After sampling some invigorating local fare and satiating our bellies, the boys headed to a local butcher, bought some 18+ liquids (Or is it 21+, 24 maybe, not sure) and headed to the beach for some supper that extended into an experience which lasted well past midnight. With the big Audi stowed away at a safe parking spot, we found a lone tree by the beach, which everyone wanted to take home once our thoughts started to appear curved. Prior to that, donning his chef’s hat, the Editor, who just knew the right recipe to marinate the meat, made sure all of us had the perfectly grilled chicken to accompany the nippy late evening breeze and the funny colored liquid we were holding in our palms.
As the night unfolded itself, we found ourselves sharing other worldly experiences, talking about Science, Gods, outer space, Airplanes, finally deciding it was time for a 100 meter sprint on a secluded beach, well past midnight. Rohan and Ayan chickened out, but Amit, Saeed and me lined up at the start line, Amit taking the lead, shooting off into the distance like a man possessed, while I tried to keep up, Saeed running like he knew what was about to happen next.
Digging his feet too deep in the sand, trying to experience Quattro while still being bi-pedal, the Editor managed to tumble into my lane. Although I tried to leap over him, trying to change the event from a sprint to a hurdle, my ankle managed to hit Asafa Powell as I somersaulted many feet in the air, finally landing some distance away. Laughing profusely post the silly antics, my mind then diverted towards that pretty tree. Walking towards it, I suddenly decided to announce my claim on the vertical log by the beach and climbed it in high spirits. The others let me stake my claim, but as they started walking away, I realized while being there that it was rather easy to climb up, than it was coming back to terra firma. Managing to climb down somehow, post some karate lessons by Saeed and an argument over will and skills later, we walked towards our pad.
With the entire hullabaloo happening around Ayan, being a mere spectator, his high metabolism not helping his case, he suddenly felt the need to eat something. With not a soul around, I walked with him to a hotel nearby and knocked at their door. The person who answered our call, scared the living daylights out of our souls. This was the same tout we met during our search for a place to stay, we then saw him at a restaurant we were eating our lunch at, which apparently was owned by him. We even spotted him in the market, at the butcher, by the beach when we were admiring the tree, and here he was, a man so omnipresent, he could replace oxygen. So he calmed our nerves when was asked him if he could arrange for any food, we then figured, he was the owner of that Hotel too, but still couldn’t manage to find a pack of chips for my starving colleague. With a fitting reply to his earlier attempt at making us feel bad for travelling in a fancy car and staying in a hut, we walked away with some stupid pride, trying to control our laughter, or maybe we laughed facing towards him, can’t remember.
As we walked back to our pad, the Q7 parked a couple feet away from our single floored habitat, which even had a large balcony, little did we realize that it was just the beginning of a crazy night. Now, music makes us feel a gamut of different emotions and we all know that. However, Rohan is still unable to figure till this day, what happened around him that night. As he opened the car, lending his ears to some Mozart from Punjab, he got out a minute later, with the windows rolled down, wanting everyone else to surrender to the sound of music. Realizing that he wasn’t walking straight, one of us went back to the car, locked it and quietly came back smiling. Not amused that the party had gone bust, Rohan started to figure where did Mozart disappear. We then made him believe that he left the key in the car and it had now locked itself, with no way to get in, except that he goes back to Bombay the next day in a bus and gets a spare key. He was so sober; he bought the story and started feeling bad for what he did. With the 8-speed DSG in his mind slotted in ‘Sports’ mode, he even started asking if there was a way to crawl inside the car through the bonnet.
The madness didn’t just stop there, his brain fuzzy, reeling under the after effects of a malted drink, Saeed was amused at being filmed on a cell phone camera, not because he felt it was incorrect, but because the flash light from the phone hurt his vision so much, he wanted someone to call the ambulance. After laughing our guts, kidneys, hearts and everything else out, the Ambulance boy and creepy crawler Rohan wanted to retire to their rooms. Locking his room from the inside, Rohan came out through the French window, ensured it was shut from the outside, walked into the balcony which was adjoining to ours and jumped over to our side. This time, he managed to lock himself out of the room, leaving behind Saeed, who was dreaming about driving a NOS kitted ambulance.
After failed attempts to wake Saeed up from his medicated dream, Ayan and me tried our hands at breaking into the room with the help of barbeque skewers, trying to push the window latch inside, so it could slide. After almost 30 minutes of trying, I went for a walk, came back enlightened, lifted the window from the bottom while it was within its channel, and Voila! Creepy crawler Rohan and pocket rocket Saeed were soon heard snoring.
Dearest Dhairya,
You will be notified in advance when we go next. A San Storm will be waiting for you at the airport.
Thank you 🙂
Dear Motoroids Team,
I hate you for doing this without me. Will inform you guys when I am in Pune next in advance and we better have a competing car waiting to take me away with rest of the team to such a hamlet.
Thank you
Dhairya