Other Side

When the light through the windowpane makes it impossible to keep the eyelids closed and twisting and turning in the bed comes to end, I open my eyes and check the time. It is one in the noon and second thing I notice is stiff and frozen muscles and splitting headache, symptoms of inevitable disease known as ‘hangover.’

I drag my ass off the bed to the washroom. Splashing water on face and cleaning eyes, I notice a stamp on my right wrist. I hold my wrist up see the blur blue inked stamp in the mirror. “Ahh, that is where I was.” And other thing that it reminds is who I was with, you know.

Wait, I didn’t plan to start Sunday like this but then I’m not complaining either. Saturday noon I did the regular stuff. Cleaned up apartment a bit, washed some shirts, made some food and read up a bit and watched TV. Later I met up with a friend and somehow just a friendly catch up shot off to tangents such as life and what is it that matters in life, we did some loud thinking and some retrospection. It was getting a little too heavy for Saturday night. And then rung my cell phone…roomie asked, “Whats up bro? What plans?”

Yeah right, so I don’t happen to be the most social, party prone and the fun person, so my calendar for weekends is an empty slate (most of the times). So this party comes along in this plush club and this kind man gifts me name on the guest-list, ‘A’ list as he would like to call it.

Simple white t-shirt, blue denim and shoes and bike keys and we are off. As people start trickling in, we get into the club. Nice and low seating sofas, mini bars sprung up across the club, glittery dance floor and something that every party needs, ‘abundance of pretty faces.’

I remember first hour when I just sat down there and downed my beer. Later, got to talking with some folks and I remembers downing shots in the name of good times and new friendships formed. What followed after that was something, let us just say, I was new to it.

Now, I’ve two left feet so normally I look for a girl with two right feet so we could dance. And more often than not it has either been the girl I was dating or a very good friend. First case, she doesn’t have much of a choice and later, I don’t have much of a choice. This time was something different. Another shot and then dance floor.

I stood there like I needed directions to the toilet and I couldn’t read the language. Which is not exaggeration because I was looking for some space to dance, some association and wasn’t able to follow the music at all.

I got my directions when someone held me by my hand and all I had to do was just follow (to start with). Well, after that there wasn’t looking back. Alcohol has been Mankind’s best friend and it didn’t betray. Music picked up, dance partner was fun and we made space where we could dance.

It only improved with every passing number, every gulping drink. Things I said then I can’t remember now, but whatever I can remember is absurdly stupid. However, it just seemed fitting and well, seems to have worked as well, had a good time after all.

Long drive, spinning head, someone’s head on my shoulder, me choosing to catch glimpses of Lamborghini over start gazing with someone, elegantly dressed girls, exchange of numbers, drunken sms-ing and good byes and roomie riding both of us home is what I kind of remember.

I blink my eyes and look at the image of the stamp in the mirror and the guy in the mirror smirks at me, saying “Welcome to the other side.”

Neo