And so it was final, we were going to get drunk after midnight. The mid-terms were over. All the plans and arrangements were made, and a bottle of whisky was snuck in, into the hostel. Our guards were up, we were on the lookout for Parida, the warden, the annoying one. But it really cracked us up when we overheard him making plans for getting drunk himself.
At midnight the door was locked and smothered with an old bedsheet, cigarettes were lit and we sat down hoping to get rid of our frustrations, the unresolved conflicts within us.
One peg down, people’s overconfidence started to pop up, as they all somehow thought that they all were resistant to the spirit; as if it was water, not alcohol. And so with every little puff each of us showered our stories and tales upon one another.
Two pegs down, the light-headedness kicked in for some, while others were still fine.
But by the time the last ones were over, all the overconfidence got washed away. The stories became dark and about all the frustrations in life: the pressure over the exams, the rejections in life so far, the heartbreaks, the lost relationships, the sexual frustrations, the infatuations mistaken for love, every little sorrow, every little painful incident came up as we tried to laugh them off.
Random shouts, drunk dialing the exes, falling off the bed laughing and the pack of cigarettes, all had a reason that night.
Everyone but me got rid of their miseries that night, I just couldn’t open up, not drunk enough, I guess. I just smiled vaguely as I hankered for one last peg, but the empty bottle stood there, amidst all the smoke, looking at me in the eye and knowing all the secrets, it smiled back.
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