Some nights back (seems only yesterday), deep past-midnight, six friends -- A, B, C, D, E and me, sat on a manicured lawn, under a softly starlit sky, in a friendly orbit. Five of them passing weed rings to each other and up towards their imagined clouds, while me, I soaked in their gradual inebriation with my little cigarette semi-rings, breathing out beer. It felt so nice to feel the feet touch the grass, even better than pulling it out, compulsively! Slowly, we took to our recline positions, or was it swiftly? Whatever it was, it was meant to be -- being in our liberated selves. A, was slurring; as B misconstrued him and while C contradicted them both, D drank up the Coke. E was erm, star-gazing, philosophizing, and I was wondering how wonderful it would be if only time could come to a halt and we didn't have to bother returning to our lives.
Our tied lives.
We heard the Small Ben echo the hour of 1 am's loud bang into our senses. We helped confuse some already confused stray people trying to figure out a certain house in that maze of lanes and sub-lanes. We also were slowly preparing to disperse, unwillingly. A no more had the will to wear his shoe; B was constantly laughing and C claimed he could drive E back, who, for the first time surrendered she would like someone else to drive her off. D, meanwhile, got us some extremely good chocolates and as we soaked our senses in guilty greed, she suddenly decided to lock us out of her gate. We complied.
Outside, I decided to drive A and E to E's in E's car, where B and C picked me and A up -- they had a driver -- and, having dropped me off, went to drop B, who lived outside the vicinity. It was a circle comprising different people belonging to different age groups. I stayed awake till 4 that morning, hearing the Small Ben ring its chime two, three and four times as each hour passed. The slight chirp of birds helped me doze off and wake up at around 10, with a hangover. I had mixed whiskey and beer. Having taken a bath, I realized the hangover did not attribute to substance abuse, but to the condition of knowing that such nights are rare and far in between. It was a lovely night. I had lied on the grass, gazing up at the emptiness above. Some stars glittered, while some that couldn't be seen, were being seen. The grass was more comfortable than any five-star bed. They often give us backaches, while the grass absorbed in all such aches.
I just heard the 1 am chime. This is different.
At this moment, perhaps, A is painting his heart out; B must be busy watching a documentary while C would be sleeping. We miss D, who is in another land now, where it is high-afternoon and no one, not even E knows where she could be right now. Me? I am in my room, writing. None of us took a photograph of that night, but for each of us, I can vouch that it would remain framed in our minds forever. Etched with emotions and flavoured by the uninhibited intoxication, we laughed, we shared, we were friends. We are.
A had complimented me heavily that night. We agreed that I was aging gracefully. 'Like Waheeda Rahman?' teased B. 'No. Like Shabana Azmi or Tabu', I replied, vehemently. 'Tabu', said A. As I was dropped off, A told me if his boyfriend was straight, he would have married me. I replied, 'I would rather marry you!' To which he shouted a cute, 'I Love You!'
Friends part. Years apart.
Nights like that are the stars seen, even as they remain unseen.
Our tied lives.
We heard the Small Ben echo the hour of 1 am's loud bang into our senses. We helped confuse some already confused stray people trying to figure out a certain house in that maze of lanes and sub-lanes. We also were slowly preparing to disperse, unwillingly. A no more had the will to wear his shoe; B was constantly laughing and C claimed he could drive E back, who, for the first time surrendered she would like someone else to drive her off. D, meanwhile, got us some extremely good chocolates and as we soaked our senses in guilty greed, she suddenly decided to lock us out of her gate. We complied.
Outside, I decided to drive A and E to E's in E's car, where B and C picked me and A up -- they had a driver -- and, having dropped me off, went to drop B, who lived outside the vicinity. It was a circle comprising different people belonging to different age groups. I stayed awake till 4 that morning, hearing the Small Ben ring its chime two, three and four times as each hour passed. The slight chirp of birds helped me doze off and wake up at around 10, with a hangover. I had mixed whiskey and beer. Having taken a bath, I realized the hangover did not attribute to substance abuse, but to the condition of knowing that such nights are rare and far in between. It was a lovely night. I had lied on the grass, gazing up at the emptiness above. Some stars glittered, while some that couldn't be seen, were being seen. The grass was more comfortable than any five-star bed. They often give us backaches, while the grass absorbed in all such aches.
I just heard the 1 am chime. This is different.
At this moment, perhaps, A is painting his heart out; B must be busy watching a documentary while C would be sleeping. We miss D, who is in another land now, where it is high-afternoon and no one, not even E knows where she could be right now. Me? I am in my room, writing. None of us took a photograph of that night, but for each of us, I can vouch that it would remain framed in our minds forever. Etched with emotions and flavoured by the uninhibited intoxication, we laughed, we shared, we were friends. We are.
A had complimented me heavily that night. We agreed that I was aging gracefully. 'Like Waheeda Rahman?' teased B. 'No. Like Shabana Azmi or Tabu', I replied, vehemently. 'Tabu', said A. As I was dropped off, A told me if his boyfriend was straight, he would have married me. I replied, 'I would rather marry you!' To which he shouted a cute, 'I Love You!'
Friends part. Years apart.
Nights like that are the stars seen, even as they remain unseen.
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