9.40 pm: The husband is on phone with friend. Plans are being made for good dinner, good booze and a good match of football (on TV thankfully) later. I’m lovingly thinking of bed and yesterday’s leftover chicken in the fridge.
10.00 pm: Friend is coming over from his 40-mins-away home. He is husband’s pal from college days and lives in Bombay. He is also someone with a tendency to dance on the dining table after downing a couple of Old Monks. I’ve seen this with my own eyes and serenaded him during the performance in days of yore. He’s seen me passed out on kitchen sink after too many tequilas in the days of yore. Result? Emotional blackmail of gullible female by men aiming to spend rest of the night pissed drunk.
10.10 pm: Friend-on-phone: Arre yaar Rash how can we go out without you…
Husband-at-home: C’mon baby (signs that he is already drunk) don’t be a spoilsport
Gullible Me: Hmmm…these gorillas are old friends after all. Even the one am married to
The Gorillas: Hmm…she’s falling for it…we’ll have a driver for the night if things go out of hand (evil chuckle in Gorilla head)
11.00 pm: We are sitting at trendy and very expensive restaurant (because the men want food and booze and good music). The men are ordering booze in great numbers. They are trying to patao waiter to get them drinks even after the bar closes. Waiter grins=pataoed. I get familiar sinking feeling.
11.30 pm: The men have finished all the booze on table (including mine) and are discussing legendary boy’s nite out in college centuries ago. I am getting a bad sense of déjà vu because any moment they’ll discuss the enormity of Duggu’s puke on that legendary night, followed by Sandy’s vital stats, followed by more fond analysis of past misbehaviour.
11.35 pm: We have shifted to a corner table where booze can be surreptitiously passed. Am wondering if waiter has been bribed before/is gay/is boy bonding champion/hates women. The men are singing to each other. The hide-out area under the table looks very comfy.
12.00 am: Have told waiter to get the food packed. Have flicked three sexy steel stirrers to make myself feel better.
12.10: The men are not coming out of the loo. Call the one am married to. He answers the phone and sings: ‘It’s the time to disco!’ I think fondly of housewifely things like a good home-cooked meal, dinner on time, early to bed, etc.
12.15: Slight tussle as I try to drive but the husband doesn’t let me. ‘You don’t think am drunk do you?’ Hah!
12.20 am: Car halts at theka. More booze is picked up. We drive homewards with music (hip hop) in full blast. I have out of body experience as the man deftly manoeuvres car through a pile of sand/mortar/whatever and the friend keeps shouting ‘Schumacher!!!!’ Car reaches apartment gate and it is decided that it’s too early to call it a night. My fervent pleas of ‘Mujhe Jaane Do’ are ignored. Car driven to super trendy nightclub.
12.45 am: Entry refused at super trendy nightclub on account of being oddly numbered. I do a little jig and thank the Gods. The men have luck on their side. They spot some bouncer type they know from their ‘basketball days.’ We are stamped and pushed in.
1-2: The men have taken to the floor. In fact the floor is full of mostly men. All the women seem very happy to be left draped over table next to wall nursing drink/chatting with female friend, etc. Come to think of it, it’s tough to top a bunch of super sloshed guys trying to do a Yana Gupta.
2.00: Finally give up resolution of not drinking much and go in search of sustenance in crowded bar. The husband has just whispered in my ear that he wants to become a DJ. This requires booze.
Ungodly Hour: Drive two grown and sloshed men home. It is a distance of only 4 kilometres and the parking lot is near empty so can manage this supremely brave feat (Am no driver). The men protest and say they can drive. You throw them a look that says…(well, can’t be described)
Rest of the night: Reach building. Ignore grinning watchman (aaj madamji gadi chala rahe hai). March very happy men to lift. Reach door of own flat. Push happy men in. Lock door. Take out packed dinner. Warm packed dinner. Leave on dining table for the happy men if hunger strikes them. Go to bed. The men are pouring rum and coke down their throat and celebrating Portugal/Ethiopia/whatever’s victory by watching last moments of match/match analysis whatever.
7.00 am: Wake up to the doorbell. Bai enters and throws disgusted look. Turn around to notice two not-too-shapely human bodies sprawled on different parts of floor (one on the gadda the other on bean bag and floor to be exact), along with half finished bottle of rum, many empty glasses (never occurred to them they could use the same ones?), CDs and cassettes…
End result of emotional blackmail
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