Night Rituals
For Yano, the bar was a holy place and the daily visit was nothing short of an occasion. Imagine having something of great significance to look forward to— that’s what it felt like to him. Yes, it did all revolve around getting high from the booze, but it also seemed like following an elaborate series of steps with each step elevating him to a higher plane of existence.
Yano had special regard for the tipplers. It was their calmness, they never seem to bother others as long there was a clear passage between them and their drinks. They managed to create an entire world within the confines of their small table! Always content in their own private world: in their world of sorrow, their world of silly rationalizations, in their world of memories and sometimes in total quietude. The few times Yano did get irritated was when the unsaid rules were broken: when false bravado or some irreconcilable thoughts made someone shatter the silence and sanctity of the place.
Once when someone asked Yano, “How much do you drink?” He said this using lines stolen from an old story: “I just have the first one. The first drink becomes my spirit, its the one that drinks the second, the third and so on. I am incapable of stopping it because I am not there anymore. So I really don’t know how much I drink.” Another time Yano was heard telling his fellow patron that he came from a long tradition of unapologetic and honest drinkers; none of them allowed drinking to invade their lives and behaviors. To make his point about the harmlessness of regulated drinking, Yano would blurt out names of people who loved their drinks but were achievers in their field. Alan Watts — the teacher of eastern philosophy, Hank Williams — the American musician were the two names he used to quote for immediate impact.
Yano had realized many years back that nothing of this world really fills him up as the joy he gets out of drinking. He wasn’t a drunk really but just enjoyed the drinks he had after work. During the course of the day, he did what is expected of a normal person: work, eat, exercise, socialize and the rest. When there was nothing to do, he would think of the good times in store that evening. What he didn’t know was that he was following a technique known as one-pointedness. A technique that simply requires your attention on a single thought — as long as possible. Some would call it a mantra and its continuous recitation. The thought itself could be anything. “I’ll be drinking tonight” was the thought/mantra that received his almost constant attention. What he didn’t know was that there was a powerful side-effect to one-pointedness: losing capacity to entertain useless thoughts and therefore conserving immense life-energy. He eventually became so good at it that people noticed a marked difference in him: he hardly worried, was spontaneous and people enjoyed his company.
Its 8 p.m. and Yano walks in to one of his regular bars and settles down. He allows himself to stop reciting the mantra in his head because he had reached the shore. As he waits for his drinks to come, he takes glances around. Its that time of the evening when patrons arrive in a steady stream. The expression on the face of almost everyone is like walking into their second home; they haven’t been seen any happier. The ones arriving early are there so that they can occupy their favorite tables. There are some who lose form in their excitement to reach the first sip. It reminded Yano of the behavior of badly trained dogs jumping at the first sight of food. There is some exchange of greetings among the regulars. A daily laborer with a towel wrapped around his head, a old man with a mighty gut and ill-fitting shorts, the groups of chirpy middle-aged professionals — they are all there today. His favorite are the ones like him, who have learnt to elevate the experience. Comforted by the inevitability of a pleasant evening, they are in no rush.
Yano has been served his drinks. Eyes back on his table, his hands carefully mix the fluids in the usual proportions. He is about to open a portal into an alternate world; its the place where he belongs.
What goes on in his head when he is drinking, no one really know. What others do know is that when its midnight, his phone alarm goes off, he gulps whatever is in the glass, bills paid already, he walks off. Occasionally one can hear him muttering as he walks out of the door: “I’ll be drinking tonight”… “I’ll be drinking tonight”…
