BENGALURU: All good things must end, even beautiful friendships and touching relationships. Last week, I decided to end my long relationship with C2H5OH. It was good while it lasted, but it’s time to move on.

The story of my alcohol is roughly the story of my life. I had my first beer in Bhubaneswar, in a shop located opposite a Ram Mandir. Unlike its counterpart in Ayodhya, this Ram temple attracted a crowd of soft-spoken worshippers like me. One Monday, my friend suggested we take a left instead of a right, and shortly, alcohol was slipping down my throat. The taste seemed weird, but the feeling felt like home.
My college years witnessed a surge in vodka consumption. For some reason, vodka was called a ‘ladies drink’. Yours Truly however, was unfettered by these descriptions, and consumed vodka with juice, water, soft-drinks, jaljeera, and (on one unfortunate afternoon) badam milk.

My first writing job was as a copywriter. My boss at the agency contributed heavily to the fortunes of Mohan Meakin & Co. by consuming an entire bottle of Old Monk every night. As a good employee, I scraped past the day and helped him finish the bottle at night. I was learning the ropes of the trade, and contributing to the nation’s GDP at the same time.

During my masters, I explored the depths of the ocean of cheap whiskies. From the choice of officers and aristocrats, I dug deeper to unearth products like ‘Seven Bells’ and ‘Hercules’. A nocturnal friendship with the campus bootlegger also ensured that I was offered a token ‘commission’ for every illegal purchase. This was a particularly bad time for my liver, with the doctors rechristening my liver as ‘survivor’.
Like Rohit Sharma in the second half of his career, my drinking career peaked when I became a standup comedian in 2014. Most open mics are held at bars, and weekend shows usually offer free drinks to comics. After a good show, audience members offer you a few drinks to celebrate. After bad shows, your comedian friends buy you enough whiskey to drown your sorrows in. In five years, I had entered an amusement park of alcohol. On some nights, I would sit on a gondola of whiskey-rum; on other nights, I would board a rollercoaster of cocktails.

But that’s the thing about alcohol, like Venom taking over Spiderman, you don’t really know when control has been snatched. I would look at unknown alcoholic brothers sprawled outside booze-shops at 10am and smile benignly. I always had that one friend who would drink way more than I did, and in comparison, I seemed like a fit, barefoot-marathon-running Milind Soman. Until it happened one night.

I was at a show and consumed a fair number of LIITs. I don’t trust anything with IITs in them, but my greed got the better of me. I slurred my way through the show, discussed the universe with strangers, and found myself with no memory the next day.

And that is when I decided to bid goodbye to an old friend. You stuck with me through joyous evenings and miserable nights, but I’m afraid I must move on from that intricate combination of carbon, hydrogen and oxygen. It is interesting that three of the most essential elements for life on earth come together to give you alcohol. But it is time I move on from the magic potion, and get a real job with the Ministry of Magic.
The author is a writer and comedian.