Drunk At The Get-Together

DRUNK AT THE GET-TOGETHER

CHARACTERS

Lawyer

Doctor

Banker

Drunkard on the sofa

Waiter

Manager

[A luxury cottage at a resort – the type you find on a hill-station. Four inebriated men are in the room. Three men (the lawyer, the doctor and the banker) lie sprawled on the rug around the fire-place, rising only to refill glasses or to reach for nuts and crisps. Their movement is unsteady but the three seem to talk with intact senses even though their speech is loud, thick and slurred. The fourth is lying on the sofa and seems to be in a more inebriated condition.]

DRUNKARD ON THE SOFA

[He turns sideways with a lot of effort, and addresses the three on the floor.]

I have been thinking…counting…do you know how many people would like to kill me now?

[As if exhausted with the effort, he collapses onto his back and slips into a drunken stupor. He can be heard off and on muttering, snoring or shouting numbers. It sounds as if he is counting the number of people out to kill him. The three men on the floor stare at him from various reclined positions. An eerie silence follows for a while.]

BANKER

[Addressing the other two on the floor.]

Doesn’t he have anything better to think about?

DOCTOR

Hmmm…what a pity…I don’t think anyone would bother with me…

BANKER

What are you talking about?

DOCTOR

His question…

BANKER

[Groans.]

God!

DOCTOR

My kids might…

BANKER

With Dads like us, good kids should…when was the last time you saw them?

LAWYER

But…seriously…my rivals might, you know…or their clients, at least…Come to think of it, even some of my clients might want to kill me (smirks)…

DOCTOR

You lawyers! Do you think anyone would really want to kill a doctor like me?

LAWYER

Let’s see…how many patients have you let down…or…is it put down? Honest mistake or gross negligence…or…just not worth the effort or resources…?

DOCTOR

Come on, it is not like that…sure it happens…but we are not God, right? We can’t save everyone…but…we are not the Devil either…

BANKER

Geez! Stop it, you guys…

DOCTOR

How about you finance lot? Anything you do not worth a kill? (laughs)

LAWYER

Investors, certainly…for wasting their money…

DOCTOR

Tax-payers too, probably…for killing their jobs and then, wasting their money…

BANKER

Yeah, yeah…as long as we loan money, everyone’s happy…right?

DOCTOR

And all those products you sell? What’s the fine print: heads you win, tails I lose…right?

BANKER

Caveat emptor…

LAWYER

Listen to him! I feel like killing him now! And, the irony…you used to be a commie!

DOCTOR

Yeah, what happened to that act…in college, weren’t you with that militant Dam Bachao lot?

LAWYER

That must have ended when he got his militant wife…

BANKER

Any wife should do, I would assume…

[The three men laugh together. There is a knock at the door. One of them shouts ‘Come in’. A waiter enters.]

WAITER

Sir, the kitchen is about to close…can I get you anything?

BANKER

Bring a tandoori platter…

DOCTOR

At this time of the night…? Yuck! I think I will have some cheese cucumber sandwiches…

LAWYER

Just crisps for me…and a bottle of the same…

WAITER

Sir, the bar is closed…

LAWYER

Damn!

WAITER

Sir, I told you last time…

DOCTOR

Hey, no problem…I think I have a bottle of Glenfiddich with me…that should last us…

[The waiter exits after confirming their order.]

BANKER

From where did you get that Glenfiddich?

DOCTOR

London conference last week…brought back two bottles…

[Indicating the drunkard on the sofa…]

I met him at the airport...he was there to receive or send someone. He begged for a bottle…gave him one. That’s when we thought of contacting you two for this get-together…

BANKER

For auld lang syne…

LAWYER

How does he manage it every time?

BANKER

What?

LAWYER

Every time we meet, he passes out drunk…but before that, he sets the theme for the night…like his question tonight…

DOCTOR

Do you remember the first time? Just out of school…right…?

LAWYER

God, yes…I was drinking for the first time…he told me to keep on pinching my nose…to gauge my drunkenness (laughs)…

BANKER

And we had a copy of the Satanic Verses…man, he was crazy about Rushdie…O boy, the protest we planned against the fatwa…he wanted a fatwa on The Suitable Boy instead…how could Seth produce that after The Golden Gate…definitely deserved a fatwa (laughs)…Sethanic Verses…isn’t that what he called that monster-book…

DOCTOR

We were so green then…

BANKER

Embarrassingly fresh!

LAWYER

And then the last time we met…? Remember…?

DOCTOR

The only time I saw him without liquor…sipping juice…the last time he must have had a healthy drink (laughs)…and he brought his girlfriend…lovely girl…he kept on drooling over her…

BANKER

Come on, she was a whore…

LAWYER

Who cares which…I remember that day…won my first big battle in court…

BANKER

Isn’t that the one your client was sentenced to death?

LAWYER

The first case my senior allowed me to handle…heady stuff, man…deals with the prosecution and all that…agreed to suppress some evidence…man, there were wheels within wheels…that poor sod never stood a chance…too many bigwigs involved…

DOCTOR

Has he been hanged?

LAWYER

Who knows…must be rotting in some death row?

DOCTOR

That was my final year of post-graduation in Medical College…

BANKER

Yeah, yeah…walking around with Rohypnol…God! On how many did you use that date-rape drug?

DOCTOR

Well, that night, who hit first base with the help of that?

BANKER

I was second…you went first…

LAWYER

And, she was hardly usable after you…what a mess you left (laughs)…

DOCTOR

And he slept through it all…as doped as his girl…

[The three men laugh together. The doctor rises and searches in his suitcase.]

DOCTOR

Oh shit! Where is that bottle? I am sure I had it with me…or did my wife confiscate it while packing? Oh shit!

LAWYER

Damn! Where do we get a bottle now?

BANKER

Hey, check his bag (indicating the drunkard on the sofa)…he rarely goes around without a bottle…though it might be rum or something cheap…

[The doctor searches in the drunkard’s old backpack. He finds a bottle of Glenfiddich.]

 DOCTOR

Did he filch mine or is this his? It’s open. He’s had a peg or two…

LAWYER

Anyway…pour it, man…

[The doctor refills each glass, adds ice and hands over their glasses to his friends. The three men raise a toast, and we can hear them say ‘Cheers’, ‘Bottoms Up’, ‘Up Yours’, laugh together and then drink. For a while, there is a silence. Then we hear strangled hoarse cries from the three as we see them in the throes of a convulsive death. The eerie silence continues interrupted only by the muttering or snoring of the drunkard on the sofa. Then, we hear a persistent knocking on the door. The waiter enters the room. He sees the dead men, drops the tray he is carrying, looks shocked and then runs out. He returns soon with the Manager. The latter surveys the scene.]

MANAGER

Looks like they had a poisoned drink…is that bottle from our bar?

WAITER

No, sir...that is the doctor’s bottle…I heard him say that he has a bottle.

MANAGER

Thank God, it is not from our bar! Let me call the police from the office…you stay here and guard the place. Don’t let anyone in. What a mess!

WAITER

[Pointing at the drunkard on the sofa.]

Sir...what about him?

MANAGER

Let the police come and wake him up. Poor chap…three friends…dead…

WAITER

Why did the doctor poison those two…and himself…?

MANAGER

Who knows what goes on with this type…!

[The manager exits. The waiter guards the three dead men. The drunkard on the sofa continues to mutter and snore. As the lights fade, he gives an exultant shout as if he has found an answer to a long-standing problem ‘Three! Three! Three!’]

Marveled At The Inconsequence

I am in the mood to write about a matter of no consequence. Do you know that there is a difference between that and the ordinary?

One remembers the ordinary for being a reassuring boredom or a melancholic treat of self-pity or even a flight of fantasy, like meeting with friends or a gossip session or reading novels. Even the searching look of males that nearly strips me naked is ordinary though I am amazed at times that a flick of my hair is enough to trigger the lascivious and a dress of daring décolletage is superfluous. My laughter at lunchtime is definitely ordinary. It is just a trick to stay on top of men with a feint of reduced resistance. They usually associate laughter and friendship with submission and abysmal intellect. But, all that is ordinary. I do it every day (nearly) and it is just for sweet survival. That is not the stuff I want to think about right now.

I want to think about a matter of no consequence. Let me define it as something which needs a bloody effort to be remembered. [In my diary, why can’t I call it bloody though it seems to have troubling connotations with rape and male domination over the centuries?]

I have been in the department for a week. I happen to be the only ‘gal’ around. Even the stuck-ups wallowing in self-importance have noticed my existence. I go to the Canteen with the group and the conversation usually centers round me. It helps to be a social animal – to take in that mixture of false laughter, condescending agreement and uninvited criticism. There are a few in the department who go for lunch separately. They look like misfits. One of them seems ideal as a matter of no consequence.

I had a brief one-to-one meeting with him during my first round of interviews. He had done his homework, probably to look a bit smart. It was quite apparent even then that he likes my company because I am a woman, quite typical, I know. I have talked to him once or twice since I joined. He is hoping to be a friend, at the least, I am sure. [His exuberance or attention reminds me of a manic cousin that I had. That cousin was always excessive in whatever he did – letters, plans for the future, affection, dejection or abuse, anything and everything. It was not at all surprising when he jumped in front of an express train. A manic mess, he was. Ah, I am digressing…]

I suspect that he knows his own limitations. He is not attractive. He does not speak well. He is not charming. He does not even have a smile worth noticing. And the worst part is that he doesn’t seem to have qualities to dislike him either. I can never remember his name. He never introduces himself. I wonder how it is like to be somebody worse than ordinary, someone nearly invisible, a matter of no consequence whatsoever…

Note: This was written long back. A few months after I wrote it, a good friend and colleague happened to read this. She confronted me with, ‘Is this what you think of me?’ ‘Of course not,’ I replied. It is just fiction, my reply and the rest.

Tasks At The End

Arvind had planned it well. I don’t think my presence would have made any difference.

He had made the travel and hotel reservation three weeks in advance. On the third of January, he had taken the flight to Goa and checked in at a good resort. For two days, he had gambled at the casino, won little and lost lots, seemed happy, smoked and drank just a little too much, flirted with a girl at the bar. That’s what his cousin learnt from the police and later told me. On the second night, he had slit his wrists and waited for life to trickle away. He had done it in the bathtub. He must have thought that that would be less of an inconvenience to the hotel management. Of course, if he had chosen a place close to home, it would have been easier for his relatives. But, I don’t think he wanted to do them any favours. He had not left a suicide note at the resort.

He had sent it by post to me. I found the letter on the floor, slipped under the door, when I got back on the thirteenth of January after my three week official trip to London. He knew that I would see it only a week after he left.

On a thick paper, his flowery handwriting told me:

My dearest friend,

This time, I won’t try to disappoint you. Ha!

I beg you to do two tasks for me.

First, meet my parents and show them this letter. I have told you many times how my father destroyed my life. And my mother remained loyal to him and betrayed me.

Second, meet Anila. Again, please show this letter to her. You are the best person to tell her how much I loved her all my life. If only she had loved me or at least liked me – I could have continued.

Well, that’s it from me.

Your friend forever…Ha!

Arvind

He had thought of taking his life when we were in college. I remember that being mentioned during a rather embarrassing conversation that took place recently.

‘You saved my life…I do not know what I would have done without you…’ I think we were discussing our ‘good ol’ college days’ when he said this.

‘What do you mean?’ I had asked.

‘I would have taken my life then…but you saved me. I will never forget what you did…’

‘Arvind, I think you are blowing it out of proportion…’

‘What…that I planned to commit suicide then?’ he queried.

‘No…I meant…whatever I did…’

He had not seem too pleased with me or my admission about not caring that much. Talk about death or love or other personal matters bores me. I have never understood the need of some people to share such matters. From the two reproachful ‘Ha!’ in his letter, I presume that he held that grudge against me till the end. He was always ‘touchy’ about friendship. He took it too seriously and assumed that it had lots of obligations. Come to think of it, he was ‘touchy’ with regard to lots of things.

I met his parents the day after I read his letter. I had his letter in my pocket. His parents were glad to see me. They asked me if I knew why he had done such a deed. I sat with them for an hour. I watched the strong stubborn father talk lovingly about his child. He talked about a son I knew quite differently. I tried to console his mother as she wept silently. I did not show them his letter.

From there, I went to Anila’s house. I held her while she cried.

‘That crazy fool, why did he do it?’ she asked me between sobs.

‘I do not know.’ I replied truthfully.

‘I met him recently…it was weird and funny. He talked about liking me a lot during our school days. We laughed a lot about those days…we were such kids then, right?’

I slipped my right hand into my trouser pocket and brought out a little case. I made sure that his letter remained well within that pocket. I gave her the case. She opened it.

‘Wow! A pendant! Is this from London?’

She leaned towards me and kissed me on the lips.