I leave my office at 8 pm and head for the theka. It's a warm April night. The summers will soon be here in all their pomp, splendour and sweat. I walk on the dust collected on the side of the road. I am flanked by skyscrapers from all sides. Most of them have global in their name - global arcade, global business park and so on. The names reflect aspirations of a growing India. We are no longer content with local glory. We want the world to take notice.
The brands of beers available at the theka prove this hypothesis. Miller is telling us to raise the bar at office and a glass afterwards. But all I can hear around me are people in formal clothes bitching about their jobs and bosses. I order a Tuborg and go stand amongst them. A 12 foot sculpture of a bottle with a white body and blue cap stares at us like a God. And with each sip we pay homage to it. People are gathered around cars, bikes and even autos with bottles of whiskey, beer and their worries. Everyone is inhaling and exhaling smoke. Cigarettes pass from hand to hand. Empty, crushed packets of moong daal are strewn about like dead soldiers in a battlefield. The enemy we are all fighting is life. A cunning adversary with more twists and turns than an Olympic figure skater.
Right in front of the Bunty English wine shop is the Delhi metro flyover. The metro, like a silver caterpillar with yellow markings snakes past us filling us with awe. That is how fucked we all are. A metro excites us. I drink my beer in long sips. It's nice and cold. A soothing caress. A man behind me burps. He's having oily pakoras and boiled eggs. A dog is loitering near him, hoping to get some scraps. Another man buys a kingfisher strong, puts it in a black bag and walks away into the night. I drain my beer in one long gulp and feel a slight buzz. Then I gently place the bottle on the ground and walk away.
