

“Simply take a puff and let go. Don’t ask questions, Sagar. Just enjoy,” Sanya said, smiling at him and moving a step closer.
Ramendra Kumar’s story can happen with anyone. Be cautious!
On Saturday evening Sagar started from home on his Scooty at 7:15 pm. Alan’s house was around five kilometres from his. He had hardly gone a kilometre when the vehicle started wobbling. Cursing his luck, he looked down. The Scooty had a flat tyre. He dragged it along for a couple of hundred metres when he found a repair shop under the shade of a huge peepal tree. He got the tyre fixed and started again. By the time he reached it was past eight.
Alan lived in a seven-storey building, which was a part of a complex that included eight such buildings in all. He looked for the ‘F’ block and found it right behind ‘C’. He parked the Scooty and took the lift. Alan’s flat no. 77 was on the top floor.
Sagar rang the bell. Alan opened the door.
“Hi! Come in. You’re late. Did you lose your way?”
“Of course not. Your directions were quite clear. My Scooty had a flat.”
“Scooty! Come on don’t tell me the son of Sushant and Lavanya Reddy has to ride a moped. You should be moving around in a chauffeur driven car or at least a fancy mobike!” Alan said with a smile.
“My dad feels a Scooty is safer than a mobike. And, as for the chauffeur driven car, I’ll use it when I can afford to buy one,” Sagar replied.
“That’s the spirit. I really like your attitude, bro. It’s cool,” Alan said and then banged his forehead. “I must say I am a poor host. I haven’t even asked you to sit down. Please make yourself at home.”
Sagar looked around. It was a small room, with four chairs scattered around. There was a 14” TV in one corner and, opposite it, a settee.
“I am sorry. This must be an apology to the kind of room you have at home.”
“Please Alan, cut it out. I have really not come to do a critical analysis of your living room.”
Alan laughed. “Thank God for that.”
There was an awkward silence then Sagar asked, “Can we begin?”
“Ya, sure. Let me just get my cell,” Alan said getting up and disappearing inside.
Sagar could hear the sound of loud music and laughter. Apparently the party had started.
Alan appeared with a glass in one hand and a cell phone in the other.
He handed over the glass to Sagar.
“What’s this?”
“Don’t worry! It’s not rum or whisky. It is plain old Coca Cola.”
Sagar took the glass and took a sip. It was Coca Cola.
“Okay then, I’ll start shooting and you keep answering. Later, I’ll transcribe the interview and do the editing.”
For the next twenty minutes or so Alan kept asking questions ranging from when Sagar started playing, who inspired him, his favourite players, his aspirations as a cricketer etc.
In the beginning, Sagar was a trifle nervous. But Alan had a nice, conversational style, which put him at ease.
Finally, Alan got up. “Great. Our job is done. I must admit you are very confident for your age.”
“Thanks,” Sagar said, warming up to this young man who seemed to have taken such a liking to him.
“Can you wait a minute? I’ll get Brijesh. He can take a few snaps of yours and we can then join the fun.”
Alan went in and disappeared, coming back a few minutes later with a young man, around the same age as he, in tow.
“Sagar, this is Brijesh, my ace photographer. He and I are a great team. I do the firing— of questions, I mean— and he does the shooting. And Brij, you know who Sagar is. After seeing his batting I am convinced very soon he will have his own legion of fans,” Alan said.
Sagar got up, feeling deeply embarrassed by Alan’s words, and shook hands with the photographer.
“Sagar you relax, and keep talking to Alan, and I’ll do the rest,” Brijesh said.
Alan began his usual banter and Sagar tried to join in acutely conscious of Brijesh’s movements around him.
After five minutes it was over.
“Thanks Sagar, we are through,” Brijesh declared.
“Come on, then. Let’s join the party,” Alan said, getting up.
Sagar hesitated for a second and then nodded.
Alan led him to another room, which was slightly bigger than the first. This room led to the terrace where all the action was going on.
Sagar stood at the edge of the room and surveyed the scene. In one corner was the music system, which was blaring the latest remix number. There were around twenty girls and guys with drinks in their hands. Most of the guys and some of the girls were smoking. While some were dancing in a state of frenzy there were a few swaying gently to the music. The sky was clear and the terrace was bathed in moonlight. It was pleasantly cool and as Sagar watched he was quite mesmerised by the scene.
“Hi! You must be Sagar? Alan was telling me about you. I am Sanya, Alan’s cousin.”
Sanya was around his age or, at most, a year older. She was clad in a lemon yellow T-shirt and black jeans. She had large eyes, a nose which, had it been sharper, would have made her look positively stunning and a small mouth which was more of a pout. As she smiled at him, Sagar realised Sanya wasn’t merely cute, she was actually beautiful.
“Hi!” Sagar replied with some difficulty. His tongue suddenly seemed to have got stuck to the roof of his mouth.
He needn’t have bothered trying his hand at intelligent conversation since Sanya kept on prattling. Soon, he knew almost everything about her: her best friend, the name of her pet Lab, her favourite hero, what she wanted to be when she grew up and even that she hated remixes and loved cricket.
“Oh God! I have been chattering all this while and I haven’t even asked you what you want to have! Excuse me, I’ll be back.”
A few minutes later she was back with two glasses in her hand.
Cheers to our friendship!”
“What’s in this?”
“Gin.”
Seeing the expression on his face she asked, “Why? Are you the hard drinking type?”
“No, I don’t drink.”
She looked at him in astonishment as if he had said, “I grow horns every time the moon comes out from behind a cloud.”
“You don’t drink? Now you’ll tell me you have never been to a pub or gone to a dance party.”
“I haven’t,” Sagar said, suddenly feeling like some kind of a lowly criminal.
“Never mind. It is never too late to start.” She handed him the glass.
He took a sip. It had a funny kind of taste. He took a few more sips and then emptied the glass in one go. For a few seconds nothing happened and then he felt dizzy.
“Are you feeling giddy? Here, take this!” Sonya handed him a cigarette.
“Wh…what is this?”
“Simply take a puff and let go. Don’t ask questions, Sagar. Just enjoy,” Sanya said, smiling at him and moving a step closer.
Sagar took a puff and then another. He coughed a bit, spluttered a little and then felt himself floating…
Read on to Chapter 21
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