Impossible Is The New Normal #YourStoryIndia

When Food Competitions Back Fire Miserably On You.

“Alcohol, Sameera Kapoor? ALCOHOL?”

“I am sorry, Mom. It wont ever happen again, trust me.”

“Well, I am incredibly disappointed, young lady.”

“Mom, I am twenty four, not a teenager, thank you very much-”

“Oh, as long as you live in here, which is till you get married, you do as I say, and I will make it perfectly clear too!”

“Mom, you’re yelling.”

“Because I am mad and disappointed at you!”

“No, I get that, but I have a splitting headache, so shout a little softly please.”

“I- cant even-”

“Mom, trust me when I say this, I am never going to touch a godforsaken drink again; because I am pretty sure I cant live through another hangover.”

She glared at me as I knocked down another cup of coffee. It was the ever so famous morning after and all the movies and the books I had ever watched or read couldn’t have prepared me for the killing headache that came in with erratic alcohol consumption and I was sure that though I was a pretty much awesome person in general, going through hangovers with a brave heart was not ever going to be my forte.

Mom had been suspiciously quiet the previous night, probably because she, through experience, knew that scoldings will be forgotten as soon as the buzz gets killed. So she had strategically waited till the morning to add fuel to my sorry state by telling my off. And I had to admit, it hadnt been totally classy of me to get drunk, considering how sad my state is after that. So, I let her do it, trying to not feel too sorry for myself.

“I am going to hold you to those words, young lady” she said severely.

“Dad, ask Mom to remain quiet.”

Dad nodded slowly, wincing too. Well, he had an apparently social discussion with his client which involved drinks too. I think Mom was as much angry with him as she was with me. “Yeah, please. We will talk about this later.”

“But you need to tell her it is wrong!’

“Yeah, Sam, don’t drink again.”

“Never dad”  I groaned, feeling like throwing up again. “Believe that.”

Mom just gave an angry huff and got up and off she went to work, while Dad and I simply sat down, staring at the muted TV for a while.

“Your Mom was talking about how you were with someone before she interrupted you yesterday.” Dad started.

I tried not to facepalm. It turns out, I have a memory of a goldfish (which by the way, is non existent) which gets even worse if I am drunk. All I could remember out of last night were some abnormally hazy thoughts, where I was sure ‘daylight’ was mentioned, along with me assuring someone I wont ‘sue them’ and dancing. Loads of dancing. For some reason, I also felt like Vidhyuth Chopra had been in vicinity, and had probably seen me darn crazy and probably was contacting people from various world class Asylums to lock me up in.

“Who?”

“She is pretty sure it was Vidhyuth Chopra.” Dad grinned a little.

“Oh.” I felt my face heat up with embarrassment when I met Dad’s teasing gaze. Clearly, Mom had evaded our Mother-daughter privacy and had gone ahead and told Dad all about the dinner in the Chopra house where it seemed to be widely established that Vidhyuth and I were as solid in relationship as a freaking cube. “Well, I am sure that whatever she said were exaggerations.”