Muchas gracias Señor!

Sometimes, after a long day at work, you just need tequila. You just do. There's no explaining why, or justifying it. You. Just. Need. To. Do. Tequila. Shots. In 2007, I had one of those days. And lucky for me, so did my friend and flatmate. We just didn't know it, until we did. Let me explain.

We had this annoying boss at work. An army man, in a fun office, who just didn't get the 'fun' that work was supposed to be. He just made an average work day feel like an exhausting one. When we got home from work, we decided to relax and watch some TV. We changed into comfortable pyjamas, found the right channel to watch, and then looked at each other and said in unison, “Tequila!”

For a few minutes, we relished the thought of tequila burning down our throats, while to hit our work-addled brains. Then we realised there was no tequila at home. Bummer. No tequila at home. How bloody unfair! How could we live like this? How could we deprive ourselves of the one thing we needed, no, wanted that evening?

In a few minutes of determined and synchronised thought, both of us put on our home slippers, picked up our wallets and keys, and walked out the front door. We were on a quest to buy tequila. We walked down to the nearby store, and found...NO TEQUILA. We walked to the next nearest store, about 500m away, and once again, NO TEQUILA! What a cruel universe! We tried a third shop, another 700m away. The guy looked clueless when we said the word “Tequila” as if we had just asked him for the freaking kohinoor diamond.

We got into an auto rickshaw and went to the heart of the city, on a Friday night, in our pyjamas and house slippers, looking for tequila. Potential low point. But what the heck?! We were both adults, very much in control of our alcohol consumption, which was clearly less than the two drinks a week mark. We just wanted tequila! That's all we wanted. We arrived at our favourite pub. A pub that has people dressed for a Friday night party, while we wore pyjamas. Obviously, the bouncer wouldn't let us in. ROADBLOCK!

We were women on a mission. We called our DJ friend, and asked him to send our regular waiter outside for a minute, and in hushed tones informed him of our tequila requirements. Señor Jose Cuervo HAD to make an appearance soon. The waiter told us to meet him in the basement parking, by the employee entrance. Black Market tequila it would have to be. So we went to the basement and waited all of ten minutes, and Jose Cuervo Gold greeted us with his happy red sombrero.

We paid a little extra, and left. We even had the auto rickshaw wait for our getaway.

We got home, and with a thrill, reached in the refrigerator for lemons. NONE. But we did have sweet lime and oranges. Well, they're both citrus, so we improvised. Shot after shot, we toasted to our perseverance. We toasted to our creativity. We toasted to innovation. We toasted till our bottle was empty. By this time, we may have even forgotten that we were employed. We forgot about sending goodnight messages to family members. We actually forgot we had cellphones. But, we did remember food. Our growling stomachs reminded us very loudly. I quickly made a kichdi, and we decided to take a nap while the pressure cooker cooled down. A power nap if you will. At 2am.

A while later, I woke up partially on my beanbag, and partially sprawled on the cool floor. My friend was curled up into a comfortable ball on the only armchair in the house. I walked into the kitchen expecting warm kichdi, when I found the pressure cooker was cold. And the obnoxious smell seemed to be permeating out of the thick steel. I opened the pressure cooker to find congealed and bubbling kichdi, clearly gone bad. I was befuddled. How could this happen? Then I looked at the time.

It had been fourteen hours, in the middle of summer, with the food left in a pressure cooker till 4pm. I threw the food in the bin and slammed the lid shut, trying to get away from the stench in my hungover yet disgusted state. I went to look at my phone and saw several missed calls and messages from family and friends who wondered where I was. I then looked at my friend's phone screen to see several messages and missed calls waiting for her too. I gently woke her up, and we sat for a few minutes, stupefied at the time. We guzzled a bottle of water each, and began returning calls and messages.

We reassured our family and friends that we were fine, and just detoxing from electronics. Nobody needed to know that while we detoxed from gadgets, that we were actually intoxicated otherwise. Most of Saturday had gone by without our knowledge, so we made another quick meal, ate, and went back to sleep.

On Sunday morning, we woke up fresh and hungry, seeking the perfect breakfast after a stomach-full of Cuervo- Eggs. As we ate, we relived the joys of tequila shots and tried to recollect the stories we told. But what stood out in our conversation, was the sheer delight and contentment we felt, having exorcised that Friday from our conscious mind. For the rest of our lives, everything that happened at work that day would be overshadowed by our night of debauchery with Señor Jose Cuervo. Señor Tequila, you are a lifesaver!