Bacchanalia!

No this is not about Amitabh Bachchan. He is a great star but still I am not going to build a temple for him. There are several reasons for that. It has nothing to do with his talent. He would certainly stand tall in front of a Khushboo ( no pun). But I am not from south. Again he isn’t half as sexy as Khusboo. And imagine the height of the temple to accommodate this towering man. Logistic nightmare really.!

Well this is about an unsung god. Lord Bacchus and his celebration. Why hasn’t anyone thought about it yet?

Lord Bacchus is the god of wine. I can say with confidence that he has more followers in India than any part of the world. Show me an adult who doesn’t drink and you have shown me the eight wonder of the world ( ok that’s an exaggeration).

We have often come closer to giving him the respect due. I can see bacchanalia during every procession starting from as sacred as the Ganesh immersion or as mundane as a municipality ward winners.

Think about it. What will our politicians bribe with if there is no booze. Rooh afza?

What about corporate meetings?
We tried one meeting with a client over a plate of idli and coffee. As expected the meeting finished in twenty minutes and the client insisted that he forgot his visiting card at home and that he lost his mobile in the morning. When his mobile suddenly rang, he cheerily replied, “ wow I must rush to the temple and pray. I have just seen a miracle.”

Sarat Chandra would have sold his idea of Devdas to some Punjabi writer if he had a devdas who drank lassi in the memory of his paro.
Dilip Kumar would have become Adnan Sami, before completing that movie.

Can you imagine Harivansh Rai Bachchan, that talented poet who wrote the immortal
‘ Madushala’. Would he have been able to bring out all the philosophies of life so beautifully if he had written ‘a ganne ka ras bar’ instead ?

I propose that we have something like the famous beer festival in India too.

Here's my hic hic love story. Thank you Lord Bacchus for being there whenever i need you.

Sunday Morning
Saw her at the mall.
Thousand stars sparkled even in the hot stall.

We met she smiled.
She said you are fine.
I gave her flowers; we had wine.

Tuesday evening discotheque.
Funky music but me two feet
The strobe lights on she Pranced like a deer.
I watched hypnotized and guzzled some beer.

Wednesday evening dialogues corny.
She was coy I was horny.
As night wore , we were frisky.
What better drink than a peg of whisky.

Thursday come.
All passions gone.
All serene.
We wrapped each other in our arms
And drank some gin.

Friday night.
Fcking night!
She broke my head I broke her heart.
She was teary I all pain.
The whole bar shouted champagne champagne

All alone Sunday noon. Swatting flies nothing to do.
Thinking of the past. Bloody whole week.
I wanted to cry, gimme my fun.
Drowning sorrows, coke and rum.