Another weekend goes by and what a weekend it was. I reckon I have enough alcohol in me to open a distillery. The arrival of monsoon has put everybody in a party mood. That coupled with the fact that three of my friends had their birthdays on June 28 meant three straight drinking sessions. Of course, everyone knew everyone so the common sensical thing to do would have been to combine the three occasions, right. Except it never occurred to anyone. Or if it did, it was quickly snuffed out.
So it began on Friday evening. And went on till six in the morning. At which time we all decided we had to drive down to Khandala. At which point I stepped in and said, how stupid is that? If we’re going to drive, we should going to Chiplun. Or Goa. Khandala over the weekend, especially when the monsoon had just arrived, is full of Bombayites.
But then everybody remembered they had to go to a brunch party later on. So it was time to stumble back home, catch a nap, shower and totter off to the other party. At the other party, since everybody had been partying the night before, people were feeling a little sluggish. Then some bright spark, I’m not sure who and I think it may have been me, suggested doing shots to perk everyone up. So in the middle of the afternoon, falsely lulled into complacency by the near-black skies outside, out came the tequila. After all, it’s not the time of day that matters, right? It’s the quality of light outside.
I don’t remember what happened afterwards but I think at six in the evening I somehow managed to crawl out of the pub and into an auto. I don’t remember coming back home and I think I may have figured out that there was no point in going home for just a half hour and then crawling out again. So I may have directed the auto rickshaw to go on straight to the other venue.
The last party was on Sunday afternoon and that should have been it. Except, I figured, it was stupid to start nursing a hangover from as early as Sunday evening so I came home and drank some more. After all, lohe ko loha kaatta hai.
As of today, I am officially off alcohol. Like forever. But, wait a minute, what’s that? My phone’s ringing. My sister’s in-laws are here and another party beckons. Ah well, what’s another day in the larger scheme of things?
On the subject of hangover, I also managed to squeeze out the film, The Hangover. It’s about a bunch of guys who wake after a night of hard partying with no memory of what happened the night before. It’s hilarious. Go watch it.
When tall, suave, handsome Kaustav Kapoor walks into her office, ditzy private investigator Kasthuri (aka Katie) Kumar has anything but detection on her mind. He is, after all, a scion of Bollywood’s first family—perhaps he has a role for her? Perhaps she will, at last, get to sashay down the red carpet in a designer gown, with flash bulbs following her every move?
But Kapoor’s intentions are much more prosaic: he wishes Katie to trace the heroine of his new blockbuster (and, if Katie’s read the glossies correctly, his life) who is mysteriously AWOL. Despite her misgivings, Katie finds herself unable to refuse the task entrusted to her, and thereon follows a bewildering hunt for the film star across a trail of corpses.
And if that isn’t excitement enough, she has to contend with the maddening and mysterious, but, oh-so-hot, Tejas Deshpande.
The first in a brand new detective series.
IN BOOKSTORES NOW.
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