village memories

trudging to the lab this morning through the inches of snow, i find myself remembering the days of yore. actually, the days of undergrad. i studied in an eastern corner of India, a place called Kgp, that would be glorified beyond belief were i to call it a village. the campus was it. everything outside the campus was the way the British found it when they landed in the mid-1800s. they too left it the way they found it.

of course, i exaggerate.. but only slightly. most students did their to-ing and fro-ing on bicycles, as these represented the optimum cost-benefit anaysis. within cycling range were two very important landmarks, which seemed to have made progress towards development. not strangely, both these establishments sold alcohol.

establishment no. 1 was Waldorf restaurant. despite the lofty name, let it not deceive you into images of grandeur. Waldie's was a chinese-operated joint, in a pretty grimy building, with dim yellow lighting and tired fans that turned slowly. they lost their liquor license soon after our freshman year (i solemnly swear i had nothing to do with that), but the food remained excellent. a lynchpin in that menu was this dish called "half-fried chicken". i know the name is dubious, but it was basically half of a poultry animal of the chicken vintage cut into bite-sized pieces and fried. much much better than KFC, and even now tears come to my eyes and my tongue flops around in my mouth as i type the name.

there were ways of getting over the Prohibition there though. the head-waiter (i use the term loosely) there knew of my affinity for rum, and thus whenever i ordered Pepsi, my 'cola' would come already half-poured in the glass. later on we realised that if we tipped him heavily, we could just bring our own alcohol to the place.

the second establishment was the Park Hotel. again, i urge you to not go by name, as this was no Michelin-star wielding kind of operation at all. but it was new, and had an air-conditioning, which actually only served to recycle the cigarette smoke-laden air back into the place. the food was passable, but a few beers down the hatch made it downright enjoyable. the company was well-pleasing though, for all the riff-raff of the campus would show up.. Park on friday night was like a status symbol. it was well-pleasing because there is nothing more enjoyable than knowing your table was always booked, and when you would get there, the table would be cleared away and stocked with cold beers and red-hot tandoori chicken. yum yum.

the real fun would actually begin after dinner and drinks. funny thing with alcohol is, the more you drink the thirstier you get! so the drunken walk back wheeling the cycles uphill back to campus involved a detour to the humble home of a fine upstanding citizen who went by the name of Venky. as befitting the purveyor of untaxed (and therefore cheaper) alcoholic products, he had a big dog and a little garage. since Venky was a fine upstanding citizen, he slept early. so we had to climb the gate and knock on his door to wake the fellow. but the aforementioned dog was moody, so when he rushed you as you clambered over the gate, one couldn't be sure whether he was welcoming you or trying to decide which part of you was the meatiest.

usually a biscuit or a "good boy, down boy" would do the trick. i think dogs sense a oneness of soul with me, and let me live. then would follow a communal digging out of pockets and pooling together of banknotes and coins from deep dark recesses where the sun don't shine and the rain don't pour. hey, it's money, and it buys alcohol. let no more be said.

like the three wise men of the Bible, bearing the gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.. errm, alcohol and other 'herbs' actually.. we would return to C-313, the haven for the weary and the den of iniquity, as someone so rightly pointed out once. at which point the revelries would begin, but that is another story, for another day!