V vitrifies Vodka

       It’s true. When Vodka is vitrified it becomes Bhang. Or something like that. Ok I am blabbering. Thinking about the episode back in college always makes me blabber.

         Engineers celebrate Vishwakarma Day. In our college it was a pretty big festival. Inside the Engineering Worksop lab the deity was placed and worshipped in an elaborate manner.

          But the most looked forward part of the day was the afternoon when after participating in the day long kite flying competition, boys made the bhang. In the most un-traditional way! Along with all the traditional ingredients went some other stuff which only the “chefs” knew. No the “chef” knowledge was highly coveted and every year the final year chefs passed the knowledge to only a handful students from the third year. How those worthy of being chefs were chosen was a secret knowledge, something I can never claim to know.

          Anyway, that night, when our batch mates were the chefs we girls took a special request to them to share the amrita with us too. As a result we got two bottles of Smirnoff full of that milky concoction. We girls drank through them happily, feeling nothing.

But then slowly it started. Some of us started to laugh uncontrollably while some others couldn’t stop crying. Too quickly we (the still sane people) were outnumbered as more and more girls started behaving in the weirdest ways.  We had to keep them on leash because we didn’t want to draw the matron’s attention who was always breathing down our necks. But with each passing second the task became more difficult with our own heavy heads.

Think I am exaggerating? Let me give some examples. A girl went in the loo and locked herself in. Then she started crying and shouting and kicking the door violently begging everyone to let her out. No amount of talk could convince her that she had to just open the lock herself.

Another girl, very shy and inwardly on a normal day, decided to hang from the rope that we had tied along the open balcony to dry our clothes shouting, “I am spider-man” repeatedly.

Yet another one kept throwing off her clothes. Some kept telling their sad stories crying uncontrollably to people who were laughing their heads off.

After some time of wrestling with these stunt stars I decided to return to my room. I closed my door and started laughing. Hysterical laughs came out of me like bubbles from a can of soda. I kept laughing till I fell asleep.

The apocalyptic silence and calm that greeted me twelve hours later when I woke up told me that the night before wasn’t my imagination. 


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Riot of Random


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