What a weekend. I drank far more than i should have.
Rum and coke in this heat, that too at the non ac floor at Janta.
I swear I could see my scalp glistening . My hair was so wet and stringy with sweat. And at one point I wanted to ask the waiter, for a pair of scissors, and just chop my hair and my head off.
By the way, the waiters at Janta are fantastic. They’re always grinning and saying hello. Actually even the waiters are totos are super friendly. The owner though is another story. I suspect he’s a CIA wannabe. What’s the deal with those glasses? Is he blind? Or is he an alcoholic with red eyes.
And, if you are ever at Janta, and both the loos are occupied, and you feel like your bladder is going to burst, I would suggest nipping into Pali Vilage Cafe next door. They never have tables, but the loo is always free. Maybe rich expats don’t like to pee.
Anyway, the highlight of the weekend was this:
On Friday night, we get back home very drunk. We are five of us. AP, enters the house and passes out on the sofa. The rest of us sing and dance and watch videos till about three, when we are passing out as well.
We try and shake AP out of his slumber. His driver is waiting downstairs. But he’s out cold. So after much shaking and pushing, we give up. O stays over as well, and soon three of us pass out.
In the morning, I wake up to give the dog his milk and biscuits. It’s an unearthly hour. 8am. I groggily step into the living room, followed by a jumpy dog. And almost trip over a pair of jeans. I stare at them, and then look up at AP on the couch. He’s still sprawled exactly as he was last night.
Only he seems be wearing blue leggings. I’m so confused, and my brain is a hazy swirl of old monk and madonna’s like a prayer. I think they played it at elbo room, the night before. And if they didn’t then I probably need to get help.
Any way I notice the leggings as I’m slowly wandering around the kitchen, pouring milk, getting biscuits etc. And I’m wondering why does he wear leggings under his jeans. Then, I start thinking he’s from Garhwal, maybe it’s a habit. But it rather strange in this heat though.
Anyway I also notice that he’s wearing a rather tight bright blue T shirt, which is obviously very short for him. My brain can hardly process anything anymore, so I give Milo his stuff and pass out.
Only to be woken by the feeling that someone is looking at me. It’s AP, dressed in his jeans and a shirt. He’s staring at me from the door. He can’t find his way out of the house. So again, at an unearthly hour of 9:15am I rouse myself from sleep and show him the door.
He’s mumbling something about being disoriented and I notice that he’s opened the bathroom door, the cupboards, the kitchen cabinets, all in search of the front door.
I let him out, pick up the newspaper, and shut the door. On my way back to the bed, I throw the papers on the sofa. And stop.
My blue chudidaar is lying flung on it. Slowly a weak signal starts to make its way to my brain. I walk up to the sofa and there’s my bright blue kurta.
My brain goes: ping. Then: Kaboooooom!
Those were not leggings. He was wearing my chudidaar kurta. He got up at night, took off his jeans and wore my chudidaar kurta.
I’m hysterical. I stare at my red bag next to the sofa. My swimming stuff lies in it. And last time I went swimming I changed and forgot to take the chudidaar and kurta out.
I wake up A and O. And we are all rolling with laughter. My kurta is torn. But imagine a 6 foot tall guy, waking up, fully sloshed, removing his jeans and trying to slip into a chudidaar. It must have taken him ages. And why? Why did he wear the kurta? Did he dream he was going for a wedding? Or does he get drunk and cross dress?
The mind boggles.
But I wish I had taken out the chudidaar kameez from the bag. Not because i mind losing the kurta. Or the chudidaar. Just that it would have been spectacular to have seen him in my swimsuit.
image credit: cartoonstock.com