An Ampoule of Wine

Circa 2006. Having passed our final exams, me and Yash were doing our internship in Assam Medical College. Yash was the person who introduced me to spirits (at first, ostensibly to celebrate quizzical wins and later for everything and anything else) and was a self professed expert on alcohol.

One fine evening, getting caught in the spirit of things, we decided to try some wine. We trooped to the nearest wine shop and bought a bottle of wine. To accompany the wine, we took some 'chana' from the roadside 'thelawala'. Back to Yash's room we went.

The lights were dimmed, music was put on. Phones were put on silent (him after calling up his girlfriend, I was single then) and out came the bottle. That is when we encountered our obstacle of the day. Ensconced comfortably from the mouth of the bottle to the neck, was the cork. I was a novice and Yash usually drank hard liquor, so no arrangements existed to uncork the bottle in the room. Ever resourceful, Yash thought for a bit and decided that a Swiss army knife would do to uncork the stopper. 

A list was drawn. Of people who had/possibly would have had Swiss knives (no one probably would have had the originals, but we were sure that even the fake ones would work well). We zeroed in on two people- one a senior and another our batchmate. Now, the bottle wasn't too big and we were in no mood to share, so it was evident to us that we needed to make some other excuse for borrowing the knife. Fortunately, Swiss army knives are multipurpose, so we invented a loose screw in one of the windows and borrowed the tool.

"Watch and learn", Yash told me and began screwing the uncorker into the cork. I waited in anticipation. After diligently putting in almost the full length inside, he pulled on the knife. The cork held. He put the bottle on the ground, gripped it with his feet and pulled. The cork held. He pulled harder. And it broke. The appendage of the knife broke off, with its length embedded inside the piece of cork. We would need a good excuse for a knife breaking while tightening screws.

But there was another knife in the hostel. All wasn't lost. Yash managed to borrow it and back to work he went. The results were same. Only this time, we had the broken appendage in our hand. The mutilated cork seemed to be grinning at us.

"There are other ways", muttered Yash and started carving up the piece of cork with the knife. It was easy going till he reached the part that went inside the bottle.  The knife couldn't grab a purchase and so we were stuck. By now, it was almost an hour since the adventure started. It was hot and sweat was pouring down our faces. And the thirst increased. The liquid inside seemed to be teasing us.

"If we can't take it out, how about pushing it in?" I ventured. Yash grunted and thus we tried pushing in the cork. Success still eluded us. It seemed that the cork had somehow come a little to the outside rather than going inside! Twenty minutes or so of trying to push the cork inside, tempers were running high in the room with me chiding Yash for his so called knowledge and experience about all things alcoholic and he shouting at me for being a good for nothing. 

Finally, exasperated, Yash said, "Let's do the ampoule." The 'ampoule breaking method abbreviated ampoule' is how you break ampoules in order to draw medicines for injection.  You hold the ampoule by its base, with its upper end facing away from you. With a blunt object, like the back of a knife, you hit on the neck of the ampoule and it cleanly breaks off. The ampoules are designed so as to break, but a bottle of wine?

With no other option in sight, we decided to do it. We took a bucket and kept it beneath so that no wine got spilled. And then, Yash struck the blow. Surprisingly, it broke in one blow. Though some pieces of glass did manage to get inside the bottle. We took out a clean handkerchief, filtered the wine through it and sat down to enjoy the wine.

It was cheap wine but it tasted good. Maybe because of the effort that went into opening it. Maybe because of the nearness yet the distance between our lips and the liquid contained inside the bottle. Maybe because of the satisfaction of a job well done. Maybe because we had mastered the technique of breaking ampoules.

Nowadays, when I see a bottle of wine, my eyes instinctively seek out the top of the bottle to see whether it is capped or corked. And then I smile, recalling our little adventure with a bottle of wine in a small hostel room  in a rainy town. Invariably, a word forms on my lips and I mutter "Cheers!"

Nostalgia

Five years. Life has come full circle. Bringing me back to a stage where I was once. It seems a long time ago. Maybe a lifetime.

Some people are the same. Many more are not there. Some close ones. Drifted apart. 

New friendships will be forged. Of course. It is inevitable. May be some enmities too.

But amidst it all, the mind goes back. To some good times, some good memories, a life well spent, of happier times...among friends. In a place named after a deity called 'Lum Shyllong'.

A kick to remember

"Dil me aata hoon, samajh me nahi."

I happened to read a captivating review of the Salman Khan starrer 'Kick'. (Link here) That made up the case for me. I had to give the movie a miss.

But fate had other plans.

It was the night I left college. The blow fell at the moment I was at my vulnerable best- leaving my life of fourteen years, embarking on a new journey, away from family and friends. As the bus reached the Dibrugarh University campus, the television set in the bus kicked to life.

My prior experiences with video coaches have been pretty disappointing. Folding (or attempting to fold) my long lower limbs at awkward angles, I try and settle in my seat and look forward to the movie of the night. The screen flickers to life and Salman Khan appears- slashing the air with his index finger. The movie title appears: Garv: Pride and Honour.

Those were good days. I was young. Even Salman was. Plus his movies weren't considered bad. Or maybe I was yet to be introduced to the class of people known as critics.

As the bus travelled, I accompanied the protagonist on his journey- bashing goondas, romancing the girl, bashing more goondas and then getting framed and landing up in jail. Things were nearing the climax, when the bus stopped, the screen went black and a disembodied voice exhorted us to eat 'bhat-pani'. I went, ate something, worried about the fate of our protagonist, mentally salivating over the prospect of the goondas getting a sound beating. Resuming the journey, I found the television screen remained black and people started to snore. "But what happened to the hero?" I mentally cried out. No one responded.

This scenario repeated itself five more times. And four times out of five, the same movie was being screened! I never could finish the movie.

Two years later, as I went in for a momentary post lunch visit to my hostel common room, I saw the movie being aired on some channel. Using my seniority as leverage, I forced the kids to watch the movie, ultimately finishing it after around two and a half years! That did provide some closure.

So, by now, you must have realised my predicament. Having to watch a movie that is supposed to be trash, with no other option- the speakers being positioned just overhead, and the possibility of the movie being cut short at any instance- probably when I would have warmed up to the story, wasn't an inviting prospect. A close up shot of the fetching Jacqueline Fernandez in some snugly fitted clothes did get my hopes up but from there it was a downward spiral. The guy wanted a kick and I would have been happy to provide him one. As I followed the incoherent and senseless plot, I got lost amid the cacophony of the characters and their motives. Thankfully, as the 'hangover' song started playing out, the little amounts of alcohol in my blood (consumed to lessen the pain of parting from my hostel mates) came into play and lulled me to sleep, until it was time for dinner.

"Good riddance", I said to myself and went in search of the least unhygienic, most pricey meals in the dhaba nearby.

But no! Times have changed. People behave professionally these days. No sooner was I seated, the screen flickered to life once again, and I was treated to a scene by scene fast forward of the whole movie to the point where we had stopped. All my beer induced good work gone to waste. And this time I could not sleep. So I sat back and watched Devi Lal becoming Devil and vice versa. I wondered if wearing a mask like the one shown in the movie would make me unrecognizable (I did recognize Salman as Devil despite his mask though- but I am intelligent- unlike huge sections of our populace.) I watched the hero get the heroine, his back story of how Devi became Devil and how Devi was entrusted with the task of apprehending Devil! I watched till the very end, till the end credits rolled and the hero and heroine danced to a song as the credits rolled.

As the interior of the bus turned dark, I stretched my legs toward the aisle and closed my eyes. As I fell asleep, I distinctly heard someone whispering in my ears:

"Dil me aata hoon, samajh me nahi."

Ramblings

Life.

It is strange, sometimes bordering on weird. What you want to do, what you think you'll do, all become meaningless when you reach the state where you would have thought you would be.

There is no one to talk to. 'Friends' are busy with their lives. And rightly so. Parents are busy planning your marriage. Your fiancee is busy making plans of life post marriage.

And you? Wandering about, searching for meaning and purpose in this meaningless and purposeless world. Drowning your fears in a gulp of alcohol. And some more. Because one gulp is not enough. It never is.

But that is what we call life. Doing things because we need to, not because we want to, accepting the norms and being one of them. Providing for others, being a means to their ends, your ends and your dreams not withstanding.

And so it goes on. Until one day...

Coffee, Compliment and English

Was sitting in Cafe Coffee Day today with the missus*. There was just another customer besides us. The guy approaches us and says- "Brother! Can I say something?" I say yes. He says- "You sound good." I think maybe he was an audience in some quiz that I conducted and liked my voice (though I must not let you get that notion- my voice doesn't sound too good on the mike). The missus thinks the same. Then he adds- "You both sound good." Too stunned to correct his English, I murmur a thanks and he goes off giving us a thumbs up! We were in splits for the next half hour or so.

Now I can appreciate the power of bad English. Had he used proper language, we may have thanked him and proceeded to sip our drinks. His incorrect usage gave us a reason to laugh and be happy. Long live desi English!

*I am not married. Not yet (thankfully ;) ). The term was borrowed from one of my dear friend's blog where he uses the same to refer to his girl. Also, it has some old world charm. Plus, as he frequently reminds me: "The English messed up with us for 400 years. We can pay them back by messing up with their language!" He devotes hours trying to cook up new Indianised English words!

Surprise

A few months back, while in the throes of a deep slumber stolen from the regular work hours of my department, I was woken up rudely by an incessant and somewhat loud knocking on my door. I opened up to find a courier boy holding a parcel and a piece of paper to sign up. After verifying that the parcel was indeed addressed to me, I signed it and received it. Upon opening, I found a beautiful pen stand with an accompanying card. The card alluded to my brilliant personality and magnetic charm [i exaggerate, but you get the gist ;)] and also to the fact that it was a one off thing and that I was not supposed to worry about it. It also asked me to listen to a particular song by some young singer about some refreshing drink. I read the note, tried calling up the number (which btw, was signed MH and obviously false since a marathi lady was on the other end admonishing me in what I thought to be the choicest words possible in her language- i don't know- never understood a word of it), and then dutifully listened to the song. I didn't like it much but it wasn't bad either. 

End of story. :)

Racing with Rickshaws

It has been a month or two. Embarrassed by my ever increasing abdominal girth (compounded by liberal doses of the fluid called beer), I decided to do something to rectify the situation. Getting up in the mornings was tough. It always has been. So, the only available option was utilizing the evenings.

Help and inspiration arrived in the form of a colleague. His evening forays compounded with some dietary control had reduced him from a fat slob to a lean and thin young man. I joined him in his walks. 

Being taller than my colleague, my strides were longer and more often than not, he was left behind. Also, after having achieved his desired weight and waist size, his focus shifted to other forms of exercise. As a result, I found myself alone most evenings trudging away reveling in the sweat and the aches in the muscles.

It happened one day. As I was walking along at full speed, my long legs striding mechanically, thinking about my further plans of developing some muscles, I crossed a rickshaw. The rickshaw puller was laboriously pulling along a family (I presumed) comprising two ladies and two little kids. The road was full of potholes, as the peripheral roads inside the campus of the illustrious college that I study in, are wont to. As I crossed, engrossed in my own thoughts, the rickshaw puller rang his bell. Irritated, I admonished him and asked whether he was pulling a rickshaw or something else. He retorted with "Rickshaw."

Over the next two-three weeks, I have crossed maybe five-six more rickshaws during my walks. Their reactions vary. Some just resign to their fate of being overtaken by a pedestrian and to the vagaries of the pothole filled road. Some keep up the race, sometimes succeeding in regaining the lead, sometimes falling back. Some keep up just about to succeed when our ways part. Some huff and puff, some mutter under their breath. Sometimes, I myself add a spurt of speed and prolong the duel.

Over the days, I have come to enjoy and even look forward to these little tussles. They make me forget. Forget the aches in my muscles, forget my problems at work and at home. The moment takes centre stage. Those are great moments!

I look forward to more such encounters. I don't mind losing, nor gloat in winning. Just enjoy the moment.

Thats what it feels like! :) [Photo credits: A still from Vishal Bhardwaj's 'Kaminey']

Random Ramblings II

It has been a long time. A very long time indeed.

When I started this blog, I thought I would try and write daily en route to my goal of becoming a much read author some day. Within months, the goal became weekly, then monthly though in actuality it had become practically unrealistic to maintain. Of course, random posts did make their appearance- most of them under  influence of alcohol. Some posts were good too. In fact, I remember churning out four posts in one single night!

When I think and look back, I think this blog (and the course taken by blogs of my friends and acquaintances) mirrors our life and maybe, our attitude towards it. 

As a child, the world is at your feet. You can be anyone you want to be. You say proudly- "I'll be a pilot!" or "I'll be a doctor!" in answer to the stupid questions elders ask you. (Now I know. Those perverts ask you the question only to secretly gloat over your failures in your subsequent life! They do remember what you answered!)

As an adolescent and a teen, you still think those dreams are possible. You have your life before you. Its a matter of choices. You dream of studying for 'n' number of years followed by a good job paying you 'x' amount of money. You think of buying your car, bungalow and property before you are even into your middle age.

As you step into the next age bracket, you wake up to the practical aspect of life. Studies never end, jobs don't pay well- even if you get one. Girlfriends nag, family bores. Marriage woes loom in the near future. You limit your dreams. Bungalow becomes an apartment; SUV becomes a small car- you settle for 'y' rather than 'x' as salary.

Marriage and kids follow. You now try to make do with what you have got. You work for your family and kids. Your dreams and ambitions remain- to be fulfilled by your progeny in proxy in their lifetime (Well, you hope!).

And hope is what keeps us going. Hope that someday things will be all right. Someday life will be what you wanted it to be. Someday your dreams and ambitions will be realised.

Someday this blog shall be what you thought it would be...

New Year Wish

If only wishes would come true
I would have wished the world for you
Sadly, we all know its not to be
My wishing you a 'happy new year' won't make it happy.
There shall be success, there shall be failures
There shall be joy and there shall be tears.

I hope you enjoy your life
In smile, and even amid tears
Let not success get to your head
Nor failure demoralize you.
Just do the right things
And life will be happy for you.

The Keyring

"Keyrings are supposed to be inauspicious for new relationships." She said.

"Aren't they supposed to hold the keys that open new relations?" He said.

"OK. If you insist." She said. And took the keyring from his hand.

"Thanks." He said. "And sorry if I acted strange that night."

"Don't act weird. You were fine." She said.

"OK then. I'll take your leave. Take care."

"Bye."

"Bye."

They never saw each other again.

It was their second and last meeting. 

Their love remained true.