Happy FL Shop

As Manali stopped at the signal, she was bored to be stopped for the ninety seconds slot imposed on her. Easily distracted, she looked up in the smoky sky, beyond the landmark clock of the street, telling the time upon anybody who would care to spare its rust a look, she could see a fleet of birds, creating a pattern in their flight, the pattern of the sign 'infinite', a horizontal eight. They dived down dark, and rose up with light. It remained, the sight. With the red light beginning to flick, she moved forward. Where have I seen it before? Was it the same with the seagulls? Was it in Shillong? Was it in Cappadocia? Having parked her car meticulously, she walked the talk of a confident woman of the world. 

She was looking particularly pretty today, her grey kohl further mystifying her image. She wished she could walk into a college with this stature, to teach all the perspectives she had to share. Instead, she walked into "Happy FL Shop", which recorded the most footfall in the city on any given day. She was even irritated with the name. Happy? What was Daadu thinking? As soon as she entered, her staff of two men, one old, the other middle-aged, stood up to greet her. With her greetings, she asked for the orders for the day. How come people are still having rum in this heat? Gin is down. Wine up. Beer inflating. World T-20. I must make a note to double the orders before the weekend. Or, should I go for triple? Blenders Pride, Antiquity, ok. Have to take home a Teacher's today. 

"Das Babu, triple the order for Kingfisher, Carlsberg and Budweiser. Haywards, double," she really knew her work well. Ever since the untimely demise of her husband, she started assisting her parental business. It was a shift -- this turnabout from preparing for academic pursuits to taking into accounts the evening rounds of the city's people. But it was interesting, and she was catching up quick. Through the day, she observed the people's faces from the little cage opening, into which their hands greedily came forward to clutch their drop of liquid affection. Their faces would appear to be crisscross because of the wiring. Each face was different, yet, they wore the same mask in front of this shop. Transparent, coveting -- their various hands, all the same in their ask.

The initial months, post lunch, she would sketch the hands, dying to incorporate the want in them, even though they differed in structure, or gender. These days, she shifted her focus to the faces. Agreeable customers, asking for their whiskey, already intoxicated students asking for more rum, the weekenders stocking up the beer, while the occasional party order for a crate of wine. And then there would be a woman or two, either, decisive and precise, or flighty and experimenting. This experimenting was palpable in their voices -- the hesitation, and finally, the prompt. Anybody and everybody who came in to Happy, came looking for happiness, in addiction, in moderation, or in suffering. As she chewed upon her refrigerated papayas which came as her evening tiffin, she thought of the birds, and how they changed colours. Was it the light? Was it their bi-colour wings? Was it me? She was caught off-guard by a voice at that moment. Deep, baritone, almost like a classical singer, 'Glenfiddich, please. And one Grey Goose.'

Apart from the attention these premium brands would get, Manali groped to look into the face of the person. It was a woman. She knew she knew that voice. Bhargavi? But she was always a teetotaler. She went ahead of Raju and brought down the Grey Goose herself, and took the time to wrap it in the newspaper, to see through the wired mask of that voice. They all looked the same. It was the trained eye which could not see. But the moment the hand came in with the card, she knew it was her.

"Bhargavi?" she couldn't contain her enthusiasm.

"Manali?" she couldn't mask her surprise.

That weekend over the much anticipated India-Pakistan match, they drank down the deaths of their husbands. Budweiser Magnum. Bhargavi-Manali. 

"I was always so sure you would be joining a college to teach English!" one of the starters of their rebounding.

"I too was sure you would join the Defence. Not a stupid IT company" declared Manali. 

In excavating their forgotten sorrows they revived a chemistry, neither knew existed. Two years hence, Manali never once complained her grandfather's decision of naming the Foreign Liquor Shop -- "Happy". 

As for where she had seen the birds, that day at the signal, two years ago, of course, she had visualised an image Bhargavi had narrated while at college. They dived dark and rose up with light. Precisely, they were happy in their infinite togetherness. The smoky sky embraced their differences, singled them with the joy of a smell, one which is once lost and stumbled upon suddenly. 

Never fondly missed till fondly relived.