"Any statement in a politician's memoirs can represent one of six different levels of reality:
a. What happened.
b. What he believed happened.
c. What he would have liked to have happened.
d. What he wants to believe happened.
e. What he wants other people to believe happened.
f. What he wants other people to believe he believed happened."
- Sir Humphrey Appleby in "Yes Prime Minister" by Anthony Jay and Jonathan Lynn
Well, that some how reminds me of what I write. I'm still trying to figure out which ones from the above all this stuff fits into. That said, let us begin.
Yes, prophetic words I penned some time ago. Those about the weekend bringing barrels of beer and humongous hangovers. Only it turned out to be more like barrels of Beer, Whisky and Tequila and as for the consequent hangover, lets just say humongous was an understatement. Which brings me to the fact that I really might be too old for this shit.
Thats something I keep repeating every time I party. "I'm too old for this shit". Some kind soul accompanying me always manages to try and convince me that I'm not. I proceed to party my merry way through the night, with all my misgivings happily wiped away. Funnily the kind souls seem to be more convinced about this fact more often when I'm footing the bill, though I'm sure that is mere coincidence. There are some people who genuinely might feel so too, influenced I'm sure by my natural charm, charisma and the spectacle I present when I'm buzzed.
My propensity to fall down on the dance floor is legendary in certain circles in Chennai. Every occasion when yours truly enters the dance floor, is preceded by an impassioned request (over the speakers) from the the DJ asking me to 'please be careful and not break your bloody leg again'. That's when I start looking around with the others on the dance floor for this clown who keeps falling down, and ruefully shake my head and grin at how silly some people can be. This is of course a risky procedure, which can be thwarted by 'well meaning' friends, who point at you and hoot when the announcement is made. Thus making sure that the entire club is now waiting with bated breath to see me perform my magnum opus. Every move of mine is punctuated with sharp intakes of breath from the people around, who're thinking "Will he ...? Won't he?". I've even come to know that large sums of money are being wagered on whether or not I'll repeat my performance, and if so which particular act of daredevilry or moronicity I'm about to perform. The daredevilry is my point of view, the moronicity I understand, is the others' point of view. I guess people will be jealous no matter what... Hah!
I have several acts up my sleeve, including the 'wicked woofer free fall' .That's when you climb up on to the woofer to dance and suddenly find yourself on thin air over the edge of the speaker and plummet at death defying speeds to the dance floor. Anybody familiar with the Roadrunner cartoons featuring Wile.E.Coyote's falls off cliffs? Let me tell you Wile.E.Coyote couldn't shine a candle to me when it comes to falling. And also the 'deadly dance floor dive' . Your favorite track plays and you jump around, trip on the girl next to you, fall off the dance floor and try to crawl away unnoticed - especially if the girls partner is built like a refrigerator. The potential results of being caught while trying to crawl away are truly 'deadly'. Reader discretion is however advised. I am an expert at these stunts, having perfected them through constant repetition and gallons of beer. Readers are strongly advised not to try them anywhere (at home or outside) despite the popularity these acts will fetch you. Leave them to the expert, I say.
This time in Bangalore, we were at a discotheque which was on the tenth floor of a building. Mrudula was as usual at her stunning best. In my constant effort to impress her, I confidently told her I knew where the place was. I'd been there before with some other friends. As it turned out, we landed up at the opposite end of the road we were supposed to be. She got upset for reasons I fail to understand. I mean it was just a short walk of two kilometres or so... whats a short jaunt like that? Of course the fact that she was wearing heels, it was drizzling and also that we couldn't take an auto to get there ( because all the roads in bloody Bangalore are bloody one ways) might just have contributed to her getting angry. I even tried to explain that the last time I was there, the road was much shorter and that they seemed to have extended it. She immediately pointed out that it was not possible to extend a road which was around forty feet broad and two kilometres long, situated in the heart of Bangalore. Residency road, she further said, was around for the last forty or fifty years only, in the same line and length as it is today. We were just getting to a detailed discussion of my sobriety when I'd been there last, when I wisely changed the subject.
After that brilliant beginning, we arrived at the place. It was open, and by that I mean the bloody place didn't have any bloody walls (just a roof) and it was bloody raining. So it was obviously bloody cold. Mrudula and I got into this deeply philosophical conversation about how all those girls in short tops and short skirts were managing to seem so oblivious to the cold. I looked around at each girl dressed in this manner (from a purely scientific perspective, you understand, in the interests of furthering the boundaries of human knowledge) and despite my studious efforts was unable to fathom how they did it. Mrudula wasn't too impressed by my quest for knowledge however, and I abandoned the effort speedily.
But I really think that question ( as to how those girls don't feel the cold) needs further research. I've seen this happen in quite a few Hindi Tamil and Telugu movies too. Ever seen those 'situation songs' , with a heroine (scantily clad), and the hero (dressed up like he's going up mount Everest), rolling around together in the snow? I think the question ranks right up there with the other ones such as 'Who am I?', 'Where am I going?' and 'How does Superman get a shave and a haircut?'. The last one about Superman especially, I must admit, has been troubling me for a long time. I mean, if even bullets can't hurt him, how the f&*#k does the dude remain clean shaven with a decent haircut, all the time?? Obviously scissors and razors wouldn't work on him too!
Anyway to cut a short story long, I had some beer and then some whisky and then some tequila, and then some beer and then some whisky.... You're getting the picture right? Well, if you think you are, you're lucky, because by the end of the evening I most definitely wasn't getting any picture. In fact it all seemed rather blurred. I did manage to keep standing upright, a feat which offered me immense pride, and satisfaction. I didn't slur at all, too. Though I remember some slight difficulty in saying difficult things like 'see you tomorrow' or 'why's the lift not moving for the last five minutes, oh its because I haven't pressed the button' etc. Mrudula, was of course her graceful suave self, which is probably why most people seem to perceive my behaviour rather odd (darkening by contrast, types).
The evening however wasn't over. I have this friend who's a nice, cheerful, bubbly little thing who was with us that day. However, pump enough alcohol into her and she becomes a force of nature. A force to contend with, as in a few thousand kilowatts of energy packed into a five foot nothing frame. The kind of person whom hurricane Katrina would arrive to pay respects to, before starting whatever it is that hurricanes do. On our way back, she took into her mind that she would wish all the denizens of Bangalore who were out on the road at that god forsaken time a goodnight. She rapidly proceeded to do by shoving half her body out of the window and wishing people 'a good night' loud enough to be heard across the whole city. The rest of us being god fearing citizens (who had yet to be arrested on charges of drunken driving), thought this might not be such a wise pastime. It took the combined efforts of all twenty or so of us, who were squeezed into the car to subdue her and get her back in. How difficult it was to get that two and half feet (half of her five feet height) back into the car, is truly unimaginable. We however managed to do so by way of threats, cajoling and of course down and out begging. The rest of the drive was spent trying to distract her from this new pursuit of hers. She was extremely hurt that we didn't allow her to cut this huge swathe of cheerfulness through Bangalore and in no uncertain terms told us we were wimps and wet blankets of the first order. What the world needed, she said, was more cheer and less zombies like us. I'm afraid the rest of us didn't agree.
I woke up the next morning and everything was fine. Until I raised my head by two or so inches. Thats when the thirty little men inside my head with saws, started trying to take the top of my head off. The diligent little buggers were trying to establish some kind of world record in sawing. The next time you see thirty, ugly, two inch buggers, with chain saws in their hands, featured on AXN ( That guinness book of world records show....?), well you'll know where they came from. There was something wrong with the weather too. The sun was too bright, and all noises were too loud. I crawled back into bed before you could say 'hangover'. Another fallout from the whole thing was that my knowledge of human musculature increased significantly. After all that dancing, I discovered new muscles in my body, that I didn't even know existed, by way of aches and pains for the next two days
Maybe I'm really getting too old for this shit... Hmmmm... There's only one way to find out I guess. I'll just have to try and repeat this the coming weekend. Will keep you posted, please keep your ardent desire to know more about this in check, till then.
What the hell, at least I didn't fall down this time.
Yes, prophetic words I penned some time ago. Those about the weekend bringing barrels of beer and humongous hangovers. Only it turned out to be more like barrels of Beer, Whisky and Tequila and as for the consequent hangover, lets just say humongous was an understatement. Which brings me to the fact that I really might be too old for this shit.
Thats something I keep repeating every time I party. "I'm too old for this shit". Some kind soul accompanying me always manages to try and convince me that I'm not. I proceed to party my merry way through the night, with all my misgivings happily wiped away. Funnily the kind souls seem to be more convinced about this fact more often when I'm footing the bill, though I'm sure that is mere coincidence. There are some people who genuinely might feel so too, influenced I'm sure by my natural charm, charisma and the spectacle I present when I'm buzzed.
My propensity to fall down on the dance floor is legendary in certain circles in Chennai. Every occasion when yours truly enters the dance floor, is preceded by an impassioned request (over the speakers) from the the DJ asking me to 'please be careful and not break your bloody leg again'. That's when I start looking around with the others on the dance floor for this clown who keeps falling down, and ruefully shake my head and grin at how silly some people can be. This is of course a risky procedure, which can be thwarted by 'well meaning' friends, who point at you and hoot when the announcement is made. Thus making sure that the entire club is now waiting with bated breath to see me perform my magnum opus. Every move of mine is punctuated with sharp intakes of breath from the people around, who're thinking "Will he ...? Won't he?". I've even come to know that large sums of money are being wagered on whether or not I'll repeat my performance, and if so which particular act of daredevilry or moronicity I'm about to perform. The daredevilry is my point of view, the moronicity I understand, is the others' point of view. I guess people will be jealous no matter what... Hah!
I have several acts up my sleeve, including the 'wicked woofer free fall' .That's when you climb up on to the woofer to dance and suddenly find yourself on thin air over the edge of the speaker and plummet at death defying speeds to the dance floor. Anybody familiar with the Roadrunner cartoons featuring Wile.E.Coyote's falls off cliffs? Let me tell you Wile.E.Coyote couldn't shine a candle to me when it comes to falling. And also the 'deadly dance floor dive' . Your favorite track plays and you jump around, trip on the girl next to you, fall off the dance floor and try to crawl away unnoticed - especially if the girls partner is built like a refrigerator. The potential results of being caught while trying to crawl away are truly 'deadly'. Reader discretion is however advised. I am an expert at these stunts, having perfected them through constant repetition and gallons of beer. Readers are strongly advised not to try them anywhere (at home or outside) despite the popularity these acts will fetch you. Leave them to the expert, I say.
This time in Bangalore, we were at a discotheque which was on the tenth floor of a building. Mrudula was as usual at her stunning best. In my constant effort to impress her, I confidently told her I knew where the place was. I'd been there before with some other friends. As it turned out, we landed up at the opposite end of the road we were supposed to be. She got upset for reasons I fail to understand. I mean it was just a short walk of two kilometres or so... whats a short jaunt like that? Of course the fact that she was wearing heels, it was drizzling and also that we couldn't take an auto to get there ( because all the roads in bloody Bangalore are bloody one ways) might just have contributed to her getting angry. I even tried to explain that the last time I was there, the road was much shorter and that they seemed to have extended it. She immediately pointed out that it was not possible to extend a road which was around forty feet broad and two kilometres long, situated in the heart of Bangalore. Residency road, she further said, was around for the last forty or fifty years only, in the same line and length as it is today. We were just getting to a detailed discussion of my sobriety when I'd been there last, when I wisely changed the subject.
After that brilliant beginning, we arrived at the place. It was open, and by that I mean the bloody place didn't have any bloody walls (just a roof) and it was bloody raining. So it was obviously bloody cold. Mrudula and I got into this deeply philosophical conversation about how all those girls in short tops and short skirts were managing to seem so oblivious to the cold. I looked around at each girl dressed in this manner (from a purely scientific perspective, you understand, in the interests of furthering the boundaries of human knowledge) and despite my studious efforts was unable to fathom how they did it. Mrudula wasn't too impressed by my quest for knowledge however, and I abandoned the effort speedily.
But I really think that question ( as to how those girls don't feel the cold) needs further research. I've seen this happen in quite a few Hindi Tamil and Telugu movies too. Ever seen those 'situation songs' , with a heroine (scantily clad), and the hero (dressed up like he's going up mount Everest), rolling around together in the snow? I think the question ranks right up there with the other ones such as 'Who am I?', 'Where am I going?' and 'How does Superman get a shave and a haircut?'. The last one about Superman especially, I must admit, has been troubling me for a long time. I mean, if even bullets can't hurt him, how the f&*#k does the dude remain clean shaven with a decent haircut, all the time?? Obviously scissors and razors wouldn't work on him too!
Anyway to cut a short story long, I had some beer and then some whisky and then some tequila, and then some beer and then some whisky.... You're getting the picture right? Well, if you think you are, you're lucky, because by the end of the evening I most definitely wasn't getting any picture. In fact it all seemed rather blurred. I did manage to keep standing upright, a feat which offered me immense pride, and satisfaction. I didn't slur at all, too. Though I remember some slight difficulty in saying difficult things like 'see you tomorrow' or 'why's the lift not moving for the last five minutes, oh its because I haven't pressed the button' etc. Mrudula, was of course her graceful suave self, which is probably why most people seem to perceive my behaviour rather odd (darkening by contrast, types).
The evening however wasn't over. I have this friend who's a nice, cheerful, bubbly little thing who was with us that day. However, pump enough alcohol into her and she becomes a force of nature. A force to contend with, as in a few thousand kilowatts of energy packed into a five foot nothing frame. The kind of person whom hurricane Katrina would arrive to pay respects to, before starting whatever it is that hurricanes do. On our way back, she took into her mind that she would wish all the denizens of Bangalore who were out on the road at that god forsaken time a goodnight. She rapidly proceeded to do by shoving half her body out of the window and wishing people 'a good night' loud enough to be heard across the whole city. The rest of us being god fearing citizens (who had yet to be arrested on charges of drunken driving), thought this might not be such a wise pastime. It took the combined efforts of all twenty or so of us, who were squeezed into the car to subdue her and get her back in. How difficult it was to get that two and half feet (half of her five feet height) back into the car, is truly unimaginable. We however managed to do so by way of threats, cajoling and of course down and out begging. The rest of the drive was spent trying to distract her from this new pursuit of hers. She was extremely hurt that we didn't allow her to cut this huge swathe of cheerfulness through Bangalore and in no uncertain terms told us we were wimps and wet blankets of the first order. What the world needed, she said, was more cheer and less zombies like us. I'm afraid the rest of us didn't agree.
I woke up the next morning and everything was fine. Until I raised my head by two or so inches. Thats when the thirty little men inside my head with saws, started trying to take the top of my head off. The diligent little buggers were trying to establish some kind of world record in sawing. The next time you see thirty, ugly, two inch buggers, with chain saws in their hands, featured on AXN ( That guinness book of world records show....?), well you'll know where they came from. There was something wrong with the weather too. The sun was too bright, and all noises were too loud. I crawled back into bed before you could say 'hangover'. Another fallout from the whole thing was that my knowledge of human musculature increased significantly. After all that dancing, I discovered new muscles in my body, that I didn't even know existed, by way of aches and pains for the next two days
Maybe I'm really getting too old for this shit... Hmmmm... There's only one way to find out I guess. I'll just have to try and repeat this the coming weekend. Will keep you posted, please keep your ardent desire to know more about this in check, till then.
What the hell, at least I didn't fall down this time.
