Good Food. Great Drink. Excellent Company.

The Admiral had finished his exams. The civilian had an evening free. The Navy of the nation maintains an excellent facility "Varuna" in the capital. Improperly dressed civilians who can manage just a tee and a clean pair of jeans are "entertained" on the poolside by a small but adequate catering corner that doubles as a fully functional bar.

The poolside also comes with its forbidden advantages. Of course, we are all officers and gentlemen.

We sat. We ordered. We waited. GK had just finished "doing" his exams. Whichever godforsaken tub he was claiming to design had as much chance of making it ashore as the code he wrote in his previous life.

For the record, his work survives him. By a combination of lethargy and revolving door labour policy, his work has probably remained largely untouched. I would not doubt him if he told me, very unlike him though, that he still got the odd SOS.

Meanwhile, all is forgotten. The "Varuna" is really a beautiful set of buildings. The lawns almost border the pool. Both are quiet. No birds on either side.

Hard day for him. Most of my days are hard.

The bartender has very conveniently forgotten that the rum colas & the two colas ordered were to be in parallel & not in series.

GK has a hurt puppy look when he realizes that it is The BC for me. I decide. I have a special intuition that tells me that it matters to GK. He needs a little company. I tilt the glass.

Then. Nothing. For a while.

And then it spreads, the familiar warmth. I feel it like old times. Always. It spreads from the base of the stomach. Kunal always called me the-other-way-round.His capacity for classy rum always exceeded mine even in the days when we drank vintageless rum in college. His theory was that you must feel it burn down your throat. He once convinced me to drink nearly a quarter of a poison called Khoday's Old Monk 7 Year Vintage Rum to accurately determine why my throat did not burn.

I gagged when the second quarter was shoved in the name of science, and the experiment was sadly & mercifully abandoned; depending on whose point of view you got to hear.

However, we digress.

I jigged all my senses and perceptions but could not find a sense of homecoming.

I am sitting with rum swirling in my mouth and there is no "mama, i have come home."

GK sees that the drink has not sat well... He also knows it is where it is because he wanted the camaraderie. He then says these words about the old days...

"Dude, you are almost the only proof I have in this place that we had a past in Mysore, sloggin' our asses off as young impressionable SE s for whatever was the cause.... "

I reflect on what he has just said. It has been said very simply. GK is no great orator. Most times he might just wring his hands in frustration when the words fail him. Many times we read him between his lines.

I realize that a chapter did finish back there. GK, Sanath, Suhas, Bone, Jacob, Gun & Me.
Lived in the same mud and the same blood.

GK is pensive here. I think he would reach out to the rum cola and finish it off. He is also a little apologetic.

I pick the glass before him. He is mildly surprised. I tip the glass. My old powers are restored.
I tip my head back as well.

"Let's move. ABCD is calling. Business Communication Meeting."

We bundle ourselves in. It is dark in the rick. GK gets down at IIT. The road is a little dark. We slap palms.

"Next time Kota House".
"Sure Mate"
He slips a note into my hand. I am surprised this time.
"Pay the bugger off... I have change."
"So do I, mate!"

GK has moved already.
I move on and get down near my hostel. Full lights here. Crisp clean green bill in my hand.
I think I am grinning. GK can sometimes leave more than your throat stinging.