New prologue!

Before you start reading:

I’ve started writing a novel at least ten times now! Every time, at some point, I feel the story isn’t catchy enough. So, I stop, just to restart again. But, this time, having the whole story figured, I hope this will be my last attempt to my first novel. So, this is what I feel is, it! Do, read! Share a comment or two! So, here we go!

Saturday, September 19th, 2009

…you did not desert me, my brothers, in arms!

Mark Knopfler sang in his aged, yet very stable and deeply touching sound of his voice in the bar, jam packed with Saturday night booze animals like me. Enjoying the lead following the lyric, I tried to sip on the glass, when I figured it had only half-melted ice cubelets now. The steward seemed to notice my empty glass. He stood in front of me, waiting for me to order for more. New guys! I hated telling new stewards, my orders again and again. Normally, at the bars, customers come and go, and the stewards and bartenders stay and they know what the usual customers drink. But, in the case of extreme livers like me, people see bartenders change at the bar. And sadly, have to repeat the orders every time the stewards change. But, it’s kinda nice to see a few you know serving others at other tables, very busy, but still manage to throw a smile at you, making you feel that they remember you.

One more Walker, Red, please, I said.

Sure sir, and he walked away to get my drink.

Something I like the most about my bar is that, it has the portraits of rock artists/bands hiding the real colour of the walls. In fact, I don’t remember this place in new paints before. And surprisingly, the bar owner never spent a buck on these portraits. It was all donated to the bar by its customers. Every regular gifted his favourite rock star’s picture. Right besides me was perhaps the biggest, a huge black and white portrait of Joe Satriani holding his guitar in an empty backdrop. Below was written, To Pecos with love, Slaves of rock in the Old English calligraphic font. I looked at Joe for a moment, closed my eyes and started mumbling my favourite number from him, Always with me, always with you. Suddenly, I noticed that I was feeling the urge for nicotine again. There were only two cigarettes in the pack. Should’ve ordered more cigarettes too, I felt. Biting the butt of one of those tobacco filled, highly relieving, but-killer demonic sticks, I fiddled through my pockets for my vintage Zippo cigarette lighter. Your pockets try to fool you when you’re drunk. You should try harder. And finally, like I did, you find the lighter, safely hidden inside your jacket pocket.  Aaah! There it is. I don’t remember putting it in my jacket pocket, the last time I smoked, I felt. I was lighting my cigarette, when the voice of a young man, sourced closer to me, talked,

Excuse me sir! Is anyone with you? Or are you alone? He asked looking at the other two empty glasses on the table.

Nope. I’m alone. Why?

The bar is full. We can’t find a table for the both of us. So if you don’t mind, could you share the table with us? He said, showing me, may-be-his-friend.

Definitely! After all, this isn’t my bar. Just don’t use the other two glasses. They’re mine, I said.

Puzzled at what he thought a weird habit of drinking in three glasses, he said, Sure sir. Thanks a lot, and he sat down with his friend.

Both of them looked almost the same age, probably a decade younger to me. They settled down, taking off their jackets. The guy who talked to me introduced his friend and himself, I’m Vijay, and this is my friend, Nikhil. It’s his birthday today, sir, and smiled.

You can’t sit with your mouth shut, when someone introduces himself. Call me Aryan, and Happy birthday, Nikhil, I said.

Thanks a lot, Aryan. How coincidental, that all the three of us here are wearing glasses, Nikhil said in a surprised tone.

I smiled at them and added, You know what else is coincidental Nikhil? It’s my birthday too.

Whoa! Happy birthday, Aryan. This is incredible. Finding a person who is born on the same day as you are at a bar, on your birthday, is something great, don’t you think? Nikhil asked.

Thanking the steward for filling up my glass with scotch and ice cubes again, I turned at Nikhil and said,Yes. I feel good too.

Probably they had ordered for draught beer, and so, there was a fat beer tower, filled with beer to the brim on the table. They filled their mugs with beer. They knew I was waiting.

Vijay raised a toast, To the birthday boys at this table. May they live forever. The three of us cheered in chorus and started drinking. Vijay continued after the first sip, Aryan, don’t mind me asking. I find it a little weird to see two other empty glasses on your table. If it’s personal, we wouldn’t force you. Otherwise, can we know why?

Yeah, it’s kinda personal. But, I can tell you. The two glasses on the table are for the guys I love the most, my friends, Sri and Ram. Somehow, I feel those guys are present here at the table, if there’re a couple of glasses. It may sound crazy, but, it’s a mental thing. I don’t know why I told this to total strangers. May be it was the scotch inside me.

Oh! Sorry Aryan, Nikhil apologised.

You don’t have to be sorry. Oh! You got the wrong notion. They’re not dead, I said, and guffawed.

They looked puzzle. I said, OK. I’ll explain. But, this is gonna take a while. Because to know what happened, you must know the entire story. You cannot just skip to the end. So, do you guys really wanna hear it?

They said, Yeah! Sure!

And I started, You can stop me if you find this boring, and paused for a while to sip the drink again,September 19th, 1996, same day, thirteen years ago. Bangalore. This very bar, this very table…