When Life Imitates Art

I have this problem with drinking. When I drink, all hell break loose. The inhibitions that usually do a decent job of keeping a tab on the most wayward of my feelings, and I have many of them, gets incapacitated and the emotions come pouring out.

I am a thinker. I think a lot. Ordinary things don’t satisfy me. And greatness doesn’t come often. So, in those periods between epiphany and the daily grinds, I am usually a frustrated man. The primordial self-interest keeps me from running havoc. I still care for a lot of things to dash headlong towards the uncertain future of my dreams.

On High Booze: The Story of Dru(n)k Yul

Disclaimer: Any autobiographical reading into this story would be unfounded

Dorji was a keen boy. He had a twinkle in his eyes that bespoke his mind. And he had a mind of his own. He would watch with intent as the men went out to the field, as the women went about their chores, as buildings were erected and as huts were pulled down, as officers adorned in their official grandeur made their rounds, as shopkeepers plied their trade, as children fooled around, as love blossomed with spring, as summer brought about its abundance, as autumn harkened its bounty and as winter-chilled mirth played out in his beloved hamlet.

He grew up as his parents’ chechey. They were already old and he was their only child. So, he grew up in the cocoon of their love and indulgence. They couldn’t bear to have him off their sight for that split second when something untoward could befall him. And they could imagine a thousand things that could go wrong with him at any moment. He came to love them for that.

Money talk/s

Safe and sound

My Dollars sleep with me.

Great is your value

You keep the world moving

You make the poor happy

You bring joys upon the miserable

You are the Saviour

Let everybody worship you

Let them own you by all mean

Let them know your value

For without you