There is this traditional thing that I have been missing on for the past two years because of corporate life being ignorant about the term ‘winter vacations’ but this year again I had a chance to do it.
Three friends (Nitin, Bhoopi and Myself) do a night-out @ Nitin’s place, in the first week of January and reminisce over the past year. Sounds like a dumb thing but given the fact that we rarely get to catch up with each other the 12 hours is like a Hoover Dam collapse of information, bickering, dogging (if there is a male equivalent of bitching), flaunts and more-or-less all the cargo of our train of thoughts minus the quality control!
So the three of us are eating at Dastarkhwaan (a totally down-market but awesome kebab joint in Lucknow) when we decide to continue where we left off. So I call up Mom to tell her that I won’t be coming home.
“Are u guys drunk? Is that why U are not coming home?” Her first reaction.
“Yeah that’s right! So I thought that instead of making a scene in front of you I’d rather do it in front of Nitin’s mom” My response
“Ah! Ok. See you over breakfast tomm then”
Sometimes providing too much info to parents can come back and bite u in the ass.
Nitin had recently gotten his bedroom renovated and it’s jazzy blue walls, surround sound, a plush floor spread were few of the reasons why this hangout was chosen but more so than any other was the fact that the floor plan permitted us to laugh out loud, use expletives generously and make lewd comments without waking up his parents.
Bhoopi was engaged, to be married next year so the starter of the night was his tale of chivalry and madness at courting his ladylove. By the end we clapped and told him to consider auditioning for MTv Roadies. Raghu too would surely be floored.
Nitin had a habit of downloading songs from every possible Hindi Movies from www.mp3hungama.com (for those who give a middle finger to ‘Stop Piracy’) so was DJ’ing for us and his surround sound was thumping away. Whenever he enqueued a Ghazal in the playlist, he got kicked in the butt. After all it was 02:00 in the night and we did not want a sedative.
Precisely at this time we felt an urge for a cup of chai. I’am not a big fan but tagged along. We crept to the kitchen, careful not to make a noise. Bhoopi who had recently flaunted his chai-making skills to his would-be-in-laws took the kettle in his hand. Chai-patti and Cheeni was added in measured quantities and the pot was boiling. I was crushing the ginger and making some corny joke when Nitin’s mom came out of the bedroom rubbing her eyes.
‘Tum log itni raat to kar kya rahe ho?”
“Aunty chai bana rahe hai. Main adrak koot raha hoon. Aap ko ek cup chahiye?” She went back to bed laughing.
Later we dared each other to do a bottoms-up with the tea but in Vinay Pathak’s terminology of Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi, nobody was ‘Macho’ enough to do it!
Two hours later, we washed the cup and drank coffee in the same.
I wish I could give an excerpt of the conversation, not that I give a damn about secrecy clauses, but I’ am too immature to be able to make sensible statements out of 12 hours of garbage talks.
Next day Bhoopi was leaving for Delhi and thence to Purdue. Nitin would get back in the rhythm of his job and I had just one more week at home. Our stomach hurt from laughing and the effect of coffee was wearing off. We pulled the sheets and wished – maybe some day again.
