Sharab Peena
Haram Hai......Lekin main ne to.....
Back in the
days, on my way back from ATL, I decided to take a Parisian detour and stopped
in the city of art and love for a few days.
Paris! Ah
Paris......Its a gold mine for an artiste of all hue n colors. Paris is young,
Paris is feminine and Paris is beautifully healthy. A few minutes of stroll by
the river .....is enough for you to fall in love with it.. There is no other
option!
I landed in
Mumbai and was trying to catch some sleep when I heard someone calling me out.
It was Mirza on his bike. So I went down and he drove me to our usual adda at
Nariman Point footpath. I was still sleepy and after a usual talk I wanted to
sleep. I made myself comfortable on the bench and slept. Mirza, realizing my
jet-leg situation allowed me to rest in peace.
After an
hour or so when I woke up, I found Mirza reading a newspaper. He looked up and
said
" Yaar Ek Hafte Pehle Tum US main the, Kal Shaam Tak Paris Main,
Aur ab Footpath Pe So Rahe Ho!"
"Kiya
Farak Padta Hai? Arsh Ho Ya Farsh Neend Aani Chaiyye. Baki Sab Semantics
Hai!"
I had
something else on my mind to discuss with Mirza, so I told him I want to
confess something. He put down the paper and look at quizzically.
" Yaar
Mirza, Main Ne Galti Se Paris Main Sharab Khayi Hai!"
Mirza bent
down to "smell" me for sharab.
"To
Beta Ab Tum Ne Sharab Peena Chalu kar Di?"
" Yaar
Main Sharab Nahi Peeta.....Main ne Sharab Khaayi Hai Paris Main"
"Sharab
Haram Hai......Tumhen Malom Tha Na?"
"Sharab
Peena Haram Hai......Lekin Main Ne To Sharab Khayi Hai!"
"Kaise?"
I told him
the whole story about one of the days when I got my "free hugs"
outside Amsterdam Church I felt hungry for "more", so I went to eat
at the nearest cafe by the river.
I could not
read the menu as it was all in French. I signaled a waiter and told him that
"No Pork for me". I chose one
good looking dish and and inquired if it was pork. The waiter realizing my
concern made sounds of chicken crowing "Kukdu Koo". I said Yes thats
what I want!!
Thats
exactly what he got me. It was tasty - very tasty and delicious. I enjoyed
every bite of it. But soon I started feeling a little "tipsy". My
body has zero tolerance for lies and Nasha and a small amount of it is enough
to make me feel weird. When I inquired from the waiter about the content of the
chicken dish, the waiter pointed his finger at the bottle of Red Wine and told
me in something in french. Apparently the chicken that I was served so nicely,
was marinated all night in wine and spices and which made it more tasty.
"Mirza,
Kiya Hum Logon Ko Mullah Ke Paas Jaa Ke Is Ka Hal Maloom Karna Chaiyye?"
" Yaar,
Usually Mullah Murge Ke Khilaf Nahi Bolta, Woh Us Se MarOub Hota Hai. Mullah
Tum Se Paris Ki Detail Lega aur Footage Khayega"
"Phir
Kiya Karen?"
"Meri
Mano To Jab Tum Agli Baar Kisi Jungle Main "Fabe Aiye Aala Rabbe Kuma
Tukazzebaan" padh Rahe Ho Tab Tum Apne Allah Miya Se Maafi Maang Lena. Woh
Raheem Hai...Maaf Kar Dega!"
Thats what I
did next....
Its been a
few years but even today Mirza brings up this story and reminds me how I slept
on a footpath. Even today I tell him the same thing that in the grand scheme of
things it does not matter where you sleep as long as you sleep. I am fortunate
to have frnds that are like me only. We are not born to carry weight of
unrealistic expectations of others. Why should I eat, sleep and carry my life
in a way that suits your immature fancy?
A friend of
mine once drove me in his brand new Mercez convertible at the speed of 150 MPH
( 230 KMPH) in Atlanta. In a few months he met me at Ville Parle station and
from where we took local to Church Gate in sardine packed compartment. Both of us did not compain about anything as
we had no time .... we were busy cacthing up on each other and laughing away to
glory!
Thats what
gives me high.....thats my nashaa...
