'Hey man!'
'Who, me? I can't see you in the dark.' Only I could just about discern that there were four of them – local youths with a slightly shifty air – sat in an unlit corner of the grounds of the guesthouse.
We exchange pleasantries for a bit, and then I bid them good night, but am not to be let off that easily.
'You are very adventurous to come here on your own. Come and have a drink with us.' Adventurous to come to a quiet hill station like Dalhousie? Hardly. Adventurous to agree to sit and drink with a bunch of rather drunk youngsters? Definitely – but they manage to produce what looked like a decent bottle of Scotch, and I felt in the mood for a digestif.
There isn't a spare glass, so one of the lads empties his and refreshes it with a generous shot of whisky. He also fishes out a lump of ice for me from somewhere (was that ice made from bottled water or from the local tap water? I sense this is not the time to be prissy).
We clink glasses and I take a sip – not bad!
'Do you know Bapu Man Singh?'
'Erm no. Should I?'
'Everyone knows Bapu Man Singh. He is underworld don! He makes fake whisky.'
I splutter into my drink.
'Do you know Shilpa Shetty?'
'Yes, I know of her.'
'She is nice' says one of the lads, jiggling the air in front of his chest.
The conversation goes rapidly downhill from there, but thankfully it begins to rain and the party breaks up.
Mother, as I recall, had some sound advice about accepting booze from strange men!
No comments:
Post a Comment