We love our drink, don't we?
But in India, we seem to take it to the next level.
I love my alcohol. I guess being a mallu, I am wired to be an alcoholic.
My earliest memory is having a much older cousin, who in an inebriated state walked over the Thambanoor bridge in Trivandrum (which is now named Thiruvananthapuram, and is also used by the cops to see if you are drunk by asking suspects to spell it), naked. In later years he went on to become a Sanyasi. The line between chemical imbalance and spirituality seems to be a fine one. Of course, he was the family legend. He was everything I wanted to be. A naturist and a monk. Who could ask for more?
Back in the Sand City, I used to have a ritual for my drinking. Something as sacred as Jack Daniel, in my book, required that sort of devotion. I used to drink only in the night when I was alone. It had to be just right. Absolute silence and solitude was a requirement. I was not meant to be a social drinker much to the dismay of my parents. I am probably the only person in this planet who had his mother screaming at me at a party to get drunk like normal people.
Now that is how it is for a mallu.
But even I was not prepared for the things we do back home in India to have our bottle and drink it too.
I am in Bangalore now. A city a lot like a fun loving young girl who has Bal Thackery as her father. The city goes to sleep at 11 pm for heaven's sake! The place probably has the maximum number of watering holes in the country and the biggest revenue the traffic police makes is from those poor souls who return home after downing a few.
The whole thing is like a well organized production. The cops will strategically place metal barrier gates along the road like a maze and then direct suspiciously weaving vehicles to the side of the road and make the drivers/riders do the dreaded blow job.
If your alcohol level is below 40mg per 100ml of blood, you are pretty much ok. You are free to go home. (So that one for the road is fine as long as it stays just one. Unlike the Sand City which has zero tolerance and you risk spending some time in the slammer being a man toy to some Pathan.)
Anything above that can get you either fined, vehicle confiscated, licence revoked or jailed, depending on severity and repeat offending. Its all great. They have a detailed website - www.bangaloretrafficpolice.gov.in - which ensures everyone here knows the law. So its all good.
But lets be honest. When was a law made that was not meant to be broken? Especially when it involves alcohol? Personally I think drunken driving is the most stupidest thing a person can do apart from telling your wife that her butt looks big in that dress. Its suicidal. Not that I have anything against people wanting to kill themselves. Hell, its your life pal, see if I care. But drunken driving puts innocent others at risk. Ask our Salman Bhai. I guess he was Being Human.
Since common sense was never the forte of our species, there are many tricks that are being employed to beat the breath analyser. Whether it works, is anybody's guess. I certainly will not vouch for the effectiveness of any of it. Since I drink myself to a stupor in the confines of my house, this does not apply to me, and like politics, government and social issues that do not effect me directly, has no relevance or interest to me.
Forget mints and paan.
Apparently guava works. After a night of revelry, eat a guava fruit and you are all set to face Ramayiah and his breathing tube. Someone said its not the fruit that you have to eat but its leaves. Play it safe. Eat both.
Recently a friend of my wife told her that the most effective method to beat the test is to drink Parachute Coconut Oil.
Yep. I bet the guy was a mallu. The coconut oil as the solution to all the worlds problem can only come from a malayali head. We believe in our coconut oil. In the right dosage we know that coconut oil can cure AIDS, baldness and neutralize alcohol from your blood stream. In fact, if studied in depth we are positive that it could hold the key to the unified theory. In the beginning, was the word and the word was Coconut Oil.
So if you are in Bangalore partying with your local friends, don’t be surprised to see a big bottle of Parachute Coconut Oil being part of the celebration.
If the drive home doesn’t kill you, hopefully the cholesterol will.
The Prodigal Son Returns: Part 3
Bangalore - a city a lot like a fun loving young girl who has Bal Thackery as her father.
We love our drink, don't we?