Experiments with uncomfortable truths

BENGALURU : Last week, I was getting my beers parcelled when the shopkeeper nudged me to take more. ‘Tomorrow Gandhi Jayanti - no liquor’, he said matter-of-factly. I have never been able to understand the idea of Gandhiji’s birthday as a dry-day. The most common answer is that Gandhi was against the consumption of alcohol. But Gandhi from my limited knowledge was a liberal (at least for his time). He encouraged people to challenge existing ideas. I wonder how he’d feel if he knew that we banned an entire state from booze – in his name. Historically, prohibition has always caused chaos; be it Al Capone in the US, or Haji Mastan in India. 

But I’m merely a writer. These decisions, their pros and cons, are beyond my scope of work. During the lockdown, I longed for the feeling of walking into a noisy bar. While I may have no experience in policy-making, I have been a connoisseur of cheap alcohol and seedy bars. If Harivansh Rai Bachchan wrote his epic poem Madhushala in today’s times, he’d talk about cheap bars. The English flowing smoothly off tongues after three drinks. The post-booze discussions that would put the UN Security Council to shame. The smell of cheap beer mixed with cigarettes and tears. Where TV screens play music channels as if on an infinite loop. 

Cheap bars are ecosystems in themselves. Every bar has a kitchen counter that whips up chicken and egg-based dishes in minutes. Shops outside the bars sell cigarettes and fried savouries. Every table exhibits a 3-hour film in itself – the friendly drinkers, the emotional reunion of old friends, and the existential trauma of old men drinking at their tables alone. 

There are also different kinds of drunkards in a bar. The quick drinkers who squeeze a pouch of water into the glass, gulp it down, and go about their day. There is the nervous, calculated drinking by students bunking college. And finally, there are the daytime drinkers. These are men and women putting their livers on the line to make the idea of drinking in the day more acceptable. It’s a different matter that most of these comrades can be found sprawled outside the bar by 11 am. 

And behind them all, is my personal hero – Daya anna. For years, Daya anna has been providing booze late at night to everybody who knocks on his doors. When demonetisation was announced, Daya anna arrived the next night with digital payment apps and an entire card machine! He was the Jeff Bezos of the bootlegging brotherhood. As the country reopens, I can’t wait to meet Daya anna in his elements again. To visit the inexpensive bars and take in the smell of beer and cigarettes. If herd immunity is what we are looking for, we need to look at the cheap bars. 

If Gandhiji was the father of the nation, Daya anna had become the brother of the colony. It’s a different matter that while Bapu used a stick to walk, Daya anna has witnessed more creative uses of said stick. With Daya anna’s help, I stocked myself up on the dry day. As the day ended, I wondered what Bapu would make of the decision to declare his birthday as a dry-day. As a journalist and lawyer, perhaps he’d acknowledge that people are mature enough to decide for themselves. 
(The author’s views are his own)