Alive...
So, today I made my mind not to drink for the next one month. In case of a special occasion, like somebody's job treat, I would drink half a beer, or a double whisky. Not more. This is to say thanks to my luck (aetheist)...
Why do I need to say thanks,... well to explain you that I would have to sketch out yesterday's events...fasten your seatbelts...
Casual lazy tuesday evening...its 8pm, and stan's cellphone rings...it dubba on the other end. He is waiting at the hostel gate, and I join Stan to meet him (since I had nothing better to do...).
A short drive finds us at Drums of Heaven. 3 Kingfisher premiums, and a plate of chilly garlic noodles, and the evening begins to look good. We were downstairs, and the place looks like a restaurant where uncle-aunties were there for dinner... the music at first was unpalatable...but later they switched over to eagles/coldplay etc...
After a little nudging, we manage to get a table upstairs which is a tad closer to the appearances of a bar. Dubba compalins about the music and the ambience in general. At 11, after 2 beers each and an unsatisfied evening, dubba wants to go to The Mezz, at def col...which sports better music and has a pool table to piss on...
Another 25 minutes of driving, making wrong turns and making right turns and thinking them to be wrong turns and a little bit of illegal driving...we reach The Mezz. I am quite fond of the place ( it was my 2nd visit there...), so I was quite happy with the evening... (Eagles and Coldplay don't upset my mood...)
The Mezz...we walk into the bar upstairs where the huge Toshiba projection TV was playing Dream Theater... Dubba was happy...3 more Kingfishers, a bowl of complimentary peanuts and we are pretty soon trying to pocket solids and strippes (respectively)...
Very soon its 12:15am, and Mahavir, our waiter, announces that it was to be our last game for the night...he had to shut down...
He and 2 of his colleagues sit down for lunch. We have finished our beers, and clearly Dubba wants more. Since it was past 12:00...we cannot order anymore; nonetheless Dubba askes me to ask Mahavir if it is possible for us to by a couple of bottles to be consumed outside...we would pay for the bottles....Mahavir refuses to oblige us, he says that the keys had been deposited and there now the matter was beyond him... Dubba wanted more...
We pee, pay our bill and walk towards our car. Right there are these 3 guys, who are smoking. Dubba smells and hash in the air, and approached them for a puff. Alas, the last joint is almost finished and all Dubba gets is a puff or 2. The tiger has tasted blood....
We try to inquire from some other people ( who were drinking in a car, in the parking lot) if they knew about the existance of a theka which was operative at that point in the night. Pointless...
We drive away...Dubba picks up his phone and calls a friend of his...
"duuuuude...wassup?"
"do you happen to have some shit on you?"
"You smoked it all?"
"How much did you smoke, only one joint?"
"How much shit did you put in that joint?" (thereby possbily proving that the fellow on the other side was lying...he didnt dope that day atall...status...)
"can you come down right now?"
"lets meet in front of the IIT gate, and I promise you a beautiful fucking night..." (or something like that...) + ( i don't know if we were to meet that guy or not...; dubba doesnt do small talk)
We are driving at 60-70. There is this saloon in front of us, which is neither speeding up, nor letting us pass. I am in the back seat, and Stan is in the navigators seat (left side). I bend forward and tell suggest Dubba to overtake the guy. (harmlessly)
I suddenly hear the engine rev up about 2000rpm more, and we shoot past the saloon. While passing them, Dubba rolls down his window and shouts... "Mutherfucker..."
It felt like a nasty english movie.
We are on the top of the Sarita Vihar flyover, and the speedoM reads a cent. Suddenly, Dubba swerves his steering wheel left and right, to help his car skidd (for kicks)...or something like that...In a fraction of a second, the car is completely out of control, the car screeches left and right, and finally bangs against the left side of the flyover, and comes to a halt in the middle lane of the flyover, halfway down the flyover. I see that my side of the door is jammed (oh, and I am alive by the way... ). I ask Stan to get out of the car. Dubba gets out himself...I scramble to the front seat and walk out of the car form Stan's door.
The first thing that comes to my mind is to take the car of the road. I take the keys from dubba, start the car, and try to take it off the road. The car refuses to budge. Dubba come to the door and says, "Dude, the tyres are bent, the damn thing won't move." I get down to inspect the damage. The left side of the car is junk. The rear bumber is almost knocked out, the rear hatch back is a wreck, the rear left door is squeezed in a good few inches, jammed. The left hand side, front and rear tyres are bent out of shape, they are not circles any more.
By this time, Stan is in a deep shock, and is barely able to stand by the side of the road. Stan collapses. Trucks are (f/p)lying past us on the other two unoccupied lanes. I realize that if any of these truck even kiss us, we would be a part of "indian infrastructure". I attend to Stan first. I get a hold of him and direct him to a near by bus stand, where is sits on the bench, and begins to drool...he was shook bad by the crash.
At first Dubba is unable to react. I try to keep him off the road. He takes out is phone and calls up RACE. He tells them his car registration number, and the situation. A recovery van is on the way. My constant worry is that in case a police patrol vehicle comes, we are in trouble. Dubba is clearly drunk and stinking. We will all be behind bars, atleast for the night. And if my daddy comes to know of this, he will be pissed. Even if I claim I was driving, then atleast my license would be down...trouble...
But then, no police came. I took dubba off the road, to our hideout, the bus-stop. By now, a half hour has passed. Stan has already snatched an half an hour sleep on the bench, and he looks fresh and recovered. We smoke a cigarette together. Very soon, Dubba is snoring on the floor of the bus-stop. Good riddance? I take his phone, and call up the RACE guys again, and they say that the Van is almost there, and it finally is. I don't know, possibly he thought that it was a sparkplug malfunction. But he soon realized that the car was immobile and a Crane was required. He gave me a number, and asked to call there. They were the 24hr crane people. A patient man answered the phone, listened to my problem, and named his price. 1200 bucks. Ah, anything to get this thing off the road. The carne would come 15 minutes. Now, we needed to figure out where to dump the car. Into the IIT campus?, nah... too troublesome. Gurgaon, at Dubbas house?, he was but sound asleap and there was no waking him. The RACE fellow suggested me to get the vehicle delivered directly to a maruti service station, and there was one nearby. We dug out its number, and called them.
Meanwhile I called up Gorai to seek his advice. He called up the gang at the hostel to let them know that we were in some trouble. Jas called us later to inquire about our well being, and they were suitably updated.
While I was waiting for the crane with the RACE fellow, the police did come. But the two fellows in the patrol vehicle made no trouble. They asked us to try to take the car offroad, and they were explained the situation, and told that a crane was on its way. Smooth...
After a couple of more phone calls, the crane was finally able to spot us. Its not so much a crane as it is a simple tow-truck. The tow truck tries to pick the car from the rear, and roll on the front wheels, but that was not possible. The wheel alignment was disturbed, and the wheels refused to roll...they had bent. We tried to replace the rear wheel with the stepni. The wheel had become a twisted mass of metal. Finally the thing worked, and we were able to lift the car from the front, and drag the car on its rear wheels. After about an hour and half, we were back on the road, in heavier vehicles and sober drivers. Dubba was still asleap, possibly olivious of what has happened an hour ago. In 15 mins, we reached Component Automobiles, and we dumped the car beside the gate of the Service Station. The RACE fellow dropped all three of us back at the hostel. It was quite a night. The RACE fellow was quite the gentleman and helped us as much as he could. I am thankful to him.
Back at my room, the gang had gathered, and I narrated the entire incident. I made it seem funny, like everything else... but deep down, I was dead serious...
What is this stupidity...how can anyone drive like that. How can anyone be that crazy and abstact that he purposefully shakes a car for kicks...
We walked out of the situation scratchless...( i did have a scratch in my toe...but the others were scratchless...) and we could have been dead. Worse...we could have killed someone.
I need to really choose my friends and drinking partners...
and NEVER NEVER (no matter how reputed a driver) sit in car being driven by someone drunk ( or a person know for crazyness...). I don't know about him, but I dont wanna die like this... not beacuse of someone elses fault...
What is this immaturity that people show about alcohol. Do you not have control?
Can you not wait till tomorrow?
Do you need to get drunk and heavy, babble like a stupid fool, pick up fights, puke around and spoil everyone elses mood...
People really need to grow up...
So, to thank my luck...I have decided to not drink for a month.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Notes:
ofcourse...later on as I cooled down, and I actually started seeing the stuff I was actually churning, I did realize as a matter of fact, that one actions are always ones own, and he must take responsibility for them...
I don't mean to put the blame on him for anything, whatever happened was as much our fault as was his...
Its only that such incidents are only worth recording if we keep their inferences in mind and act accordingly...
bandy. ( 6 Feb 06 )
Why do I need to say thanks,... well to explain you that I would have to sketch out yesterday's events...fasten your seatbelts...
Casual lazy tuesday evening...its 8pm, and stan's cellphone rings...it dubba on the other end. He is waiting at the hostel gate, and I join Stan to meet him (since I had nothing better to do...).
A short drive finds us at Drums of Heaven. 3 Kingfisher premiums, and a plate of chilly garlic noodles, and the evening begins to look good. We were downstairs, and the place looks like a restaurant where uncle-aunties were there for dinner... the music at first was unpalatable...but later they switched over to eagles/coldplay etc...
After a little nudging, we manage to get a table upstairs which is a tad closer to the appearances of a bar. Dubba compalins about the music and the ambience in general. At 11, after 2 beers each and an unsatisfied evening, dubba wants to go to The Mezz, at def col...which sports better music and has a pool table to piss on...
Another 25 minutes of driving, making wrong turns and making right turns and thinking them to be wrong turns and a little bit of illegal driving...we reach The Mezz. I am quite fond of the place ( it was my 2nd visit there...), so I was quite happy with the evening... (Eagles and Coldplay don't upset my mood...)
The Mezz...we walk into the bar upstairs where the huge Toshiba projection TV was playing Dream Theater... Dubba was happy...3 more Kingfishers, a bowl of complimentary peanuts and we are pretty soon trying to pocket solids and strippes (respectively)...
Very soon its 12:15am, and Mahavir, our waiter, announces that it was to be our last game for the night...he had to shut down...
He and 2 of his colleagues sit down for lunch. We have finished our beers, and clearly Dubba wants more. Since it was past 12:00...we cannot order anymore; nonetheless Dubba askes me to ask Mahavir if it is possible for us to by a couple of bottles to be consumed outside...we would pay for the bottles....Mahavir refuses to oblige us, he says that the keys had been deposited and there now the matter was beyond him... Dubba wanted more...
We pee, pay our bill and walk towards our car. Right there are these 3 guys, who are smoking. Dubba smells and hash in the air, and approached them for a puff. Alas, the last joint is almost finished and all Dubba gets is a puff or 2. The tiger has tasted blood....
We try to inquire from some other people ( who were drinking in a car, in the parking lot) if they knew about the existance of a theka which was operative at that point in the night. Pointless...
We drive away...Dubba picks up his phone and calls a friend of his...
"duuuuude...wassup?"
"do you happen to have some shit on you?"
"You smoked it all?"
"How much did you smoke, only one joint?"
"How much shit did you put in that joint?" (thereby possbily proving that the fellow on the other side was lying...he didnt dope that day atall...status...)
"can you come down right now?"
"lets meet in front of the IIT gate, and I promise you a beautiful fucking night..." (or something like that...) + ( i don't know if we were to meet that guy or not...; dubba doesnt do small talk)
We are driving at 60-70. There is this saloon in front of us, which is neither speeding up, nor letting us pass. I am in the back seat, and Stan is in the navigators seat (left side). I bend forward and tell suggest Dubba to overtake the guy. (harmlessly)
I suddenly hear the engine rev up about 2000rpm more, and we shoot past the saloon. While passing them, Dubba rolls down his window and shouts... "Mutherfucker..."
It felt like a nasty english movie.
We are on the top of the Sarita Vihar flyover, and the speedoM reads a cent. Suddenly, Dubba swerves his steering wheel left and right, to help his car skidd (for kicks)...or something like that...In a fraction of a second, the car is completely out of control, the car screeches left and right, and finally bangs against the left side of the flyover, and comes to a halt in the middle lane of the flyover, halfway down the flyover. I see that my side of the door is jammed (oh, and I am alive by the way... ). I ask Stan to get out of the car. Dubba gets out himself...I scramble to the front seat and walk out of the car form Stan's door.
The first thing that comes to my mind is to take the car of the road. I take the keys from dubba, start the car, and try to take it off the road. The car refuses to budge. Dubba come to the door and says, "Dude, the tyres are bent, the damn thing won't move." I get down to inspect the damage. The left side of the car is junk. The rear bumber is almost knocked out, the rear hatch back is a wreck, the rear left door is squeezed in a good few inches, jammed. The left hand side, front and rear tyres are bent out of shape, they are not circles any more.
By this time, Stan is in a deep shock, and is barely able to stand by the side of the road. Stan collapses. Trucks are (f/p)lying past us on the other two unoccupied lanes. I realize that if any of these truck even kiss us, we would be a part of "indian infrastructure". I attend to Stan first. I get a hold of him and direct him to a near by bus stand, where is sits on the bench, and begins to drool...he was shook bad by the crash.
At first Dubba is unable to react. I try to keep him off the road. He takes out is phone and calls up RACE. He tells them his car registration number, and the situation. A recovery van is on the way. My constant worry is that in case a police patrol vehicle comes, we are in trouble. Dubba is clearly drunk and stinking. We will all be behind bars, atleast for the night. And if my daddy comes to know of this, he will be pissed. Even if I claim I was driving, then atleast my license would be down...trouble...
But then, no police came. I took dubba off the road, to our hideout, the bus-stop. By now, a half hour has passed. Stan has already snatched an half an hour sleep on the bench, and he looks fresh and recovered. We smoke a cigarette together. Very soon, Dubba is snoring on the floor of the bus-stop. Good riddance? I take his phone, and call up the RACE guys again, and they say that the Van is almost there, and it finally is. I don't know, possibly he thought that it was a sparkplug malfunction. But he soon realized that the car was immobile and a Crane was required. He gave me a number, and asked to call there. They were the 24hr crane people. A patient man answered the phone, listened to my problem, and named his price. 1200 bucks. Ah, anything to get this thing off the road. The carne would come 15 minutes. Now, we needed to figure out where to dump the car. Into the IIT campus?, nah... too troublesome. Gurgaon, at Dubbas house?, he was but sound asleap and there was no waking him. The RACE fellow suggested me to get the vehicle delivered directly to a maruti service station, and there was one nearby. We dug out its number, and called them.
Meanwhile I called up Gorai to seek his advice. He called up the gang at the hostel to let them know that we were in some trouble. Jas called us later to inquire about our well being, and they were suitably updated.
While I was waiting for the crane with the RACE fellow, the police did come. But the two fellows in the patrol vehicle made no trouble. They asked us to try to take the car offroad, and they were explained the situation, and told that a crane was on its way. Smooth...
After a couple of more phone calls, the crane was finally able to spot us. Its not so much a crane as it is a simple tow-truck. The tow truck tries to pick the car from the rear, and roll on the front wheels, but that was not possible. The wheel alignment was disturbed, and the wheels refused to roll...they had bent. We tried to replace the rear wheel with the stepni. The wheel had become a twisted mass of metal. Finally the thing worked, and we were able to lift the car from the front, and drag the car on its rear wheels. After about an hour and half, we were back on the road, in heavier vehicles and sober drivers. Dubba was still asleap, possibly olivious of what has happened an hour ago. In 15 mins, we reached Component Automobiles, and we dumped the car beside the gate of the Service Station. The RACE fellow dropped all three of us back at the hostel. It was quite a night. The RACE fellow was quite the gentleman and helped us as much as he could. I am thankful to him.
Back at my room, the gang had gathered, and I narrated the entire incident. I made it seem funny, like everything else... but deep down, I was dead serious...
What is this stupidity...how can anyone drive like that. How can anyone be that crazy and abstact that he purposefully shakes a car for kicks...
We walked out of the situation scratchless...( i did have a scratch in my toe...but the others were scratchless...) and we could have been dead. Worse...we could have killed someone.
I need to really choose my friends and drinking partners...
and NEVER NEVER (no matter how reputed a driver) sit in car being driven by someone drunk ( or a person know for crazyness...). I don't know about him, but I dont wanna die like this... not beacuse of someone elses fault...
What is this immaturity that people show about alcohol. Do you not have control?
Can you not wait till tomorrow?
Do you need to get drunk and heavy, babble like a stupid fool, pick up fights, puke around and spoil everyone elses mood...
People really need to grow up...
So, to thank my luck...I have decided to not drink for a month.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Notes:
ofcourse...later on as I cooled down, and I actually started seeing the stuff I was actually churning, I did realize as a matter of fact, that one actions are always ones own, and he must take responsibility for them...
I don't mean to put the blame on him for anything, whatever happened was as much our fault as was his...
Its only that such incidents are only worth recording if we keep their inferences in mind and act accordingly...
bandy. ( 6 Feb 06 )
posted by bandy @ 4:18 AM
4 Comments:
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
What the hell... what r u guys doing there... don't do things for which u will have to repent for years... and think of so many people for whom u r priceless... anywayz... i was terribly shocked to read the whole incident... just have 1 thing to say... be responsible and ask others around u to be responsible.... now u r not a kid...
btw i read ur complete blog... and read 1 of ur post abt my visit... i would say thanks so much.... and it is the best compliment i could have recieved....
take care....
That was scary yeah. Its hard to believe it. Good that you came out in one piece. Drink with the right guys man, and tell them your "interesting" Italy stories at MJ. You dont have to drive back. You can walk. Watsay? Some day after minor?
true man..we need to grow n show some maturity...after all life is precious..n repentin ova some of our gravely stupid mistakes...wich we mite commit wud b terribly idiotic..so y not jus b mature!
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