The Quintessential Drinkers. Hic!

In a country that stigmatises women drinkers, I sometimes commiserate with yours truly, who truly likes to be ‘spirited’- well at least sometimes.

Anyway, this blog post is not a rant against societal norms which frown upon women tipplers, but about how when they drink, both fine ‘samples’ of genders turn from silently sober to indecorously inebriated, causing a trail of frequently-displayed behaviour patterns, that either cause their friends to laugh and slap their hands to their head, groaning ‘Oh no, not again,' or look away in clear mortification, provided they are not too dead drunk / totally sloshed themselves in the first place.

Here, in no special order, are the common categories into which some drinkers fall, some in the royal-pain-in-the-rear varieties, some in the plainly obnoxious category:

1. The Of-course-I’m-not-drunk – One of the commonest categories, these people believe in words being louder than actions. What else can explain their loud proclamations of their sobriety, and their indignant denials of their inebriation (before they crash to the floor in an embarrassing heap)
2. The full-nighters – they take the word ‘night out’ literally, drinking faithfully till the wee hours of the morning. They do stop – but only for either two-minute breaks to answer nature’s call or, because of the smoking ban, for five-minute-huddled-smoke-breaks at designated places in and around the watering hole for puffers. God created alcohol – and these people sure know how to enjoy it, downing the bottles / tumblers eagerly. Hic hic. Amen. Stamina is their middle name, and no one knows it more than these chuggers and gluggers. They are the ones who keep the bartenders busy and up on their feet – all night…Somebody should perhaps just hand them a hose, attached to a beer factory. But knowing these sorts, they'd perhaps be delighted...
3. The variety-is-the-spice-of-life drinkers - The Budweisers and Fosters flow smoothly, before making way for the more regal Chivas Regals and Johhnie Walkers, closely followed by shots of tequila. Coming up next are the fat Old Monk bottles, as are the Bacardi vodka bottles, which make a shy appearance on the threatening-to-collapse table. All these are nicely rounded up with a last glass of gin and lime juice cordiale or another pitcher of beer – you DO get the gist, right?
4. The I-am-a-superhero kinds –A few drinks down, they fancy themselves to be avatars of their favourite Marvel comics superhero. Superman, you've got tough competition. It’s actually a marvel they don’t try their hand at flying…TGFSM 5. The I-know-my-wine sorts – Move over Tom Collins, Pilsners, and Steins. With a clink of flutes, stem glasses, and goblets, the wine-connoisseurs present themselves, swirling their favoured Merlots, Chiraz, Cabernet Sauvignons, Chablis, Chardonnays and pink wines, taking in the heady aroma, and the scene around them. The most sober category, they are every hostess’ dream-guests come true, though not necessarily the most frugal. But then quality comes for a price, innit? (customary wrinkling-up of nose)
6. The (irresponsible and irrepressible) I-will-drive-insisters – No matter how many bottles, pints, and pitchers have made happy entries in their by-now swollen tummies, these are the sorts who will disdainfully toss their heads and turn up their noses at any comment that they are sloshed. Time your watch by their regular ten-minute-speeches into the drinkathon, where they insist that they will be the ONLY ones who steer their prized pair of wheels. The road better be empty though. Or the people out there better watch out! Hic. One more for the road, you there! And make it large!
7. The I-am-better-than-Russell Peters – they consider themselves the country’s answer to a class comedian act; however instead of the audience laughing WITH them, they laugh AT them. Now that’s a fact clearly lost on these delusional souls. They alternate their generously borrowed stand-up acts with an equally ample dose of much-compiled shero-shairi (popular Hindi / Urdu short verse, spoken with dramatic effect). They are the sole reason why their audience can be seen reaching out for headache-relieving pills…
8. The-leading-the-headbanger-club – a specimen, this category, they are the ones most likely to hold imaginary mikes, doing karaoke renditions of popular numbers, jumping onto the podium, strumming invisible guitars, headbanging for all their worth (complaining that their head feels strangley woozy afterwards – surprise, you’d think). You’d think that’s all – but wait, hear this out – they also croon in voices upon hearing which a frog would consider itself a more suitable candidate for the dime-a-dozen-on-the-idiot-box talent shows.
9. The apologisers – Regularly spouting the ‘sorry’ word, these soppy sorts request for forgiveness at the drop of a hat. Even if you happen to dig your deathly stiletto heel onto their foot or poke a bony elbow into their unmentionables, instead of yelping in distress, they will look their most contrite, and utter an apology. I’ve never been able to fathom these ones. Pardon me. And the pun!
10. The you’ve-hurt-me-terribly sorts – These are the toughest to placate – they have taken it into their minds that they have been hurt (by you, no less). And will follow you around like the loyal puppy of a leading telecom provider, all the while muttering how deeply injured and upset they are by some inadvertent comment made by you (or hopefully, someone else a decade back). All pleas to be forgiven fall on deaf ears, and they continue their business, threading their ways miserably through the crowd, a permanently wounded expression writ large over their gloomy faces
11. The I-miss-my-ex sorts – it’s been four years that their significant other has decided to part ways (un)amicably, but that doesn’t mean that the miserable pig cannot be called over the phone and:
a) shouted at for ruining their lives (at 3 am)
b) begged to be taken back into their lives (at 3.30 am), followed by
c) the deep I miss-him/her-conversations to anyone who is even half-willing to listen (4am onwards and counting)…
12. The alcohol-makes-me-get-in-touch-with-my-real-self-and-makes-me-lose-my-inhibitions sorts – it’s another matter that within the next three hours, these ‘real’ selves, after connecting with their uninhibited sides, have to be rushed to the hospital to get their stomachs pumped, after they have puked themselves silly over themselves, over the table, your jeans, the adjacent table, the car etc, of course, with some parts of their clothing missing (generous souls that they are, they do not even remember who they donated them to).

And my personal favourite

The-professing-eternal-love sorts – Glazed look in eyes, these are the ones most probable to hold you in a bear embrace or clutch your hands with their own sweaty, greasy palms, and upon giving you a soul-searching-stare from which you flinch, constantly affirm their undying love, and everlasting fidelity to you. Slobbering kiss - optional.
Slurring words - an obvious.

And when you reassure them that the thought of their infidelity did not even cross your mind, they will thump their hand to their heart, do the penetrating-soul gaze all over again, and swear – that they will never let you down.

Ever.

Over and over again…