Bacchanalia: My Hic Hic Love story

No this is not about Amitabh Bachchan but about another star. He is my favorite yet unsung God. Lord Bacchus.

Lord Bacchus is the god of wine. I can say with confidence that he has more followers in India than any part of the world. Show me an adult who doesn’t drink and you have shown me the eight wonder of the world ( ok that’s an exaggeration).

I can see bacchanalia during every procession starting from one as sacred as the Ganesh immersion or as mundane as a municipality ward election winner.

Think about it. What will our politicians bribe with if there is no booze. Rooh afza?

What about corporate meetings?bacchus wine-dine

We tried one meeting with a client over a plate of idli and coffee. As expected the meeting finished in twenty minutes and the client insisted that he forgot his visiting card at home and that he lost his mobile in the morning. When his mobile suddenly rang, he cheerily replied, “ Wow! I must rush to the temple and pray. I have just seen a miracle.”

Sarat Chandra would have sold his idea of Devdas to some Punjabi writer if he had a Devdas who drank lassi in the memory of his Paro.

Dilip Kumar would have become Adnan Sami, before completing that movie.

Can you imagine Harivansh Rai Bachchan, that talented poet who wrote the immortal ‘ Madushala’. Would he have been able to bring out all the philosophies of life so beautifully if he had written ‘a ganne ka ras bar’ instead ?

I propose that we have something like the famous beer festival in India too.

As for me, I owe my life to him. Here’s my tribute to him. Thank you Lord Bacchus for being there whenever I need you.

My hic hic love story.

Sunday Morning
Saw her at the mall.
Thousand stars sparkled even in that hot stall.

We met she smiled.
She said you are fine.
I gave her flowers; we had wine.

Tuesday evening discotheque.
Funky music but me two feet
The strobe lights on she Pranced like a deer.
I watched hypnotized and guzzled some beer.

Wednesday evening dialogues corny.
She was coy I was horny.
As night wore , we were frisky.
What better drink than a peg of whisky.

Thursday come.
All passions gone, All serene.
We wrapped each other in our arms
And drank some gin.

Friday night. Fcking night!
She broke my head I broke her heart.
She was teary, I all pain.
The whole bar shouted champagne champagne

All alone Sunday noon. Swatting flies nothing to do.
Thinking of the past. Bloody whole week.
I wanted to cry, gimme my fun.
Drowning sorrows, coke and rum.

About Sudhir 58 Articles

Author of a two novels, Pizza Porn and Rambler Inn and Other Stories , nothing about Sudhir has been cool and smooth. Trained to be an engineer, he realised that he wasn’t cut out for that role. So he left engineering and worked abroad for a decade. He saw three ghastly terrorist attacks from close quarters. Whether it was Mumbai or New York or London, the response has been the same – of fear, outrage and sheer bravery.