You know who you are.
You don’t have to be picked out.
We've had our differences. We’ve had our days when we've not spoken to each other. We've bitched. We've gone for months without meeting. We let men come between us. We let stories come between us. We've scowled and sulked and overreacted.
But we drink. Better than fishes, we drink. Sometimes, we
drink more than we talk. Other times, we drink in order to talk. We’re butch
like that.
And we may never be up to speed about the all the things that bother us; our jobs, the stress of making it on your own, that boy you’re trying so hard to get over but can’t, that shoot-me-in-the-head-now marriage conversation with the parents, an existential crisis, life! Some of us get to know sooner than the others, some of us sense it and everybody understands.
And through it all, you’re there. In between the chottas and
the badas and the joint. The cheap whiskey, the good Old Monk the gallons and
gallons of beer; you’re there. A phone call or a What's app message
away.
By some weird telepathy we understand. We provide a window,
a breath of fresh… rather some booze breath but a renewed one nonetheless. The escape,
into a world where everything is sorted, even if it’s only for a few hours.
For our kind that lives weekend to weekend, Janta to Carters, Brass Monkey to Kohinoor, Deepak’s to Juhu Beach - You help pause the madness, with a little help from the high.
Even if we don’t know about it.
Cheers!
