Another spirited performance

More tales of bacchanalian revelry.

Well last Friday, my brother’s best friend Harish and Vaish got married, and my brother was best man, which in south Indian weddings, means that you are fed a lil more and get to be in nearly all the pictures or sometimes even take the pictures because well you are Best man, you just can’t sod off and be idle, know what I mean?. Well anyhow my brother used his best man pass and got me invited to the party meant for close friends only, in a rather embarrassing circumstance. He marched up to the groom and said, “ invite her to the party, da”. So well, there we go, Saturday night partyyyyyyyyy!

The party was at Sheesh Mahal, and I didn’t know the place existed till I saw it. Its on lavelle road, right next to the Rice bowl, btw. Anyhow I enter the place with bro and I see the bride talking to her group, don’t know anybody there, see the groom, standing next to the bar, that scene looked more promising and so after wishing the groom eternal connubial bliss, (I used the very same words!), headed to the bar and ordered my first drink. See when the drinks are on the house, and there’s someone to drive you back home, you take full advantage of the situation.

The party, like the wedding was like a reunion of the class of 2002. And that freaked me out no end. It was like a trailer to my life 3 years hence, where I’d be at the weddings of my classmates, posing for posterity with a plastic smile on my face. Like someone said, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Of course not, but it’s a very bad thing if you are single and relationships for you have the same degree of difficulty as climbing Mt.Everest. Then imagine in 3 years, my classmates, who are in the same single boat with me now, will be gushing over with matrimonial ecstacy, while I most possibly will be single. Am I the only one who finds weddings depressing?

Soon, I was sitting, nursing my second drink, spinning, feeling very happy with myself. Like I’ve mentioned before, its my favourite part, I become the monarch of all I survey in my giddy world. I struck up a lively conversation with the ginsoaked gentleman, who told me that all bong men have a fetish for a dominatrix type. Then the party got even livelier ‘cause everybody took to the dance floor, I couldn’t because of my knee injury, the better for it because I got to witness some audacious (read comic relief) dance moves. The guy I kinda fancied at the party was dancing with this girl who was tryin some major salsa moves. Sigh!.

I dunno when exactly, but late into the party, I found that I was having trouble walking straight and keeping my balance, and when I told the afore mentioned Ginsoaked gentleman that my bro had used his photo to test the features of the new digicam, I realized I’d had a little too much to drink. I was not drunk, just feeling egregiously blunt. That was when bro dearest freaked out. If my dad came to know of my state, he’d be dead meat. So he bundled me into the car and drove me home. I tried to avoid my folks, but mom came into my room and asked me if I’d had alcohol. Her theory being that men consider women who drink to be very “loose”. I told her, without batting an eyelid, that’d had very little and conducted myself with exemplary dignity. Thank god, she didn’t ask me to walk right then. I can really lie very well, one of my special talents.

Next morning, I woke up with a nasty hangover, and it’s not nice when you have a puja to attend to. I felt lousy, everybody present with a fresh pious exuberance and I with a headache. I wanted to eat but apparently you need to starve till the puja was over. I felt guilty too, somewhat less spiritual, all till the pujari’s cell phone rang and interrupted the puja. That bugger is going to hell before me, he put god on hold!.