A Spirited Evening

A New Year eve party was in full swing in a huge, sprawling house in Green Park, Delhi.  There was a fog outside, and animated chatter and liquor were flowing in profusion.  

 “Over 300 flights were delayed on 20^th December and many fights were diverted. I had to go to Pune, but was not even informed about the cancellation of the flight, I came to know of the cancellation only on reaching the airport.” A man in a blazer was talking in indignant tones, the vehemence of his wrath matching the vigor with which he took huge sips from his glass of rum.

“Oh! That is very unprofessional.”

“Exactly! Imagine going from Noida to the airport only to be told that the flight has been cancelled.”  He snorted with a great intensity, and took a giant sip from his glass.

“I always prefer rum, even over scotch.” He said replenishing his glass and smiling a sozzled smile at his friend, who was having scotch and seemed to be drenched in a languorous warmth.

“Your fifth drink? I am keeping an eye on you.”  Suddenly his wife appeared at his side from the farthest corner of the huge ornamental room and snarled at him. “Honestly, this is only my third, you can ask Ajit here.” Without listening to what Ajit had to say, she floated away towards a group of women who were exuberantly talking and gesturing. 

“We cannot be divided on religious lines.”  

“The poor don’t even know their birthdates, so will they be thrown out of the country?”  

“What gravity defying logic!” Someone was spluttering in apocalyptic rage standing tall among a knot of highly spirited people.

“No point, discussing all this, we will just be going round and round in circles”, said a freckled man, deflecting the group from the heated discussion and breaking into song.

“O, the weather outside is frightful

  but the fire is so delightful

since we’ve no place to go

let it snow, let it snow

I will be warm …

The fire is slowly dying

But, my dear, we are still goodbye-ing  

as long as you love me so ,

let it snow , let it snow

And the entire room burst in a crescendo of let it snow …let it snow …

When the crescendo died down, some new impassioned voices could be heard above the din.

“If you have finished listening to our very own Frank Sinatra, may I have my say?”

“Oh, have you read Samir’s poetry? He is a new kid on the block and writes mesmerizing poetry – it is so pithy! I have heard him recite at many poetry events and was struck by the cerebral finesse of his poetry. Simply wow!”

“Never heard of him.”

“How can you? He writes protest poetry, not the jingoistic poetry that you write so passionately and applaud so full-throatedly.”

“I prefer that other one, forget his name …such stunning imagery in his poetry. ”

“My New Year resolution is to lose at least twenty kgs.”  

“That is a tall order, I will continue to run after my dreams, no harm in that, I am a positive thinker, you know. Even if I don’t realise my dreams, I will at least lose weight, running.” The man in the red muffler quipped. So impressed by his own wit that his self- congratulatory guffaws refused to stop, and continued to be heard above the celebratory din for a pretty long time.   

A little distance away from the rest of the people, stood a young man and girl, lost in their own world. In the depth of each other’s eyes, actually.  

“With your radiant smile and this red wine, the night has suddenly changed hues”. Remarked the man with an impish smile.  

“Ah, I see, your spirits seem to have restored.”  The woman rejoined with a brighter twinkle.

The pun was definitely not lost on him and he smiled. Anyone could see that a love story was about to take birth in that corner of the festive room. Or had it already been born?  

“Last year at this time, I was in Goa, and, y’know, I always find it heart-wrenching to leave Goa. Every time I go there, I leave a piece of my heart behind”. A man with a huge paunch was rhapsodizing about Goa.

“But of late, it has become so overcrowded, and so dirty too.” Said the man in a red muffler, picking up a potato chip and sipping whisky from an ornate glass.  

“But I ignore all that, as I get to gorge on the best calamari there.”

“Calamari?”

“It is squid ……a very popular sea food. ”

“Oh!  I wouldn’t know, I am a vegetarian.” Said the red mufflered one, picking another potato chip and gulping it down with a massive sip of whisky.

 “It is coated in batter and deep fried, then salted and served with lemon peels, just out of this world. Yummy!”

“You know, I think he goes there only to have this calamari , I don’t care much for it , but honestly , it is sheer bliss watching him gorge on it , plate after plate .” His wife chipped in with a look of wifely indulgence.  The husband looked at her with a liquor-laced smile.

Such strands of conversation kept whirling in the smoke and liquor filled room, but  unbeknownst to the animated chatter and heated discussion, at a table near the roaring fireplace, sat a man all alone, sipping in silence from his frosted vodka glass. He was clad in an old-fashioned tweed coat, and if one observed properly, one could see his eyes clogged with unshed pain. Every now and then a look of terrified appeal chased the contours of his face.

“We need to learn to be human together”. Someone in the group remarked.

 “Hmm”. The man near the fireplace mumbled, his expression becoming sadder.

“Human, yes.” Another man, clad in a shabby coat, tousled hair and glazed look, who had just appeared on the scene, rejoined, pulling out a chair in front of the tweed coated one.                                                                

“It is the coldest day in Delhi in hundred years.” He said, looking at the person in front of him.

 “In one hundred and twenty years, to be precise, at least that is what the newspapers say.” The one in the tweed coat remarked, the muscles at the corner of his mouth twitched, and his right hand inadvertently went to his jaw, probably in a vain bid to stop the twitching.  He seemed to be deep in thought. Was he angry? Was he holding himself in? Trying desperately to hide his emotions behind a suave, bland mask? There seemed to be something simmering deep inside him.

“Ah, so many years…….so many decades have drifted by.” He sighed.

“When I was a five year old in the year, 1819, I remember, Delhi was as cold as this. We stayed in a small house in Chandni Chowk.  It used to be great fun watching the merchants coming from places like Holland, Turkey and China.

My father had a huge jewelry and ittar [natural perfumes] shop in Dariba Kalan.”

“Oh! Did you say, 1819?”  The new arrival asked, a look of pure amazement on his face.

“Yes that is exactly what I said.” Replied the one in the tweed coat.

“Oh! I was also a five year old in the year 1819, and stayed in Chandni Chowk, my father had a spice shop in Khari Baoli, how come we never met?”

Saying this the second one vanished into thin air, leaving behind a lingering aroma of powerful spices. The man sitting near the fireplace also got up, tightening the tweed coat around his frail figure, and plodded out, leaving behind him an overwhelming fragrance of ittar and soon merged with the fog outside.

No one noticed their absence and the party continued.

 The fire in the fireplace crackled. The New Year was just round the corner.

Two hundred years had just passed through the door.

 Just like that, and none had noticed.[ 1350 words]