A cold night. A hot bath. A shot of vodka. A gently glowing cigarette tucked between by lips. "Rome wasn't built in a day" swaying me from the speakers. Lives were made for such nights. The melancholy washed away, leaving behind pure bliss. Welcome to Wonderland.
A hot bath after such long time, stepping out and curling into a warm sweater. A sense of shedding a layer not wanted. Sitting on a pillow, my back against the wall, I dry my hair. I have a sense that the evening is just beginning. A bottle of Orange Drink is opened. Sipping as though without a care in the world, I populate my playlist.
After I got back that evening, I found a bottle of vodka I had been looking for since a month. It was hidden in the freezer. Excellent. The shot glasses I had bought a while ago come out. While I let the vodka warm up a little, I heat up the water. This time I spend reading today's Indian Express on the internet. Nice editorial on the Indian position in the Bali Climate Conference. The Economist comes next. All while my water gently heats.
One shot goes in easily. The heat eagerly awaited. As I am swayed by the music, the glass is being filled. Time looses its track, on a yet unknown way. And as Amarok plays on, and as the minutes pass on, I realise I am back on track again. As though I had never left. Nights, cold silent nights, were made for such evenings.
I lay back drifting on to sleep. As though an afterthought, I'll say, "We must do this again sometime".