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“Vijayan chetta, don’t take this as a complaint but I don’t feel comfortable in your company. You’re a good guy, my well wisher and neighbour. But your friends are not half as good as you, especially that Murugan sir. What does he think he is! He may be the leader of police association, but he doesn’t have to take it out on me. The devil doesn’t know me.”

Vijayan chettan nodded, knocked back the remaining drink and then replied calmly. Meanwhile I saw at the far end of the room a Vijayan chettan talking to another fellow.

***                         ***                         ***                               ***                          ***
Call me an introvert, but drinking with strangers has never been my forte. Unlike my friends who are party animals ready to gel with strangers over a drink, and shake their legs the moment music is on, I get stiff from the word go. I nurse my two pegs with the choicest friends of my life.

Why just two pegs? Well, I have this mortal fear that on the third peg my tongue would take off from the tarmac of my mouth and do quite a jig on air in public. It could even assume the shape of that proverbial bull that went China. Why risk pulling down my painfully built image?

I know the benefits of socializing. You get connected with really big people: police officers, IAS officers, doctors, top bureaucrats and businessmen. So the morning after you only need to flip out your mobile and scream: “Aliya, I was with you at the Peeyusha bar yesterday. Now I’ve got a problem.”

God wouldn’t answer all your calls; but glass mates run around like 108 ready for the rescue.

I curse myself whenever acquaintances from faraway places call me to get their relatives out of some police custody using my media clout. If I had attended those parties in which some police officers were also there, things would’ve been easy. “Eda, that’s how people build contact with the police,” my friend scolds me all the time. But I am afraid, really afraid of the uniform. I fear that I would make some remark at the party which would aggravate the already-strained relationship between me and the uniform.

Let sleeping dogs sleep.

Yet another reason why I stay away from socializing is my ignorance about politics. As a writer who has been focussing on travel I am not a bit clued up with the latest trends in politics. There is a story going around in a media circle(Even three can make a circle) in Trivandrum about this writer. It goes that in a party at Taj I approached a man, a very handsome one, with a drink in hand and asked whether he was from the serial industry. The handsome man knocked back his drink in one go, wiped his lips, sighed and replied that he was Sasi Tharoor (believe me…it is just a story to tarnish my image).

“Manu,” one day I confronted the man in the mirror, “you must change.” Why should I? Well, I’ll tell you.

What happens if somebody decides to make rumroadravings into a book? You have to sit with that publisher over a drink. Then he will ask you to sit with some other people for building up public relations. A few major awards away you may even get an invitation from the White house to be its guest.

“So you will say no to Obama when he offers you a drink?”
“I don’t drink with strangers.”
“But Obama is no stranger. You see him every day in tv.”
“But sorry I can’t. I’ll sit only with my select friends. I can’t drink with any new ones.
“Not even with the US President?”
“Not even with the US President.”
“Well Manu, if that’s the case we must assume that you have hardly got any socializing tendencies. You are not our kind of writer. We are not interested in making RRR a book. You remain in your dirty pond along with your fellow toads and croak. Good bye.”

With this I startle, wake up and stare again into the image in the mirror. I MUST CHANGE.

It was then that Vijayan chettan, my neighbor  came with an invitation. “Manu , it will be a virtual who’s who of the city. You must come.” Perfect company to begin changing my attitude, I rubbed my hands excitedly.

The D-day came. “Hi friends, this is my neighbor Dr. Manu Remakant. He’s an Associate professor.” In the dim-lit room I saw a hand extending towards me. I held that hand and shook it violently spilling a lot of brandy around (guy was not giving me handshake; but was offering me first glass of brandy). Ok, ok…cool…Manu, don’t panic. Must be more cautious from now.

“Oh, you’re an associate professor, right,” said a tall muscular guy who introduced himself as Murugan, sub-inspector Murugan, my perfect prey of this party. “Hmm… associate professor, eh? Ok, what do you do for a living?”
“Er…what?”
“I mean how do you sustain yourself? Do you have a job?”
“Er..I’m asso… I am a teacher.”
“Oh you are teacher too. Good. How do you do all kinds of job?
…..

After my quota of drinks(2 pegs) I decided to get involved with the mood. I looked around. There were small groups in every corner of the hall, chatting about politics, latest market trends, business and all with glasses half-filled in their hands. I had to choose my group for the evening.

“Chandra Shekhar  had the guts to show that.” What did he show? My curiosity grew, I pushed my way into the centre of the group using my drink-holding hand as a JCB. I almost knocked over the man who was talking excitedly about Chandra Shekhar. Again S.I. Murugan.

Great! He put his muscular hand on my shoulder and asked (See. How quickly I’ve befriended him!) “What do you say aniya?” I nodded my head violently, with glass in hand. “He knew how to defend his party.” Again Murugan looked at me for approval. I stretched my eyes wide to show surprise at his intelligence. Time to add something to support him. “He defended the party so selflessly that he hasn’t become anything in his life.” Silence. I looked around for a round of applause. But here’s silence.

“Manu sir… Chandra Shekhar became our Prime Minister(Eppa!!!)”
“Might be”, I said. “But where is he now? How many of us have heard about him recently?” I looked around to catch all eyes. “That happens to all selfless people who defend their party.” Still silence.

“Manu, Let’s us have some snacks.” Vijayan chettan led me out of the crowd to a table. “Vijayan chetta, have I said anything wrong? Why don’t they answer me?” the two pegs in me fumigated. “Manu, Chandra Sekhar is no more. He is long dead. That’s why you are no more hearing about him.”
“Chandra Shekhar!”
“Yeah, Chandra Shekhar”. Silence.
“When”?
“Long back”. Again silence.
“Where are the snacks, Vijayan chetta?”
“Over there.”
“Ok.”
“Ok.”

I could not effectively bring my presence to any more groups after that set back. I avenged myself by downing the third and fourth peg- a very unusual behavior from my part. I reeled on my feet; my vision blurred. I was humiliated. After the fourth peg, I took Vijayan chettan to a corner of the dim-lit hall.

“You’re a good guy, my well wisher and neighbor. Your friends are not half as good as you, especially that Murugan sir. What does he think he is! He may be the leader of police association, but he doesn’t have to take it out on me. The devil doesn’t know me.”

Vijayan chettan nodded, knocked back the remaining drink and then replied calmly. Meanwhile I saw at the far end of the room a Vijayan chettan talking to another fellow.

“Manu… you may be right. But there is also a mistake on your part.”
“What?” I geared up to defend myself.
“I am not Vijayan chettan.”
“What!!!”
“Don’t scream Manu. I’m not your Vijayan chettan. Vijayan is over there at that corner.” I saw a Vijayan chettan again at the other end of the hall.
“Ok?”
“Ok.”
Silence for another 20 seconds.
“Then who are you, sir?”
“Murugan.”
“S.I Murugan?”
“Yeah. Sub Inspector Murugan.”
“Ok.”
“Ok.”

About Manu Remakant

Manu has written 297 stories in Rum, Road & Ravings. You can read all posts by Manu here.