“Whiskey on the rocks, please”

February 11, 2011

I was a sophomore and, by then, I had started dancing. (Mind you, by dancing, I mean Latin. I had been learning Indian classical since the time I was four. Awesome, I know, right?)

patiala peg
The image is self-explanatory (Image courtesy: flixcart.com)

It was one of the big shows. I was dressed in a skimpy skirt and a halter top. I was too shy about my untoned thighs, flabby hands and love handles.

That was my off-stage personality.

Once on the stage, I was confident. But it did not count for much as the show could not be termed to be great.

I needed something to take the edge off and a ‘Patiala’ peg of vodka it was. (Let me tell you about patiala pegs — its not a 60 or a 90 —  Oh, and the one I had was not even a 120) There was hardly any space left in the glass for adding a mixer. The peg size was justified seeing that it was an army event. Well, I don’t think I need to mention that I do not remember most of the night.

This time, I woke up in the arms of the man I would spend four years of my life with. Fully clothed.

That was my trust with Vodka and the ‘girl’ slowly learnt to distinguish alcohol. Learnt the high that vodka would give and the high that whisky would. Beer came in much later.

Four years. It took me four years to learn what I liked, how to drink it and how not to pass out. It took me four years to learn how to drink “Whiskey on the rocks”.

February I-do-not-remember-the-date, 2015

I had completed my post-graduation by then and had gone out with a friend to a posh bar. I had Chivas on the rocks and felt really classy. (Well, after drinking the really cheap, whatever-I-can-get-my-hands-on booze, it felt really good.)

The maturity and the classiness did not last long, though. Every time I met my friends from college after that, I ended up drinking too much of the cheap booze and passing out.

PS: I still identify myself as the whiskey-girl and would love to grab the drink in a classy manner, in proper crystal glass, any day!


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