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Four women enter a bar, in Goa – II

The hotel had a ‘Relax – everthing else can wait’ vibe. I decided to look at each table more closely.

On table number one were two very young men, sat facing each other. One of them had an easy lop-sided smile on his lips and his hair fell like a bush-net over his forehead paying homage to the beer mug just below. The young man across him was slunk on his seat, each joint of his body supported by some part of the chair. By some ergonomical miracle he was not only sitting up, but was also enjoying his beer. 

On the table number two, close to my table, was ‘sale-exec’ guy – formal clothes, shoes, laptop, the works. He sat partly tilted on his seat, away from his glass of cola-laced dark rum, with his eyes riveted to Bollywood songs he was watching on his mobile. I saw the phone blink – ‘incoming call’. His eyes squinted in irritation – as waited for the disturbance to pass. 

For representational purposes only.

Table number three, the farthest across, had an old man sitting across a youngish chap. The old man had a regal look about him, his silver hair oiled back to perfection set against his broad forehead. His eyes were glazed and shone as he stroked his moustache, while he often broke into a generous laugh. He seemed to be enjoying himself and his drink.

Table number four, right behind me, was the local news desk. Two middle-aged men were going all out – discussing errant daughter-in-laws, ancestral property laws, the right kind of pickle to go with local Urak, to local Goa elections.  Their seamless back and forth of views stitched all these stories together, revealing clearly that the news-desk had been in business for quite some time and met here regularly.  

And then, me, who had been refused a fresh-lime soda. Now, I figured why I didn’t get my fresh lime soda. I doubted if the energy of the place would change.

Till four women walked into the bar. 

To be continued…

For representational purposes only.


Published by appamprawns

soni writes about children and people in controlled spaces, in his quest for appam stew. homi writes in the hope of being able to buy prawns to make patiyo.

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