Why dogs don’t drink?

I don’t drink.

But some of the most interesting people I have come across- family, friends or fictional characters, have more alcohol concentration in their blood than hemoglobin. And I have had no problem whatsoever loving them. I am not judging them, after all what bad can alcohol do to people except for turning some of them into little agents of chaos─ verbal vertigo, vomit and violence.

The problem that stares me surfaces when people begin to judge me for refraining from the divine drink. It begins as an exclamation, ‘’you don’t drink!” and moves to the question, “Why don’t you drink?” While the transition happens, the look of the inquirer remains intact. Convinced that the only sane reason behind my lifestyle choice is that I am a serial killer- alert 24*7 to stay vigil, not to let go of any lose trails.

Now comes the tricky part.

The flow chart and the conditional clause.

I could give a rationale behind my alcohol apathy and I would be ridiculed to death with counter theories. Or I could be suggested that it’s the taste that I haven’t acquired and flying down would be suggestions ranging from bourbon to beers of Bermuda.

Alright, on a serious note isn’t the trick about feeling that momentary escape? Some drink to aggravate the pain, some to diminish it. Some to seek pleasure, some out of habit.

So I should give in because so did you.

Was it to peer-pressure?

To pain or to pleasure?

Was it to break the monotony of life or to gulp the bitter reality bite?

Was it to stand out of the crowd, all in all to now being part of the same tribe?

Enter the whiz woof Kaalicharan.

Why dogs don’t drink?

Break free of the asylum, run amok to the wild like a wolf man on a full moon night. You know it deep inside that drinking wine just won’t suffice the madness that you suffer from. It’s up to you to turn wounds into wine or words.  You are a lunatic. And let me tell you something about lunatics, Calvy boy.

They don’t need intoxicants!

Let me paraphrase Charles Baudelaire:

 One should always be drunk. That’s all that matters; that’s our one imperative need. So as not to feel Time’s horrible burden that breaks your shoulders and bows you down, you must get drunk without ceasing.

But what with? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you choose.

But get drunk.

And if, at some time, on the steps of a palace, in the green grass of a ditch, in the bleak solitude of your room, you are waking up when drunkenness has already abated, ask the wind, the wave, a star, the clock, all that which flees, all that which groans, all that which rolls, all that which sings, all that which speaks, ask them what time it is; and the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock will reply: ‘It is time to get drunk! So that you may not be the martyred slaves of time, get drunk; get drunk, and never pause for rest! With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you choose!

I rest my case.

Kaalicharan, I know you need your martini now!

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