Chapter 1: Whose idea was it anyway?
Team: The Scribe Tribe
“What is this round called?” I asked
“An inspiration” said Cyrus
I hate drinking games. I literally do. I never played one in college and didn’t vote to play one today. But when Tara and Jennifer meet, there ought to be one. And then here is this kid Cyrus. What do kids in college eat these days? 7 shots and he is still in his senses. I lost mine with the toast of third one.
“Who goes first? How about you Sheku ?”
That’s my wife Tara. She knows how to throw me in the pit in public. She often says that I am the most arrogant man she has met, and nothing can inspire me. But now she is taking her chances to know my inspiration as 7 shots of bourbon is paddling my over-tired mind.
“ I need to buy more time for this one. Maybe Jeremy can start with some inspiration.”
Jeremy is the sole reason we are stuck in this nowhere beach. His 1982, classic Tornando Jeep is refusing to gather momentum. There is no help in 20 km radius. The next bus to Kochi is in 14 hours.
“She begged them for years for the permission to fly,
Only to find out later that she owned the sky.”
“My inspiration in my life is my Aunt Lisa. She migrated to these lands leaving everything behind, to live her dream” said Jeremy and took the shot from the glass.
Another confession- I hate poets. They think everything that exists is beautiful, because they can rhyme some phrases. They are like those annoying internet pop-ups who come on your screen uninvited, seeking your attention. Jeremy belongs to the 3rd generation, rare American-Indian who aspires to be a poet, and runs a Home-stay with Jennifer in Kochi. When Jennifer told me that she is dating a poet, she knew she was calling for some mockery from me.
“Aww, that is so sweet. Alright Baldy, you are next ?”
Jennifer can’t stop calling me “Baldy”. I wish I could explain to her that the Dutta family’s legacy of failed DNA cannot hold hair on men’s head past 25 years. My father always warned me, “Get married before you become takalu”. Maybe that provoked me to propose to Tara in college.
“ Well I don’t have stories like the Americans coming to India to live the dream, however I will give it a try.”.
Mild sarcasm wins some laughter in our group of five. Jennifer took this opportunity to click another round of pictures. I feel sorry for her camera. I never saw anything slaving more than it.
I saw Roohi, my daughter, from the corner of my eyes. She was the only one who was doing something sensible that night. She was sleeping.
“My daughter is my inspiration. Her care-free and lively attitude towards life makes me envious. Someday I would like to be like her” and then I took a gulp of warm Bourbon that burnt my throat.
I lighted another cigarette and watched the waves on the beach. Somehow, this is more interesting than listening to two drunk women lying about their inspiration and the Law-school kid Cyrus,shamelessly staring at the fighting dragon tattoo on Jennifer’s right arm. I checked my clock, another 10 hours to kill.
“What is the next round called? Asked Tara.
“A dream?” said Cyrus
Tara and I glanced uneasily at each other. A thought on dream brings both of us on the edge. Well, she goes first on this one, after all, whose idea was this stupid game anyway?
To be Continued……..