Liquor thief in the house

With tremendous excitement and butterflies in the stomach, quite akin to a bride prior to the wedding day, I am awaiting D-Day in December. My wife is a step ahead of me as far as event planning is concerned. She has been busy selecting, and rejecting almost simultaneously, the wardrobe for the momentous date. I have already intimated my boss at the civil aviation office not to schedule for me any VIP helicopter flying a day after the event. Let me clarify at the outset. There is no marriage or a family function coming up. This day is the one when old batchmates from my squadron of the National Defence Academy (NDA) have decided to meet up after over four decades. Our trivial fights and one-upmanship of younger days are long forgotten and we remember only happy tidings.

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Destiny brought all 22 of us together in January 1975 as teenagers for three years’ arduous training for transition to manhood and the coveted commission in the armed forces. In December 1978, each one departed on his own way into the Army, Navy and the Air Force. Some went on to achieve two/three-star General status, while others like me fell by the wayside, blaming the steep pyramid promotion structure and not my own inadequacy.

Our get-together is to celebrate the journey from bubbling youngsters to brooding oldies. With the Covid-19 abating, it is time for old friends to start planning get-togethers and compare notes.

Yesterday was the birthday of my son, who is settled abroad. We had a longish telephonic talk. I couldn’t hide my glee and mentioned about the forthcoming event. ‘Papa, you always need a reason to celebrate with drinks… So I am sure mother will be driving you back.’

I tried to explain, ‘No son, this is no ordinary party… you see, here the star drink is going to be country liquor mosambi from Uttam Nagar village near NDA. As youngsters, we used to smuggle it in on special occasions. Such was the potency of this stuff, or perhaps it was our inexperienced stomach lining, that a 500-ml bottle would be enough to give the entire batch a high!’

He listened and sounded worried. ‘I will also celebrate with friends down the years, but in my case, it will have to be with whiskey stolen from your bar… my civilian friends at school always loved it.’

I was stupefied: ‘My sweet baby boy… how could you do this? I had been needlessly suspecting the domestic help of pilferage all these years!’

My dear friends with teenaged children/grandchildren, please start double-locking your bar. The thief always lurks in the house itself!