Weekdays at NITR is all about grey. The grey atmosphere, greying and peeling walls, greying professors and our own greying intellect. The whole charade is so dull and staid that I don’t think you would want to be me. Come to think of it, even I wouldn’t be me if I had the choice. So it is with a passion akin to deep seated longing, I await the weekends. But, alas time also plays strange tricks on us out here. It mysteriously warps itself around making the weekends so ephemeral and flitting.
My personal opinion is that most of us drink just to maintain sanity. By Saturday night I just salivate at the mere mention of drinks. By midnight, we the dregs of NIT society set about on the process of painting the town red. As my mind wavers during these bacchanalia I take a look around at my inebriated friends and see the stages we proceed through our drinks.
Verbose:- The hallucinating chords of Pink Floyd course through our system, taking our minds to a new high. Words seem to take a new meaning altogether as we hum alongside Gilmour. The aroma of neat whiskey anasthesize us to all the extraneous world. After the first three pegs,words flow from our mouths unbidden, like coins from a torn pocket. Never had the simple act of speaking seemed like a panacea for all our troubles. We talk about the past, that so frequently trod upon path making deeper grooves with each peg.
Amicose:- As the good feeling swells inside us, we sing paeans for one another, glorifying our virtues and dumping our faults in the collective mirth of drunkenness. Its these moments that last forever making you feel that “ If I am going to hell, at least my friends would be there”. As the drink slowly gets into the system we cut silly jokes, exchange pleasantries, laughing at one another and basking in our love for one another.
Grandiose:- The world is a small pool and we are the big fish in it. A trip to Goa, getting a perfect 10, nice dream jobs were never so real. Big men, big ambitions. We used to be people who used to be the torch-bearers of this generation. But this apathetic system has made us shrink so much that nowadays we cant even see what is in store for us ahead. We relive our days of glory, the days when a mere job hanging by a slender thread wasn’t the only way of redemption. Our crushed souls take new meaning out of life with every peg, opportunity seems to be around the corner.
Bellicose:- We take the sword to the cause of all our troubles. The antediluvian society, its archaic morals and rules tying us to the ground. Encumbered by desire and ambition we try to clear the obstacles besetting us. The insti, profs, G-mats receive their share of the choicest ma-behen galis.We feel relieved after venting ourselves.
Morose:-As much I would want it to be a mere footnote of my epic saga of drinking, people start breaking down. I admit sometimes I also feel on the brink of shedding tears. Nothing seems right, nothing is going our way. These are the most emotionally vulnerable phases of the night. I guess for us guys eight large pegs are needed to relive our darkest secrets. We contemplate everything that has gone wrong with our life. Sometimes with no else to talk to you, you even make the mistake of drinking and dialing your ex. Warning, it is at this stage guys like Hemingway have reached for the shotgun.
Stuporous:- By this time two bumpers have been downed. As we get up the head is heavy on our shoulders, the legs unsteady, the eye unseeing. People start bending over balconies and emptying all they have consumed the whole day. You get the feeling that the world doesn’t exist so you start peeing in the streets coz of course no one can see you.
Comatose:- People who can stagger back to their rooms, or others who have to be carried are all dumped unceremoniously on beds. The night is past and you know that when you wake up twelve hours later you will be having an almighty hangover and the dread of having to face the same routine all over.