Single Malt or Narangi?

The Good Book says, “Man does not live by bread alone”. With all due respects to the Holy Bible, fact is, a man or a woman needs a drink too, not only to wash down that bread, but to generally relax with. Better still, when there are friends around to break bread with and share that drink. With this guiding aim, we set about getting the party going on the 21^st of July.

Now in any organisation, there are planners and there are go-getters. I am a natural born go-getter. I received a series of rapid fire instructions: “Go get the balsamic vinegar, go get the cherry tomatoes, go …., go …., go …. Like most husbands, I usually remember only the first three commands. That explains why in all American cop movies, the police Sergeant barks out three times Go, go, go! 

By around 1830, I set about mixing the ingredients of the three cocktails I had planned. I had to do so in the kitchen, much to the chagrin of the two maids, who took a dim view of the intrusion into their space. Nevertheless, they provided me with a steady supply of items like diced peaches and apples, sliced lemons, cleaned and plucked mint leaves and even struggled to comply with my more exotic requests like spirally cut orange peels.

Suddenly, I froze. This wasn’t happening. The cranberry juice ran out even before I could get started. The twins rose magnificently to the occasion. Kamakshee was on it even before I could say Bloody Mary. The offending juice was produced in 5 minutes flat. I unfroze.

I reached for the ice tray, only to find that the water had stubbornly refused to freeze. I glared around. I could see poor Madhav’s face crumple. “But I put the water in the trays in the morning”. Notwithstanding, in no time at all, he produced a large bag. Cavalry to the rescue!

It was almost time. The Memsahib emerged, fixing the general arrangements with a critical stare. Some instructions were snapped out. A few minor adjustments later, she settled down to take a few snaps.

Vidur emerged in a cloud of after shave, looking scrubbed and fresh as a daisy for the evening shift. For a few moments, he gazed wistfully at the table, then sampled a few snacks. Finally, he gathered up his things and left. Duty beckoned.

The doorbell rang – looking casually chic and wearing coordinated outfits, were Mrinalini and Naren Chaudhary. We have been regulars at their elegant home on so many occasions for elaborate Ganesh Pujas and since either one of them are usually travelling, or, sailing as in Naren sir’s case, we were fortunate to have them both together. Mrinalini is a single malt person, but she sportingly agreed to try my concoctions. Naren sir, being an old salt regarded the colourful liquids with some suspicion, then steering clear of uncharted waters as seasoned mariners do, stayed with his favourite whiskey.

Probably one of them reminded him of a country liquor known by it’s colour, Narangi!

A few minutes later, another Chaudhary walked in – Abhijeet, smiling shyly, minus his better half, Bharati. Bharati was visiting relatives in Chicago. Abhijeet, instead was forced to make do with E Block, Jal Vayu Vihar. Somehow, I knew that Abhijeet, being another crusty old sailor, would also prefer whiskey. Very soon the two Commander Chaudharys were chatting away, content with their juices.

The doorbell rang again – tall and graceful Kawal, accompanied by a dapper PP Singh in a smart sand coloured jacket neatly coordinated with his turban, entered. Suddenly, the room appeared to be filled with tall people. It was time to leave the door wide open and I busied myself with the drinks.

When I turned back, all I could make out was a flash of bright light entering the door, albeit at a lower level than the aforesaid couple. The bright light was from a face with a dazzling smile. Ever youthful, Bindu and Suresh Nair had entered. Bindu agreed to try one of my colourful contraptions, but it was plain that it wasn’t quite her cup of tea. Nevertheless, she valiantly knocked it back before switching to her favoured drink. Suresh, in the meanwhile enjoyed checking out various cocktails, before he settled on a Blue Lagoon. 

Decibel levels that had risen considerably, particularly in the feminine voice range, suddenly dropped. The wall-clock paused. Traffic on the road also stopped. Glasses of single malt on their way to parched lips stopped in mid-flight. Komal, pretty and tall, and every bit a show stopper, dressed to a fault, made her way in. She arrived alone, her husband, JP was working late. Then the shor-sharaba resumed, feminine Hi’s and Hello’s were shrieked out. As I handed Komal her drink, she reminded me that I hadn’t given her the recipe of a cocktail she’d liked and requested over a year ago. I mumbled some inane reply. A pretty woman and a focussed mind can be a formidable combination.

I glanced at the cocktail jugs in surprise. The levels of all three were going down pretty fast.

Just then I felt the vibes and looked at the door. Most people walk into a room and are observed. A few can make an entrance with ease. And there are those, whose aura precedes them. Neelima is one such special person. There she entered, grandly, like a Duchess, smiling with her eyes. She sailed into the room, wished me, took in the changes in the room decor and launched into a conversation with the Memsahib and the rest of the room, all in one breath. Complimenting her eminently, my buddy Lokesh, impeccably dressed as always and could have passed off as a Duke had he been wearing coat tails and a topper. He grinned at me quietly through his beard, while I tempted him with a Caipiroska. I knew that smile, it was from a fellow member of the “Talkative Wives, Quiet Husbands Club!”

Nalin and Dimple, our neighbours from upstairs, also joined in. They had just returned from a hectic trip to Delhi, and I was pleased they were able to make it. Just then the ice ran out. Nalin sir, gallantly offered to run upstairs and fetch some more. I buzzed Jakes as well, asking him to get some ice too. For a long time, Nalin had been tagged by the twins as the ‘Sunny Deol Uncle’, for his resemblance to the movie star, only better though. A few drinks down the road, Dimple could have been persuaded to recite some of her exquisite poetry, but today time was short and as Karen Carpenter said, we'd only just begun!

I was beginning to wonder whether Jakes and Asha had other plans, when they walked in, in a fizzy cloud of effervescence, raising the decibel levels still further. Jakes, my bro from another Mo, knew he could take some extra liberties with me, while Asha smoothly palmed off the blame for their late entrance to her husband. Both had a lot of catching up to do in the drinks department. Jakes is a wine purist, so I knew there was no point even asking him, but Asha was ready to plunge into the Blue Lagoon, indeed matching the blue of her dress. I handed Jakes the bottle of wine and asked him to bash on regardless.

It was difficult to count, but from the general size and spread of the crowd, some of whom were standing in the lobby outside, smoking, it appeared that all those who ought to be there, were there. I busied myself preparing a fresh reload of “Sex On The Beach”, to keep the spirits from flagging. In an effort to be politically correct, I had named that brew, “Day At The Beach”. I must have gotten something right, or else everyone was being extra polite and tossing back the drinks with relish, for the “Beach” had nearly beached and the Blue Lagoon was going down soon. Between darting in and out of the kitchen, I had a vague idea that someone else had arrived but I couldn’t see through the throng of people crowding the main door. 

Was that a flash of someone’s coloured hair? And then she entered – Taruna looking very Sector 17 Chandigarh and South Delhi together, followed by Birdy with his signature casually hep style. Birdy had made it back from Moscow and almost without a break or rest, they had promptly come over, a commendable effort! To be honest, I don’t remember whether I actually offered them a drink or I forgot, but I knew it was fine, they’d make themselves at home. 

The last of the Glenlivet was drained away. The Vat 69, my personal favourite, stepped forth like an old soldier, ready to do duty for king and country. Someone opened the Red Label and sniffed it first. Once confirmed that it was the real McCoy (and not a country-cousin of Narangi), it was soon splashed into various glasses. I discovered that I had lost my own drink for the third time. I wasn’t certain if someone had obligingly finished it off, or, had I just put it somewhere and forgotten about it.

It was getting time to move to Rodas. It was decided to launch the twins first as they were getting restless, and they were duly despatched to keep the staff there occupied until the main force arrived after another couple of rounds. But the party was in full swing and spirits were soaring. Question was, how to get them moving.

I remembered reading that people even in late adulthood respond to stimuli from childhood. I knew that the entire male population present had heard the ‘Last Drink, Dinner Call’ several hundred times in various Messes and Ships, so I decided to use the Memsahib’s dinner bell to invoke long forgotten memories of the bad, young days. Clearly, it worked, for there was a chorused reply of “We have 15 minutes more” undoubtedly practised to perfection in bygone days by younger versions of present company! Amazing how as juniors, we enforced our rights in the unlikeliest of places. 

Coming back to the present, cheeky responses like “Bugger off” and “Get me another two large ones before dinner” were duly ignored.

Kamakshee called from the hotel clearly peeved at being kept waiting. We decided to get everyone moving, lest we face a mutiny in the household cavalry. Slowly, the crowd began to shuffle out, pausing at my wicket gate for the ubiquitous selfies. Everyone wanted to get into the pic in the narrow doorway. I held my breath as a shapely stilettoed leg clambered on to a folding chair, near the door, so that the pretty face at the other end could be part of the pic. Luckily the chair held out and the stilettoed leg, pretty face and their owner safely dismounted.

Everyone had filed out and were finding their way into various cars for the short ride to Rodas. The Memsahib surveyed the room in the manner of Admiral Chester Nimitz surveying the remains of his fleet at Pearl Harbour. I knew what she was thinking - Just as Nimitz is reported to have remarked, “It’s a good thing the Japs attacked on Sunday, when there were few men onboard”, she was thinking, “Good thing the dinner’s at a hotel. Less cleaning up”. However, like all great strategists, she never revealed her mind.

“Go get the car”, was all she said instead.