Every enthusiastic drinker would have his own 'Post Getting Drunk' (PGD) horror story. Yes, the degrees may vary and on this would depend the possibility of a public announcement, but I am sure most will have a story to tell or to hide. I am a moderate drinker but from my experience I can tell you that the few glasses of whiskey 'on the chosen day' never look back at history to determine what kind of rating your PGD horror story would get. The glasses I gulped down managed to script one that would get something like - 'parental advisory'.
I used to live on the 1st floor and this had an important role to play (probably and hopefully) in the entire scheme of things. The doorbell rang really early in the morning...had to be...I remember leaving the party at 4.30 in the morning...considering that it was a 20 min drive back home and the fact that it felt like I was asleep only for about 8 minutes...it must have been 4.58 am*. Everything else remaining constant, something was not, because the time was 2.15 pm. Please do understand that getting the time right was important because that is a testimony that you are in control. The time is not important now and by the end of this paragraph you will know why. I managed to pick up my head from the pillow (if I say it felt like a football, it would be a gross underestimate, say by about 9 times*) and float towards the door.
Opening the door while you are half or fully asleep was something I was reasonably good at because the maid used to come at 6 in the morning on weekdays. The maid that day looked fatter and was wearing a t-shirt not because it was a weekend but because she was not the maid but the landlady. I got ready for the usual suspects (a) “Beta...kal raat music bahut loud tha” [%#*^] (b) “Beta...daru pina acchi baat nahi...mummy daddy ne bari umeed se aapko Gurgaon bheja hai” [Gurgaon of all places in the world!] (c) “Beta...gadi terhi lagi hui hai...jharu lagane mei dikkat ho rahi hai” [No wonder...you are so fat!].
But that day it was kind of different. The moment I opened the door, she was trying hard not to look anywhere else but straight into my face which made me feel rather uneasy. Then she finally spoke..."beta ye aapka jeans hai?" My head was spinning...my jeans?...looks like the one I was wearing last night...was I wearing jeans last night? or did it fall into her backyard from the dhobi line in my balcony? Suddenly it all became clear and I replied "Nehi aunty...mera nehi hai" and I slammed the door close.
The jeans was mine cos I was not wearing any (remember she was staring straight at my face trying hard not to look anywhere else, now precisely below). The mystery of the cool morning breeze that seemed to be effective only on the lower part of my body was quickly solved too. I thanked God that at least the undies were reasonably new...not that it made any difference. I vividly remembered that I did take a leak right next to my car after I somehow parked it and also felt quite happy about it but till date I have not been able to remember why or how I managed to open my jeans on the staircase. It was not long before I realized that my wallet was still in the jeans and that I should boldly agree that it was my jeans indeed before the landlady gave it away to her maid (it was rather strange that all male clothing - small, medium, large used to fit the maid's husband) and that is exactly what I did. She never asked me any more questions and I never told her any more lies.
* All of the above calculations were done by the subject PGD and are not meant to scale.
