Tale of 4 liquids

Alcohol touched his lips
Wandered through his throat
Reached inside, making its magic
More came, drowning his liver

Adrenaline rushed into blood
Raced towards everywhere
The effect reached outside, showing its trick
More came, he now picked up his keys

Petrol ignited, flooded the engine
An ego soothing vroom now being heard
Burning inside, it readied its show
More came, now refusing to stop

Blood now crawled where the car was
Brown coloured highway now blushed red
Fleeing from inside, it now ran free
More came, never agreeing to stop

Blogger recognized ! ^_^

After ages of procrastination, I finally have the pleasure of acknowledging the Blogger’s Recognition Award by the wonderful blogger, Millie, who brings history to life in a way that anyone would fall in love with the past. I am grateful to her and since this award asks me to tell the story of how my blog started, I have to tell that a major reason for the blog to keep going was the childish hunger for recognition 😁

Not wasting anymore time I state the rules here:
1. Select 15 other blogs you want to give the award to.
2. Write a post to show off your award!
3. Give a brief story of how your blog got started, and give a piece or two of advice to new bloggers.
4. Thank whoever nominated you, and provide a link to their blog.

The uncertainty principle was born when a mixture of ‘Breaking Bad’, last semester exams, and alcohol (which was practically consumed for the first time) exploded in my mind at 3 am in a fateful night.

There comes a time when there is so much pressure on you to do or to accept something that it becomes extremely easy to simply walk away from it. It was a time when too much was happening and changing in my world and a desperate need to document the emotions was felt. Blogging was a new found way to walk away from the reasonable world. This was coupled by the aforementioned desire to be recognized and praised for something that seemed easy to do. I remember waking up many times at night to see if someone had something to say on what I wrote πŸ˜€

After reading this, I can assume that you understand why it is highly unadvisable to take advice from me. πŸ˜‰
So I will comfortably refrain from advising but will do yell out to those who are trying to convince themselves that blogging is a waste of time and tell them that you don’t know what you are missing πŸ˜€

I am not nominating anyone but I will really look forward to hear the stories of the blogs who were among the first ones to admire the works of this novice πŸ™‚

Thank you once again, Millie, I smiled the entire time while writing this as the memories came back or as the history came alive πŸ™‚

Drunken talkies

Being in an expensive bar during happy hours is fun whether or not you are drunk. There are individuals trying to mend a broken heart, groups celebrating a birthdayΒ looting an individual, and couples dating while respecting the slowdown in the economy.

There is a saying here that if there are more than one utensils in a kitchen, they are bound to make sound – referring to the occasional arguments people in a family indulge into. Well, probably at the time this saying was made, bars were not so prevalent as they are now. The “sound” that the innocently drunk “utensils” make is sometimes enough to subside the loud music playing in the language of Martians which is further remixed by Wall-E.

It was the time of our graduation treat at The Irish House in Calcutta and we saw a couple enjoying an appealing drink. It was a cocktail in which the whole solid can of Red Bull was immersed upside down. We were intrigued (and hoped the cans would pass the hygiene tests with better marks than we did in our finals) by the look of the drink. So one of our drunken masters, Ravi, went up to the couple and very respectfully asked the girl, “Excuse me, ma’am. What are the ingredients of this drink?” Unfortunately, the guy was in no mood to let her girl socialize and let our warrior get some happiness in the happy hours. “Ingredients? Are you a fucking scientist?”, he barked furiously. Heartbroken, my friend who had just a day before submitted his thesis for his masters in Chemistry declared proudly : “Yes I am !” And it was a delight to see the petrified faces of these newly made friends. The three of them spent a major part of the evening discussing the ingredients. πŸ˜€

Meanwhile another sober friend, Aleem showed me a card with these words : “Buy 2 get 1”. Anyone found it funny? Neither did I. Then he said this : “Dude how can these be happy hours? We have to pay for 2 drinks but they’ll give only 1”. And a subtle giggle slipped from Tejeshwar, sitting between us. This triggered a chain reaction and one by one each one of us spat out everything that was inside their mouths, laughing with tears in our eyes on this lame joke. It became a herculean task to stop ourselves from laughing but then the bill did the trick. The smiles suddenly changed in a moment to inquisitive looks to ascertain who has how much.

Just before leaving, we saw a man, probably in his late twenties or early thirties sitting alone with a beer TOWER on his table. He filled his glass and held it as if trying to crush it into pieces. His red eyes made it evident that if hate signifies passion, that guy has really found his passion in that beer tower !

Stories are more, but time is less. Alcohol is slow death. Consume only if you are not in a hurry to die. Thanks for reading.