Three vodkas with tonic, large. Two Laphroaig, very large. One glass filled with Peach Schnapps, vodka and Bacardi, quite foolhardy.
Three hours’ sleep, thanks to Very Small Person coming awake at 6 a.m.
But a long long evening from 20 years ago, in-jokes and expletives, the warmth that comes from laughing with friends (though the Laphroaig played its part) and adda.
Condoms in the Jampot summer. The divide between the finance wing and the rest of the organization. Torch-light on crocodile eyes. Whether Michelangelo was the Maradona of the Sistine Chapel team. And no, no blog-talk.
Learning curve …
Check qualifications before delegation. As B learnt in the course of a tag-team wooing. The friendly lady bestowed her favours upon A.H. in the back seat of a Fiat (yes, a Fiat, A.H. is a small man) tooling down the Strand Road and round the Maidan, late one rainy night in the ‘80s. Came B’s turn to pleasure the lady and A took the wheel.
Except that A had never learnt to drive. “Boss, coming together is f**ing impossible when a f***ing maniac is driving your Pop’s car on the f***ing Hastings Road divider!”
Familiarise with the job responsibilities. “My first fricking visit after we were married, he should have carried me over the threshold for Chrissake, and what do I find? His flat-mate opens the door wrapped in a gamchha and there’s a f**king ant-hill in the middle of the bathroom!” Sheepish explanation – “We each cleaned our own rooms, we’d be damned if we’d clean the common area”. Hence a mushroom growing out of the kitchen counter, in addition to the ant-hill in the bathroom.
Check out the immediate environment. “Look f***er, don’t get any ideas about midnight swims when you visit us, OK? First time I thought I’d take a dip after dinner, I went down by torch-light. Good thing I shone the torch on the water after I’d shucked the towel …. Maaaan, there were EYES everywhere! Crocs, man, effin’ great hungry crocs!” “Right, and you’d taken my sons in there with you that morning, you jerk! You know we ran the video later and there was a croc IN the water when they were swimming!” Sheeshh (this was their holiday up in the Amazon basin).
Develop client-specific solutions. “Boss, when she gets mad I just split. I come back after a few hours and she’s usually cooled off. Otherwise she might swing at me with a bottle. A full bottle.” (To do the speaker justice, he’s not a physical coward. He was just pained at the thought of his beloved malt going waste). “Me, I have it easy. All I have to do when she’s mad is to scratch her back. It’s hard for her to stay angry when she’s saying ‘A little to the left .. no, up a bit.’”
Internalise your professional role. "Before I became CFO I was ***da. Then suddenly I was this pariah, man - EVERYbody hates the Finance guys! After a while I decided I just didn't give a big rat's ass - remember Battle Cry? - and if they expected me to be an a**hole, dammit I'd be an a**hole. Grown out of that now." "Yes, except at home, darling." Glance round, silence, long swig.
Make adjustments for local conditions (Jamshedpur, circa 1990). “No ACs, no coolers, we were on the top floor, we’d pour water on the floor and try to go to sleep before it dried. You know the gochi?! Condoms frickin’ MELT in 45 degree heat, why do you think J was born so early!?”
Get the right perspective. Remember the Phantom’s Great Treasure Cave and Minor (or was it Lesser?) Treasure Cave? The Vatican Museum drew the analogy. Incredibly valuable stuff (five-foot Dresden china doll-house, a portrait of a dead Pope done entirely in semi-precious stones) lying in the corridor, the locked cabinets are for manuscripts and maps and signed artworks. Some of the greatest treasures are right up there – check out this ceiling.
About the perspective. Are the Caravaggio and Botticelli paintings in the Sistine Chapel of lesser value than Michelangelo’s work? This might be a tough question for an art expert, but for a layman like me it's a no-brainer. Signor Buanorotti was the Renaissance art world’s equivalent of the Tiger Woods of 2001. The house concurred. We moved to the next item on the agenda. (If my memory serves me right, it was “What are you guys, f***in’ siphons? Who finishes a litre of Laphroaig in two f***in’ hours?”)
Work within your limitations. Translation: if you must go overboard with the booze, carry Aspirin and drink lots of water.
Oh well, I’ve had the weekend to recover.
16 comments:
Nice, J.A.P, nice. You're more interesting when drunk.
But I am disappointed...my knowledge of art is very minimal (too?) but even I know that Caravaggio it is who rules!
And speaking of art, can us masses please have the pleasure of seeing a legible version of the Dilbert cartoon?
I liked this post.
I love hanging out with old friends, especially people you have significant pasts with and I love that hour when you've been drinking for a while and it's just before morning and you know you don't want to be anywhere else.
Sibyl, I usually fall asleep after my second drink. Unless I'm dancing (which hasn't happened for at least a year). Strangely enough, I was stationary, wide awake and dead sober that evening.
eM, my friends are my wealth. Some day I'll post about how one of them offered to put off buying a house so he could give me money to go to Harvard.
Arka, I should be in your town on Wednesday. Message me. Early evening over some Guinness? (You can have your lime soda.) Where did you pick up 'aniyom'?!
J.A.P.
Wow! You guys were pretty wild back then!! Somehow it feels odd to think that when i was a kid soiling my 'jammies, there were people out there banging chicks in the back seats of cars.
si the fiat back really that small? I would think a Maruti 800 is smaller, no? (though possibly still more conducive to said activities)
as susal, good stuff here, JAP, obtuse though it might get. And yes, drinking with old drinking buddies is something else...though I know that feeling of sometimes being stone cold sober- usually happens when I am very keen on getting drunk, or too wary of staying drunk
and this is what they say at the Laphroaig home:
Contemplate it, savour it, but never rush it - appreciate the lingering and unique mellow finish of the true single malt Scotch whisky for the connoisseur.
here we have people finishing a litre in a couple of hours, and some of have never tasted this promising liquid...
err...I am only allergic to poison sticks, not the good brew. :D usually Russian potato juice (he he) in my case. "aniyom" was a reference to conversation in car on Tuesday.
Are you from Jamshedpur? Are you? Are you? Which school, which batch? Tell me all.
Nice blog JAP. I'm from New Delhi, but I'm currently living in Washington DC.
JAP, the bit about Very Small Person, most endearing! The rest, reminiscent of interesting times!
in response to query on my blog - yes, of course you can
perhaps a post extolling/villifying beantwon?
Mr Gerontion, you said you were old. But do you wear your trousers rolled?
Motivated by that gorgeous pic, I bought a bottle of Laphroaig this evening. Set me back a cool $30. Pruffock babu, you're the devil himself!
posht? posht?????????
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