOUs are the escaping time bombs, which might take few seconds, but never refuses to work. I know one day it won’t. But today is not that one day.

Awww… I love you too.

She puts off her cigarette.