Alcoholic Anecdotes

Alcoholic Anecdotes
26th November 2005

Nothing mixes with youth as well as alcohol.

Seriously. What’s rock and roll (or, in my case, trance and house music) without a beer or three? What’s lounging around with friends without those tequila shots? What’s the overnight bash without vodka and 7Up?

Every youngster has an alcoholic recollection or eight to recount, that’ll amuse the heck out of listeners. Well, here are mine.

My first remembered booze experience was as a kid. I must have been about ten. There was a bottle of wine lying around in the fridge. Well, to a little boy who didn’t know better, the red wine looked suspiciously like Coca-Cola. And when parents are away, kids will play. I remember drinking a huge glass of wine. Then falling asleep, and waking up wondering why I had a headache.

I was always allowed a drink with my folks. Still remember three margaritas (my favourite!) at a barbeque party on the terrace. However, my first official drink was at Three Flights Up (how I miss that place) at a classmate’s bash sometime in junior college. I drank a margarita, and suffered immense guilt later. Worked up the nerve to tell my folks the next morning. To my huge and everlasting surprise, they were cool with it. They’re really the coolest parents ever!

I went through most of my graduation days with a "two small tall" limit. That is, two small vodkas/rums/gins, topped to the brim with Sprite, lime cordial and soda, or whatever caught my fancy.

Then came Pune.

I’ve already mentioned how nothing shocks me anymore, after Pune. Some of my favourite drinking memories come from Pune.

The time when the gang was over at my place, doing serious damage to a couple of bottles of Alcazar (student budget, sorry) vodka. I awoke the next morning to see a pile of dishes in the sink, and made my grand, hungover pronouncement: "Who the hell is gonna wash all these vehicles?"

Same gang, same place. Where Fat Aunty gets drunk on – believe it, I ain’t drunk now and I wasn’t drunk then – three drops of vodka in a large glass of Coke. And Senorita gets high on the Coke without the vodka. Three sips and the giggling begins...

One of our famous class parties, possibly our farewell. Where Guzzler, eight bottles of beer down in one hour, falls all over my shoulder crying. Not too bad. Except that he’s crying over how he’s happy that we’re friends despite what everyone thought. And except for the fact that he weighs about three times what I do...

Of course, there’s nothing like vodka body shots, but a gentleman never kisses and tells.

Then there was Groper’s birthday bash in Pune, on her terrace. The Drunken Painting Poet and I got together to bartend. Sounds good? Well, we started off with our patented ‘bartender’s shots’. Then proceeded to drink approximately one drink for every one drink we poured. An hour or two later, we were staggering around the terrace, arms around each other. Bunny, Minty and Mallu take us firmly in hand, sit us down. And then she decides to play with a little kitten who is wandering around. Prompting (from me) drunken gags about "playing with your pussy", that still get laughs from everyone today.

Sorry baby, had to say that in the interest of truth.

Proceed to Bombay. In the throes of my problems with Sweetie, Doc, Drunken Painting Poet and me decide to attend a bartending workshop. So Doc and I drive to Bandra. Proceed to make (and drink) 10 cocktails, plus two at lunch, then volunteer for shots and quickly down about 7. All this between 11 AM and 5 PM. Well, we were too drunk to stand. So Doc drives my car very, very carefully till Mahalakshmi, where he has to pick up his bike. The one-hour wait there does us little good, except for heavy water intake. Then we drive home, he on the bike, me in the car. Each going slowly to keep an eye on the other. We still can’t remember that drive back.

A few weeks later, we decide to celebrate our newfound bartending skills with a tequila party at Doc’s uncle’s place. And proceed to get stinking drunk. At least, I did. Apparently I was in long, serious discussions with my best friend (down from Dubai) and Minty, before I passed out. Apparently I visited the loo at least six times that night. And I definitely awoke with carpenters at work inside my skull.

Client party, on a boat. Second Shift and I start with Bullseyes (beer with a slug of vodka), move on quickly to vodka and rum shots. I still remember staggering home with a former colleague. Nothing like drinking on a boat to get you high.

Goa trip with unit. Oh, hell yeah! We started drinking from the moment we stepped on the train, and stopped only when we reached the station for the return trip. Goa brings out the best in drinking. It’s so relaxed you hardly get drunk.

I still can’t forget that immortal session at the Drunken Painting Poet’s house during her birthday bash. When, various cocktails down, she invited me to tickle "all that was covered by her skirt, not her feet". Oooooh baby! That was probably precipitated by an extra-strong cocktail I’d concocted for her, the recipe for which is – for the good of all humankind – forgotten.

There were the classic sessions at Mondy’s with the office gang. When five of us drank down six large pitchers, and I walked home with the road shaking in front of my eyes.

And the drunken session Scary and I had with Brashmouth. When she lambasted me about my career, and changed my attitude and working life completely. Thanks, boss! Especially for dropping me home after that.

One more drunken session at Mondy’s, with Scary and Mister. When we rebelled from work, drank and drank and drank. Scary encouraged us to use "I’m too drunk" as an excuse to split from work. Mister did exactly that. To the amused exasperation of servicing.

I can never forget the day when we took Sis to Boat Club. We were all drinking, and she had turned down the vodka I’d offered her for a mocktail. Then she decides to change her mind. I pour a small vodka into her drink. And she goes, "Sluuurp! Sluuurp! Sluuuurp!" Five minutes, three sips, one empty glass. Then her head started spinning, she started getting nauseous. The Nag took her in hand, and hasn’t let me offer her a drink since then.

Of course, the reason for the change in my drinking habits was one drunken session with Hipshaker and Fox. Hipshaker threatened me – "You f****r, you can’t survive in advertising without drinking!" Promptly proceeded to pour six pegs of vodka down my throat, and sent me home absolutely pissed.

Of course, I’ve had the bad experiences. The one that comes to mind was in April, at an office bash. I was celebrating (mourning?) being single a year. And got so drunk I can’t remember what I did or said to anybody. Apparently I was sitting holding my face, afraid that my jaws would fall on the floor. Spent the whole day recovering from the hangover.

But, like I said before, it’s been a wild and good ride. Most people I know have superb stories to tell. Drunken Painting Poet and I wanted to start an amateur bartending company called Slosh. Doc named our gang’s e-group Sloshed.

Well, posts are invited. With one stipulation.

Have a few pegs before you write it.

P.S.: FITM encourages you to drink responsibly and sensibly (unless you’re a woman planning to seduce me or who I am planning to seduce immediately afterwards, which would let me take better advantage). Never drink and drive. Cheers.

Sex In This City

Sex In This City
14th November 2005

I awoke on Saturday, in a rush to get to work. As usual, there were only babies on my brain. All that, however, was about to change.

I showered, dressed, admired my handsome self in the mirror. Then strolled out to the hall for a spot of breakfast. And came face-to-face with my favourite topic in the whole wide world – sex.

It seems that a certain tabloid, in its Saturday "lifestyle" supplement, has dared to research the city’s attitudes towards sex. Especially as pertains to the city’s youth. Well. Well, well, well. Babies were suddenly forgotten, as I settled to read.

Now, nothing about sex has ever shocked me since I landed up in Pune, and got the culture shock of seven lifetimes. However, said research has shocked plenty of people I know. So, I put myself forward, and decided to put this survey in a different light.

It’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it.

The survey is "a comprehensive sexual map" of the city. Hmmm. Totally believable. Given the sort of photographs that adorn the pages of the supplement. Enough to get a teenage nerd to roll up the supplement and head into the bathroom for an hour or so of creative...er...recreation. Not me, you understand. Not me.

Before you even think of asking – no, I will not reveal any details of my sexual past or present in this article. All ideas expressed are my own personal views, and do not relate to my experience or lack thereof.

First point. It seems 58% of the city’s students have had sex. 13% did it aged between 15 and 18. Okay, then. My teenage years had a lot of sex. Most of it was in my mind. Where was I while everyone else was getting a piece of the action? Probably er...recreating in the loo.

Most men have watched porn, it says. Understandable. Unless you’re a woman. It’s a guy thing, ladies. Like it’s a girl thing to run off to the loo with company (recreation? Hmm?) when in public.

16% of respondents have sex with partners who are not their spouses or significant others. Waah! Not only do they have sex, but they have sex with multiple people. Some people have all the luck.

One-third of the women have had sex on the beach. Or made out in an elevator, swimming pool, or in public. Every guy’s fantasy come true.

79% of men masturbate, 41% of women masturbate. Yeah, I admit it. We guys are hormone-driven. I’ve heard that guys think about sex once every six seconds. Come on...we need some relief!

Half the respondents favour the missionary position, then the woman on top or doggy-style. Half haven’t tried oral, anal, group, cyber, phone or bisexual sex. Come on, people. There’s a lot more kinkiness to be found if you just free your minds!

9% would try to spice up their sex life with fruit-flavoured condoms, dildos, cross-dressing, spanking or even spouse-swapping. Hmmm. These people obviously go further than I could think of.

Now for commercial sex. I’m firmly against the world’s oldest profession (sorry, ladies), so I shall not comment. Except to say, "Shame on you!"

However, 60% redeem themselves when they say that sex with CSWs is the biggest cause of AIDS and STDs.

24% of married women and 20% of married men have tried swapping partners. Obviously women tire more easily of their men. Looks like we guys need to learn some new tricks to keep our gals.

Half the respondents feel that living in is better than marriage. I think it’d be a good precursor to marriage. Almost that many feel that marriage is no more than a permit to have sex. Don’t know about that, but it’s mainly a permit for guys to lose most of their freedoms...

19% of males have visited "massage" parlours. Obviously I don’t know my city too well. Try as I might, I haven’t found any. The closest I came was a Kerala massage by two hatta-khatta Malayali males...

31% of youth have issues marrying a non-virgin, and 20% believe that she should stay a virgin till marriage. I think most males have only one problem with non-virgins – penis envy. Or, in other words, worrying about the guys she slept with before marriage. Talk about insecurity.

26% of people rate lavender, chocolate and musk as arousing scents, in that order. For me, it’s a particular perfume...er...we will not talk about it right now, koff, koff.

31% of men get most aroused by lingerie. Woo-hoo baby! Nothing like sexy lingerie! What’s hidden is sometimes far more erotic than what’s revealed.

34% of people have had multiple partners, 20% have had pre-marital sex with CSWs, Internet friends or tutors. Again. I feel very, very left out. Where I was I...?

Fantasies. Ahem. 66% of men share their fantasies with their partner, 58% of women do the same. Big turn-on for some, I think. Very bold, very sensual. Would make for an interesting night ahead. What’s your fantasy?

Sexual harassment. A big no-no in my book. And it seems, unfortunately, that most people have faced it. And it seems that more men are willing to give sexual favours to advance careers. Not surprising. We’d get a raise, and good sex as well. Hormones controlling our thinking, I guess.

Oh yes, everyone (except businessmen) practices (or claims to) safe sex.

69% of youth believe that oral sex is normal and common, 59% agree it should not be forced. I’d always thought oral sex meant the man yelling at the woman, "F*** you!" and the woman yelling back, "F*** you too!"

18% wouldn’t agree to S&M, but 12% of guys have tried it. In my experience, most women don’t even know what S&M means. Five of them didn’t know till I told them on Sunday.

54% of couples cuddle up after sex. 17% dash to the loo to clean up, 10% light cigarettes. People – this is the surest test of lust and love.

Homosexuality. 42% believe Bombay is friendly to gays, 43% think they’re more susceptible to AIDS, 29% believe they shouldn’t be treated differently. Well, as long as they stay away from me, I’m ok. Doc wouldn’t like it, you see. Commitment and all that.

Well, that’s all the survey had. I can think of a few people who’d be turning red right about now.

There have been other reactions too. Bitchy freaked seeing the pictures. "How can this trash be delivered to family homes with kids around????"

Slappy...turned red. Stayed that way for about 36 hours.

Milee...brought home a book to educate Slappy with. Wonder of wonders, Slappy started reading.

And I’m going to sign off by asking for feedback on this episode. Especially the ladies. Tell us about what you think, your experiences (or lack thereof).

In the meanwhile, I’m gonna grab that supplement and head off to the loo for some...er...recreation.

Babies On The Brain

Babies On The Brain
6th November 2005

Happy Diwali, Happy New Year, Id Mubarak to all. Belated happy birthday to the Nag, happy birthday in advance to Minty.

For the last month or so, all my friends have been asking me where I've been.

From Legs, who threatens to disown me and says she's given up on me as a friend; to my best friend, who meets me online to ask why I haven't been uploading my blog of late. From Minty, who wonders when our long overdue date will happen; to the Drunken Painting Poet who wants to know when we'll catch up at Mondy's.

Having finally grown tired of answering questions in quadruplicate, I now present to you my account of What I Have Been Doing For The Last Few Weeks.

I entered hell as a slave about two months ago, when I started working on a baby calendar for a client. What exactly did this imply? Well, for starters, I had to get into a mother's head.

Now, it may sound easy. Mothers love babies. That's all there is to it. Right? Wrong.

So there I was, desperately seeking to discover the mother within myself. Most men try to get in touch with their feminine sides. I have long surpassed that; indeed, I am in touch with my maternal side. I didn't even know I had one.

So I sat down to write copy describing every major milestone in a baby's life. Starting with the joy of birth, going on to imitation and ending with walking. Making every effort to capture the joy of motherhood.

So I'm finally done with copy. Twelve essays, one for each month. Then comes the hard part. Staring at baby pictures to match picture to copy. With a stubborn art director - Kiddo - and a creative director - Scary - who wants me to tackle it all. She threatens to come in at the last moment and change everything. Okay, then!

Then we present to client. Who trips. Asks for options - straw men, just to show her boss that we've worked hard. And things take off from there.

So there I am, doing Kiddo's work for her. Browsing through 2000 pictures in the client's image bank. Then sitting with a painful Kiddo to do a final selection.

Then we present again, final round. And it's approved. You'd think that was the end of it? Uh-huh. Scary makes good on her promise. She changes everything.

So we're sitting and hunting down images from stock libraries. The client has cut down the calendar to a six-month thingy. So six pieces of copy are thrown away.

Scary shows copy around. That was the best part. Everyone loves it. Married baby-fearing women suddenly tell their baby-fearing husbands that they want to have babies. Women tell me that I write like a husband who wants his wife to experience the joy of motherhood. Suspicious offers to buy me a round of drinks, because it's the best copy I've ever done. My client begins to refer to me as 'Mother'. As in, "Tell Mother I like the work."

I'm on cloud nine. Then Scary tells me to rewrite.

Aargh!!!!

Her logic - it's too long. I protest. I whine. I fume. No avail.

I do an edit. She hates it. I do a rewrite from scratch. She thinks it's too serious. Then I do another edit of the original. This passes muster.

Is that all? No. Problems arise with the image libraries, and are still being sorted. More on this as it happens.

And, somewhere before the rewrite, Scary briefs us on an international project for the same clients.
So we spend weeks exploring the mother-baby bond. We have to present three campaigns - three, when we're struggling to crack just one. What's worse - we have to write a book telling the rest of the world how to do advertising for that client. Seems like an ego boost, but believe me, it's slavery.

There go my weekends, my holidays. We're sitting in office till late almost daily, over weekends as well. By the time we're done, we've got three campaigns. After endless rounds of revisions with agency regional business director and agency worldwide creative director. And a very workable book.
Scary flies to Singapore for the client presentation. And comes back with more work.

Two campaigns are to go for research, only after tweaking. One campaign to be done no matter what - so we have to work out scripts. The book - rework!

There goes my week.

Send the two campaigns off after another weekend at work. Then start on the third. Goes up and down, up and down. The anal client bombs work, hysteria happens at Express Towers, the worst scripts ever are polished to imitate average standards, and sent. And approved.

The book? Well, there are more drafts than I can keep track of. Up-down, back-forth, write-rewrite. Until finally the work was completed last night and sent off for a Monday morning meeting.

Now to the nitty-gritties. The inside stories.

The story of me relaxing, thinking I'd cracked a campaign. Then my boss arrived, bombed everything, and we started again.

The story of me getting hysterical that same afternoon, yelling that I couldn't do it anymore. Scary and Carpenter (another creative director who was helping out) are laughing their asses off as I stalk up and down, muttering to myself and waving my hands in the air.

The story of lots of beer in office. Every time we cracked the work, we'd order beer. Then have the work bombed, and start from square one all over again...

The story of a day of rebellion. When Scary, Mister and I decided to bunk work and go drinking. And drank ourselves silly at Mondy's. Mister telling servicing that he was too drunk to check layouts.

The story of a horrible Diwali week. When the only holiday we got was Diwali, when we worked on New Year's, Bhau Bheej and Id.

The story of Scary going through a 45-minute teleconference with aforementioned anal client and anal regional business director, and storming out hysterical. Tearing at her already frizzly hair, eyes bulging, mouthing profanities, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry. Then saying, "I need beer and loud music NOW!!!" and dragging us to Mondy's.

The story of yesterday, where I was in office for 11 hours and worked only 2.5. When I lost it and cribbed loudly on the phone to Slappy (in Delhi). When I made puppy-dog eyes at Scary till she told me to f*** off and go home.

Then I went to Doc's uncle's place, to bring in the Nag's birthday. Drank wine, chatted, slept. Then went for the bartending workshop to celebrate it.

In the meanwhile, Groper left for Delhi for good, Slappy left for Delhi for Diwali, and my best friend came home to do her wedding shopping, for all of four days, and left today.

In the meanwhile, I eked out time to get a haircut. I also played a lot with my new phone, missed all my favourite shows on TV, and had all my friends thinking I'm dead.

In the meanwhile, I learnt all about being a father (theoretically, at least). I learnt all about babies. I looked at 5000 baby pictures. I started to watch my sperm count decrease. I started hating mothers and babies with a vengeance.

Scary's told me to take off tomorrow. So I'm going to pick up Slappy from the airport early morning, and then we'll do dinner as well.

Then, research results and post-presentation debrief will happen.

And the work will start again.

And my fate is sealed for another few weeks.