A Night to Remember

The time is somewhere around 2 in the morning. I may be very wrong because all my senses are giving me not so accurate readings. The reason, that I am sitting here before my laptop and not outside between the blaring music and the loud emptiness on the dance floor is that I am waiting for one of the above mentioned events to stop happening. I sincerely hope it’s the music that should shut itself off, the result of some goof up by an insanely drunk moron, many of whom are all around and in plenty.
Another reason for my not looking forward to the filling up of the dance floor is that there seems to be an epidemic of sorts around this place. Regardless of whatever we choose to call the ailment, we invariably call the person diagnosed with this disorder as “GHISSU”. These socio-educo maniacs are a chief carrier of the microbes responsible for their condition and can infect new victims by their antics in every lecture and specially the quizzes. Rather communicable, I’ll say. Chief symptoms are their being quite finicky around others suffering from the same disorder and being very patronizing to all the rest of us. They are seen in and around an impious monument of hate called a library, built by some guy who was bade a good bye just by the mere look of him and hence very aptly named as Ta-Ta.
(But this ultra interesting topic of “Ghissu” is forcing a digression from our discussions of one particular night and hence it will be taken in detail in my next post. Right now its time we get back.)
So we end up not having a lot of souls interested enough to enjoy the free flowing music, but they sure as hell are interested in the free flowing booze (thanks to a free wet night). Then there is the chief commodity requirement of such a night which is the need for a pair of legs (ahem…. female), around you. I am no Lector Hannibal and so I prefer the legs to be still attached to a perfectly normal Living female human being who hopefully is also drunk enough not to mind my remotely recognizable Martian zombie dance, because I can’t humanely dance even if my mortal existence on this planet depended on it. So I stick out like a sore thumb, or rather a quadruplet of sore thumbs.
And hence at end of the day or to be statistically accurate, the beginning of it I am still as lost as when the whole event of cacophony started. This state of being lost keeps pushing me towards reason. I step out to find the reasons for lots of things like why is this event called what it is called. We call it a wet night, may be because people may actually drown in their sweat while they keep trying to groove, TRY being the keyword. Or may be because, they turn all the wash rooms near or far into a swimming pool of a lot of fluids, all of which are not worth mentioning and may kill a sane organism instantly with its oozing aroma.
And to add insult to injury, people have actually started flooding the empty dance floor, and all, I repeat, all seem to have some how managed to find a dance partner. Now I may seem a kind of moronic, stereotyping organism but dancing alone was never my forte and hence I am still lost. Reason my friend, reason. What could have gone wrong? Is it the oriental dance steps or is it the unboozed sanity? Or is it the simple point that uncommitted women here are an extinct species? Or is it that Showy-BUM can jog around 8 females inside 15 seconds with steps from Vietnamese kung-fu to American hip-hop? Which leaves them all too fazed to identify with anything remotely human or normal.
This finds me in a rather peculiar position, one where I have dear Old Hammy with me. Now Hammy is a great specimen of humanity specially when he is not drunk but, he is finer when he is. And my chief responsibility now is to look after all the people Hammy wants me to look after because this guy will never stop caring for people, even after he has very craftily squashed their toes with his own form of martial arts.
Then as I have already started to talk, how on earth can I not mention the star of the evening, the ultra rhythmy, super flexible, newest branch of the B-Tree. All the specimens who are spared the above two experiences finally enter the traps of Pam-Pam just to be shown the right way of dancing (read as right way of dancing when you have had enough and you still don’t know it).So as the sun rises in the east and we shout in unison our salutes to the queen called XL, I finally find the night was not that bad after all. And a new promise to look forward to the next wet night…….. For who knows when people might be fascinated with my dance steps.