He knew he had to go somewhere. But for the life of him he couldn’t recall where. Getting blind drunk on a Wednesday would do that to you, actually getting blind drunk on any day. Days and alcohol aren’t discriminatory that way. Nice and liberal of them he thought.
Well he had paid his bar tab, next step trying to figure out whether he had come by car or bike and the even profounder question of whether he owned a car or a bike. Then another nagging doubt set in, had he come with his wife? Did he have a wife/girlfriend?
Only one thing was certain, he had had too much alcohol. This had never happened before, this memory loss. But since it was a memory loss he couldn’t be certain about that too. Well, well, well life isn’t so predictable after all. Wait, why did he think that was a revelation. Was his life predictable and boring?
What should I do he wondered? The most logical thing seemed to try and get home. But where was home? Did he have a home? He looked down at his clothes. Certainly didn’t seem like a homeless guy’s clothes. Then it just hit him there is a thing called a wallet. It might have an address, a name and other details which may come in handy. He found it and a stranger seemed to be peering up at him from the driver’s licence, so he at least knew how to drive. Did he really look like that he thought, and then perhaps it was good he did not to have a mirror around so that he could persist with the delusion that he was strikingly handsome.
The address mentioned was another country’s though, oh wait was he in a foreign country? Which one? Since the licence listed his home country as India that narrowed it down to anywhere but India. Well that didn’t help much did it? Well the signs were in English so he must be in an English speaking country, or so he concluded. To narrow it down further required active brain function which appallingly had decided to desert him leaving a country cousin to make do for the sophisticated job of doing his existential thinking. Hmm… he decided he had to spend the night somewhere and figure things out as things came to him in the morning, if they did. Anything seemed possible, it was a magical time.
So he found a bench and slept. He woke up wet and confused in what seemed like a minute later. Then he cheered up as he smelled the fresh rain. Ah, Petrichor. He was so glad he knew the word for that wonderful scent. Then his drenched underpants brought him back to the grim reality.
Well there’s nothing to it, his befuddled brain responded, get wet and get pneumonia or worse, or find a covered doorway.
The next day the just fired CEO of Grand Machinations – We really want your money, can we please have it, Corporation limited; woke up wet and sore on the doorway of a house in London suburbs. It was a bright sunny day as he rolled down the stairs as the newspaper boy woke him up with the wallop of a well-aimed newspaper across his bright externally, yet not so bright within, forehead.
By- Aseem Mahajan
