I don’t see the point of not doing things when inebriated. If the whole purpose of settling down with a drink is to settle down, we might as well give the whole thing a pass. Inebriation must be the forerunner to setting off a sequence of unplanned events or it must happen in the aftermath of such event. In the first instance, it is prequel to unsettling the status quo. In the latter, it is catalyst for celebratory chaos. What is crucial is there must have been some form of pursuit that deemed inebriation essential to the integrity of the story.
I recall one time in college how I was out with a few friends. I knew three of the crowd that gathered in the pub and the rest were unknown smiling faces. I had been there one time before and knew a few others already present at said pub. I came away then not too enthused by the acquaintances I made out there, but gave my judgemental self and the rest the benefit of the doubt. We were, after all, young and mostly drunk, so it is only natural we weren’t the best versions of ourselves. This time around, I turned up largely sober. I achieved this by feigning a drunkenness that had the rest of my crowd telling me go easy with the liquor. This offered me a front-row seat to clinically assess the dynamics of drunken society. I had been drunk many times before so I was acutely aware of how to feign a state of inebriation that would cause enough concern in my crowd for my well-being while not becoming a dampener on the group. And so, while being ostensibly drunk, I leaned over to this guy whom I had met just one time before and instantly shared a great rapport. Over the loud thump of music, I call out to him, “Oi J, how’s it going dude?” J, buzzed, looked up at me, grinned and called back, “I’m fab, bro. How about you?”
I broke away from my tribe and walked over to my estranged drunken comrade and told him, “Yo, what’s the deal, man? You and V break up or something? Why is she dancing with some other dude?”
J looked at me in a strange way and said, “No dude, we were never together to start with? What are you on about?”
“Oh man. I dunno, man. I thought you two were a thing, you know. I mean, she was really into you the last time I ran into her. Was goin’ on and on how hot you were… and I almost offered her your number and then I realised I didn’t have it. Nice running into you again, dude. See you in a bit…”
Saying this, I walked back to my crowd, now seemingly fresher, and we all celebrated with another round of beers. I kept an eye on J every once in a while, and he seemed to be getting drunker by the minute all the while stealing furtive looks in the general direction of V. Some time after, sooner or later, one of the young women in our fold expressed a desire to head back home and I, being the most sober now, was asked to escort the ladies back to home base. The boys, turned up a tad later than expected and as is certain in case of these delays, had a story to tell.
We learnt that, just as one of our guys was trying to clear up the bill at the bar, some dude who was hanging out there ran on to the dance floor and punched a guy and told the punchee to stay away from his girl. The girl yelled out a massive expletive, shoved the puncher while asking him who he thought he was. The punchee then got up from the floor called the puncher a man of illegal parentage but was withheld from reciprocating the puncher in kind by a bouncer who was close at hand. Some of the guys in our group dragged the puncher away and the girl and her partner left the place soon after. The puncher seemed like a nice enough bloke because, visibly embarrassed by his behaviour he apologised to members of our fold and offered to settle our bill. The boys took him up on the offer after affecting polite reluctance at first. The puncher was J.
It dawned upon me that evening, as the rest of my crowd rambled about the absurdity of the brawl that never was, that while for many, alcohol tends to obscure the voice of reason, within me- it stirred a streak of deviousness. A sheer desire to meddle and unsettle things just to see how seemingly calm surfaces appear when disturbed. This is perhaps why the older lot tell us to experiment with alcohol and not indulge in it. A great many of those who drink are only looking for simpler joys- to become less inhibited, to become less aware of and even become defiant of the watchful eyes of judgemental crowds, or to simply let down the burden of their own existential crown of thorns. I, apparently, took to alcohol to gain a closer audience with a dimension of myself that lay hidden under a deep layer of my polite ways and self deprecative humour. I saw what I was and I secretly admitted that I liked what I could get to when I had the option to blame it all on the alcohol.
***
Long years passed since “the punching” and I had grown accustomed to the mundane life of an upstanding white-collar employee. Thrill seeking was something of the past and an instinct upon which I kept a firm lid. However, every life takes a toll on you, and I finally decided that I need to blow off some steam since my flashes of anger at the workplace had become a cause of concern amongst my superiors. As the year approached its end, I signed up for a camp that promised a night of bonfire, song, dance and poetry under the night sky while ringing in the new year. Having become accustomed to a life of extreme discipline for over a year, I found my being tingling with excitement at the prospect of being out in the wild. It was the familiar feeling of not knowing what to expect of myself in new untested waters. I hide my excitable self under layers of pragmatism, but my general enthusiasm is something that always leaks through. Pretence is not a skill I have cared to perfect. An unadulterated version of myself is the user experience I aspire to give the world around me.
There is a flip side to this inescapable choice I make. I tend to attract all kinds. And when I mean, all kinds, I mean all kinds of weird- the disenfranchised, the discarded, the dysfunctional, the downright deplorable along with the decent and the regal. Decent folks are weird because they are rare, and the regal are weird because they are largely deluded. I got into that bus knowing that I had to prepared for anything and whatever it was going to be, it will not be an experience that is enhanced by alcohol.
I knew I wouldn’t shy away from the prospect of reciting a few lines I had penned myself. Reciting poetry has never been my strongest suit, but if I must fail, I may as well make the attempt in the glow of a crackling bonfire on a chilly night on the banks of a dark glassy lake. If one must fail, it is crucial to fail spectacularly.
And so, I got on to the bus and ran a quick eye over the crowd within and witnessed a gathering that was remarkably mediocre in its composition. It was the usual suspects. In the front few seats were couples who were desperately in love and severely deprived of opportunity to engage and experience their affections. There were two other couples where one part was hoping that the nature of their relationship would evolve into something more by the end of the trip. I also noted that at least one of these hopefuls was not excited by my arrival on the scene since he turned around in his seat to give me a look that was supposed to be a warning to stay away from his almost-prize. I have always enjoyed being looked upon as a threat since it made it easier to identify the ones I needed to steer clear of. I settled next to a guy who I would rather not talk about. Though it is noteworthy that his idea for getting ready for the long hike to the campsite was to devour two packets of salted potato crisps in a span of little over twenty minutes.
I was ready for anything and so I was quite elated to learn upon disembarking that we were:
- At least an hour late
- The winter night was coming in fast
- The trail to the campsite was unmarked and we would have to trek in the dark with nothing except hope in our hearts, flashlights in our hands and a guide who was certain he did not really know the way to the site.
And then what happened?!!
Great things happened, earnest reader. As I was tramping through the scraggly brush, I found that there was a young thing at my elbow. Armed with nothing other than her smile and no flashlight, she was making her way through by walking at the edge of the cone of luminescence emanating from my flashlight. I invited her to walk ahead staying true to my chivalrous self and to ascertain if this must be one of those scenarios where it would be folly to not turn on my charm. The sky had shifted colours from deep purple to inky black with a velveteen sheen that became increasingly pronounced as it became dotted with a few hundred stars for every second that ticked away. I felt a growing sense of dread within as I could soon see nothing but the cone of light ahead of me and dust from the trail had started to have a wearying effect on the group as a whole. So, I initiated conversation with the Young Thing. A flash of light that was cast from another torch not my own revealed a face that was round and pretty with brown eyes and black hair that was pulled back in a ponytail. No better way to die for a corporate slave. On an unmarked trail in the company of a pretty Punjabi (I learnt this later) girl.
I made conversation easily with said Punjabi and we spoke enthusiastically about the night sky, the cold breeze and the hope of barbecue at the destination. This hike was, we concurred, the best part of the experience. Our meeting however, was also not meant to be, as her sister and brother-in-law caught up with her and we were soon separated. The sister gave me a vicious stare as she stomped past me. The brother-in-law curiously enough wanted to stay back and chat me up. I attract all kinds, and while the sister may have nipped a romance in the bud, I felt I owed her a debt of gratitude. She did save me from an awkward acquaintance with her better half. I trudged on. Alone, but with an AC/DC song in my heart.
I was ready for anything. But the sight that greeted us at the campsite was a bit of a stretch even for my naturally optimistic disposition. To say there was nothing, would be incorrect, as there were plenty of many things. There were lot more people, all milling about in the dying twilight glow, but there was very little else of the other things that were promised. The tents, which the organisers had promised would be up and awaiting our grand entry were piled up in bundles on the ground. The chemical toilets lay on their sides and certainly in no state of readiness to be used. I stood there surveying the scene like a political leader at the site of a natural disaster- seeing all, saying little and certainly not feeling anything noteworthy. A sense of calm and knowing pervaded my being and the only thing that interrupted this state was a fragment of conversation that went along the lines of-
“No, Akshay! I am not going to use the lake as a f—ing toilet!”
The speaker, a tiny woman who barely came a little above my elbow rushed past in a blur of coloured hair and female fury. Female wrath is a frightening thing; it sets alight things that sound reason would tell you is incombustible. I watched after her for a bit, hair flying behind despite the breeze having died down, and the path that she walked becoming marked as a trail of scorched earth. I did not turn around to check on Akshay. It felt the more humane thing to do. I continued my survey making note of the piles of bundled tents, unpacked barbecue grills, sacks of charcoal and a sign at the faraway end of the campsite that pointed toward the scraggly woods and simply read- “Firewood”. I now felt mildly despondent, but then again- I was ready for anything…
***
I was ready for many things, but this was not one of them. I was not ready to be a part of band of morose, misshapen morons at the end of a year where I had been exceedingly disciplined and honest in every aspect of my life. And if I were to be honest, I deserved far more entertainment and excitement than this lot promised. No song or dance seemed to happen. After all and sundry had sufficiently taken stock of the scenario, there was a brief moment of outrage, but the night fell quick and it is hard for a group of strangers to unite toward attainment of a common goal under a cloak of darkness. Parched in throat and spirit, people quickly resigned to their fates and the company of whoever accompanied them to this end of year apocalypse.
The fire roared and night grew oppressively quiet. Somewhere, a group of friends decided to head back into the city. A volunteer came around and handed us Chinese lamps. The kind that had a bit of camphor at the end, and when lit would soar into the sky. Light it at the stroke of midnight, they said. We lit them immediately. There seemed no better time. “It’s only 9 pm”, said one of three girls who sat in one of the few chairs around our bonfire- one of four which were still up and growing.
I would have been happy to simply let the night melt away. Sitting cross legged on the cold ground with the fire burning bright, plucking at the grass and tossing it into the flames causing it to splutter. I would have simply wallowed in the silence of being with fellow aggrieved but that was not to be either.
One within our circle of fourteen was a talker. A man of around 40 had turned up with his wife and two teenaged daughters. He was quite adamant that all was not lost, and we could still turn the night around. I watched as he moved his chair closer to the fire. Pot bellied and bald, the man seemed quite pleased with himself. Him having secured for himself and his kin chairs to be seated in, he wallowed in pride that he had successfully acquitted himself as an alpha provider. The wife and kids would have disagreed with him, but they simply seemed too tired to assert themselves. He chirped once more, about how wonderful the night sky was and how grateful we ought to be to spend this night in the lap of nature.
Lap of nature. Something within me snapped. My head cleared. “Not lap of nature. A slap of reason is what this man needs…” I caught myself from venturing any further along that train of thought but then I relented. I allowed myself to find a way out of this state of resignation and see where my old, suppressed self would lead me.
I found myself laughing rather cheerily at his words. This was my moment, I had to make it count. I had given myself many an inspiring monologue on the many mornings I felt frustrations build and threaten to break my spirit. This was my monologue moment. The moment where I shed all form of outwardly pretence and simply cut loose.
“Yes… Guys, this is actually a great gift that we have right here. We could really make something of this night. I mean, sure we are hungry, and thirsty and going by the state of affairs, we are also going to be mighty uncomfortable through this night until the sun comes up. But this is a gift. Sure, we could have spent it in the comfort of our homes with a nice warm meal- a nice pizza perhaps, some good music, maybe a nice movie too. We could have done that, but we could do that any other day I suppose.”
I paused here to let my words linger around the fire. There were a few wistful sighs. Another girl, from the group of three, who sat curled in their chairs, bundled under their hoodies and arms wrapped around her legs, let out a slight snort of resentment.
“It’s not good, and its far from ideal”, I continued, “but I am sure that the hike up to this place was a good memory we created. Yet, when I think about it, I agree with the rest of you that perhaps we also deserved better. We deserved better because we worked hard to be able to pay for this trip and we deserve better because we have done nothing wrong to be treated so poorly.”
It was a strange sensation to say things out loud. To speak sans fear of ramifications or consequences whatsoever. To speak with complete knowledge that there was no one around to hold me accountable was a kind of freedom that I had never experienced before. It was also an experience I had yearned for the longest time. I loved the sound of my voice, a mild tenor, ringing over the crackle of flames, punctuating the pained silence of this group of stranded campers. We suddenly felt more closely knit. A few of them pulled their chairs closer in to see me better. One asked me my name and then we all got around introducing ourselves. Not one memorable introduction- save for the one by another middle-aged man who turned up in our midst in a cowboy hat with a feather stuck in it (I sadly wish I was exaggerating, but this is exactly how he presented himself). He tried to gather us in closer and get us to chant a Hindi poem of resilience but the prettier of the group of three made a sound of disgust and that was the end of that. I took this as my cue to resume my veiled tirade.
“You know, all of us here are young folks and we needn’t be as distraught as this man here”, I said looking pointedly at Triumphant Family-Man. TF was promptly mortified by my suggestion that his disposition in the current scenario ought to be opposite of what he currently possessed. He balked at me with a look of outrage that would have been sensed by all around even if our fire chose that very instant to extinguish itself. He opened and shut his mouth wordlessly a couple of times before he shut it uttering a splutter and falling back in his chair with a look of bewilderment. “While we have all been wronged”, I persisted, “no one has been as wronged as this man here. He trusted these strangers not only with his money but also with the safety of his family. It’s an outrage and yet he sits here amongst us, nonplussed, unaffected and strangely enough, the most optimistic of us all. It takes immense strength to retain cheer in the face of such injustice—”
“Someone should sue these guys”, piped up Pretty Girl 1.
“Indeed, someone should, but who is it going to be? Will you be up for the hassle of courts?”, I countered.
“I thought you said you were a lawyer.”
“I am, for sure. But I am one that sees the courts as a last resort.”
“Well, is there a crime that has been committed here? Some kind of offence that we can claim compensation for?”
“Sure. I suppose you could say there has been a gross breach of contract.”
Brown eyes flashed.
“Breach of contract, eh?”, uttered PG1 as she fell back into her chair, her shoulders no longer hunched and rounded but squared and tense.
Tense seconds ticked away as PG1 continued to glower at the fire which suddenly spluttered and began to die. Cowboy and another of the group offered to fetch some firewood while the rest of us sat in a meditative silence.
It was indeed a beautiful night. We could hear the wind in the trees and the larger group, all equally deprived of any manner of nourishment settled into a soothing cadence of whispered conversations and muffled footsteps. Yet, it was not what I yearned for. This was not excitement. This was not music and dance and barbecue. This sure as hell did not have me grinning and guffawing and talking tosh. I was instead here, in the company of not one, but at least two pretty girls who were in no mood to be charmed and the inordinately smug TF. The family situation of the latter specimen seemed to have undergone a change in the minutes since my exchange with PG1. The wife, who earlier seemed too tired, now wore a scowl on her face and the teen offsprings openly flaunted their disgust for the situation into which, their father had dragged them. Suddenly, TF did not seem too sure of himself.
***
I was still hopeful that the strain of the night would somehow give way to some form of relief. As we sat there watching the flames climb with renewed vigour, Cowboy, who had slunk away from the group, returned with a new member to join the cast. The hopeful wore a shaggy beard that matched his long scraggly hair which he wore up in a messy man-bun (there is no other kind of man bun in my opinion). Of medium height and skinny build, he wore a loose long-sleeved shirt paired with cargo shorts and sporty sandals on his feet. Cowboy’s friend, it turned out was the OG organiser of our catastrophic night. A simple apology was in order and that would have helped ease our frayed nerves and patience that was worn thin. Never mind the numbing hunger that we all failed to register. OG however, had other plans in mind.
“Hey guys!”, he called out to the group like he was Arijit Singh who popped on stage a few minutes later than expected. My immediate response (internally) was, “Good God, man! Learn to read the room…”
The fact that his cheerful greeting was met with sullen stares and disgusted grunts, seemed to help him with his hitherto utter lack of comprehension. He sat down on a sack of unpacked charcoal and made an utterance even more ludicrous than his entire personage and that of his cowboy friend put together.
“How’s it going guys?!”, spoke OG
Free will is when you act not with intent but upon the usurping of your being by a greater power. I was content (and determined) to continue staring into the fire until the abomination that was OG beat a retreat to wherever he came from. Yet, this most recent query triggered something visceral in me. It was not anger or rage. As I sat on the ground, resting my chin upon my knees and hugging my legs, my breath caught in my chest and my entire being stiffened. Involuntarily, my eyes narrowed, teeth clenched, cheeks tightened, lips drew together in a thin line, and I felt my feet trying to grip the earth through my shoes.
I do not recognise the voice that spoke next as my own. It came from a place of which I had no control, and my quickest response was to think to myself, “Let it happen”.
“I don’t know, OG. How about you try and tell me how it’s going… I mean, the barbecue is fantastic. Kebabs succulent and flavourful. The toilets are another huge hit. We cannot wait to go there every five minutes or so… And I am afraid there is way too much water to drink here on his camp, and I am worried you might have to carry a lot of it back to wherever you got it from… How do you think it’s going, OG?”
Despite not raising my voice, it carried far across the camp. A ripple of silence spread across the campsite and all the voices floating through the night air ceased. I had become Nature’s chosen vehicle to render the slap of reason. The message, however, was poorly received.
“Guys,” began OG, “I think we can all agree that things are not exactly like we thought it would be, but there is no reason to lose hope.”
“Really, dude? This is not a Toastmasters meeting. But pray, tell me, good sir, how do think this could be made better—”
“We are making arrangement for food—”
“We should just sue you…”
All conversation stopped at these words and the group turned to look at the speaker.
“We should just sue you, OG. This is a breach of contract, and you have defrauded all of us. You took our money and put us in this dangerous, dangerous situation and you are not even sorry for it.”
It took me a while to realise that the speaker was PG1. A strange coldness had come over her features. In the leaping light of the bonfire, her brown eyes shone. The line of her jaw was straight and taut, and her entire being seemed carved out of marble. A strong, resilient promise of incoming devastation.
It was OG’s turn to balk. He tried to match her glare with an unmoved stare of his own but faltered and scanned the remainder of the group for a possible ally. Unsurprisingly, his body eased when he spotted TF standing at the far end of the circle. Something strange had come over the little man. He stood there with his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his jeans, feet planted firm on the ground, and he seemed to be breathing hard. OG made a move to address TF, even started saying something on how being the oldest of the group he ought to make the rest of us understand. He had barely got out a few words out to that effect when TF interrupted his appeal with a squeak.
“I want my money back”, said TF
OG slightly taken aback put on a polite smile and made attempt to reason.
“I WANT MY MONEY BACK!”, these words came out from the being of TF as an almighty squeal. I suppressed a snort of laughter and looked to the ground. TF was now a man possessed, wild eyes and hands flailing he marched manically at OG.
“I deserve more! My wife deserves more! My children deserve more!! I WANT MY MONEY BACK!!”, his shrill squeal cut through the night air causing silhouetted figures to step out of the shoddily erected tents in the distance.
I was ready for this. I turned to look at OG but my eyes locked with PG1. She had fixed me in a keen gaze quietly challenging me to do my thing. I thought to resist but then gave in, faced OG and spoke in that mild-tenor voice in which I had rendered my rousing speech some time ago.
“Now you know how it’s going, OG.”
By now, a crowd had gathered around our fire. A great many of them were standing right behind me. One amongst the crowd reached out and placed a large hand on my shoulder. “Bro, what’s happening here? Who is this guy? Why are you shouting at him?”
I turned to see a man much younger than myself with a dark face that sported a thin patchy beard.
“He’s the guy who’s gotten us into this mess”, said PG1 answering the young man’s question.
The answer brought a sea change over the young man’s persona. He suddenly pulled himself to his full height that had me looking straight into his chest. He turned and called out to his friends. Behind him, he had an entire entourage of at least 8 young men who all looked frightfully filled with rage. The young man leading from the front, the group rushed past me charging towards the charcoal sack upon which OG sat with shock writ large on his face. Groups of people from other distant fire-sites started walking toward the meeting that was becoming a melee. TF was pushing himself to the centre of it screaming his “money back” demand on loop. Not sloganeering, not chanting, he was screaming the line, and I think I spotted his younger daughter watch her father with a look of utmost bewilderment.
***
PG1 and I now stood side by side watching the fracas play out before us. We shared the sentiment that there was earlier an argument that could have led to a conclusion, but now it was merely a tamasha.
“What’s going to happen now?”, she asked
“I don’t know… By the looks of it, nothing”, I replied
“What do you mean, nothing?”
“I mean. Look at it, S. There’s really nothing happening. That guy there is yelling abuses at OG. OG is talking to someone else. Cowboy and TF are arguing and the rest of them are simply shouting their grievances to no one in particular and competing with the rest as to who suffered more. Nothing is really happening… It’s all noise.”
“So, what next?”
“Next, OG will wait for these guys to tire out and then make a fresh promise of food and water and everyone will disband and retreat to their respective haunts.”
Almost on cue, the last row of agitators moved away from the crush and began walking back toward their camp. They cast a sideways look our way and continued on their trek away from our fire, which was now burning low. There was a burst of activity from the centre and loud cheers emanated. Members of the crowd were congratulating and high-fiving one another. One of S’ mates who had transformed into a screaming banshee all the while brandishing my flashlight like a light sabre pushed her way out of the crowd and walked up to where S and I stood watching the crowd. Black eyes shimmering with anger, hair completely undone and her face wearing a look of satisfaction, the friend informed us:
“Food is on the way. Water as well”
S stole a curious look my way.
“When?”, she enquired
“Soon enough”, replied the friend and turning to me she says, “It was already on its way. That’s what OG came to inform us before you snapped at him.”
The message was clear. “You were wrong. I was right in bringing my friends here. You may leave now.”
S continued to study her friend with a furrowed brow.
“Let’s hope its soon then.”
***
It did not come soon enough. When it did, there was more outrage for me in how and what transpired. Through the dark of the night we heard the loud growls of a tractor engine. All the famished and dehydrated ran toward the sound of the approaching vehicle like refugees waking from a stupor brought on by physical and emotional exhaustion. I could not help but scoff at the cries of gratitude pouring from some people in the crowd. There they were, these people who had paid their ways to a night of celebration, standing in the dark on a deserted patch of land, holding aloft paper plates and clamouring for the attention of a simple worker who sat inside the trailer beside a large cauldron filled with vegetable pulao. I made my way inside to get a refill for my water bottles which was still being rationed out as there wasn’t enough for everyone. The crowd continued to throng. Begging for food and uttering words of thanks, they shoved the pathetic yellow mix into their mouths. I worked my way out of the crowd and spotted the Young Giant with whom I had an earlier made casual acquaintance. Beside him were PG1 and her pals.
Banshee did not look so fierce now, though she still clasped my flashlight in her hand. I would have liked to have it back, but decided to let her punctured spirit hold on to some form of light in that dark hour.
“I got water, did you?”, I asked PG1
“Yeah, we did”, she replied
I looked at YG in a way to ask the same.
“No bro,” he replied. “We drove down in our own car, we carried water and beer along with us.”
“That’s cool. I could really use a whiskey now than a beer,” I replied sardonically giving PG1 a knowing look which she returned.
My words however, had a transformative effect on YG. Leaning in, he whispered urgently.
“Whiskey, weed, vodka… You name it, bro, we got it…”
In the dark, his bespectacled eyes shone with warmth and a strange earnestness. It was a look of a soul only too glad to have found someone new with whom to share his happiness. I cannot make light of what he felt and so we will move on to what happened next.
“Lead the way, My Friend,” I chortled
YG and I instinctively turned to PG1 to ask if she would like to tag along but she made a quiet gesture at her friends who apparently did not partake in any of the pleasures my new friend had to offer. We shared a look that lingered for little over a second and then knew, that this was indeed goodbye.
***
In the years that followed, this experience has visited me in waves and fragments. YG and I shared a brief friendship before I had to shift cities. OG was indeed sued into reimbursing all of us who comprised the suffering public of that fateful night. Sitting right at the edge of the fire at YG’s camp later that night, I soared on wings of the contraband, and saw deep into my soul and laughed as I had never laughed in ages, until then. I confessed to many things, and the crowd laughed along with me. When the night was done and we woke with the sun, soaked in the morning dew, we were in a new year. Closer home, I woke with the realisation that, layers of polite ways aside, I was just as incorrigible as I had always been.
_V.
01/07/2025
Righting Writing 