The Cast of Characters

I never felt the heat till I came to Bangalore.

This past Saturday, a small period of time I spent out in the sun caused me a head-ache that lasted till the evening. Whether it was the brightness outside or the heat or a combination of the two that caused me discomfort, I’m not really sure, but it certainly disrupted my weekend to such an extent that I was not even in a mood for my Saturday beer.

Much to D’s glee, this is the second weekend that I ve not consumed my usual copious amount of liquor. A seminar this coming Sunday means that the dry stretch would continue for a third week most probably.

My mind now runs back to 2001-2003, when I used to skip those torture sessions with PCM and instead opted for a sitting session in Down Shop. We never really hated the sunny days back then, cos they weren’t that sunny. I’m speaking of-course of the days in April which can actually be called the end of spring and the beginning of summer in Shillong.

My mind then wanders to those discussions we had in Down Shop whilst our attendance continuously dipped a few meters away up the hill. There was Malik, there were a couple actually and whoever sat behind the counter assumed the title. The Bandus were always changing, although there were a few regulars, including a Sly! Thanks Ksuid, for introducing me to my namesake.

Then there was “blue jacket dude”, who was really annoying. No one ever knew where he came from but he certainly did hang around, even played a cricket match with us once. Malcolm, the drunken mascot from Steven’s locality [Every locality had one.] was another one who hung around, frequently assuming the role of a Native-American warrior who just fought his last battle. Somehow these characters became a part of these unknown yet recognizable faces that made Down Shop really a nice place to let out those heavy sighs and relax those muscles. A nice session would evolve once the place filled up a little, and there was even space at the back for a few of us loyals.

The “Debu” would walk in and hunch under the doorway while he let out a trademark wail. Love sucks, it stinks and it goes down with a couple of drinks; that was his mantra for a while. Also add to that the uncertainty of PCB and here was a guy who was being driven “over the edge”. Slow walks in too, polite and yet as cynical as one can get sometimes. The Gold-Flake passes around, and the bitching starts. Tarkari plots yet another scheme to put the Math teacher out of his/her misery. P Shome walks in announcing himself loudly. He then brags about how dirty his jeans are (we even had a competition much to everyone’s disgust) while fishing out a cigarette from underneath that bed sheet he wears with the boats on it. Amidst the yells of FIRST BOOK! The Debu triumphantly gloats over the fact that he s mastered the art of acquiring the cigarette (or anything that looks like one and is about to get burnt).

J walks in and walks out. He has an agenda on his mind and always “looked” the least idle from our lot. Vicky marshals himself from across the road with a cigarette in his mouth and his faithful companion of a bag slinging by his side. The talk shifts to the previous weekend’s “get together” and the sins and acts of debauchery that were committed. The ones who were “rocking on” too much were picked upon as well as an inconsolable Debu who realizes that push-ups are not acceptable in most social gatherings, especially if there is a lack of dancing space. Add to that unattended (un)zippers and we actually had a case of public obscenity.

Sometimes the conversations would take “shady” connotations when a member of the group narrated his adventures/misdemeanors of the weekend, and how a mixture of alcohol and dance (?) led to an unexpected encounter.

Ksuid would appear to retrieve his bag from the counter, sometimes it was one of the guys from the other classes. There was a running joke that stated the efficiency of the Down Shop counter; that Malik would even harbour a dead body for you out there for a few days provided there was space. Thanks to this service provided, we never really needed lockers in college.

That was then. Along came sweeping changes in our lives, and even the shop wasn’t spared. The security of Down-Shop has now been replaced by the swankier Palomino, and while I must admit that I’m a fan of the cutlet (which goes really well with the “grease”), the spirit of Down-Shop still lingers around somewhere, misplaced tangibly speaking but sort of left over amidst the new structures. All you Edmundians who read this and were a part of the age where Down-Shop existed will know how central it was to the manner in which we socialized back then. There’re quite a few of them who would still have accounts in Malik’s notebook and there are those who have never tasted such sublime “longs” anywhere else; you all know what this humble eating joint meant to us.

But gone are the days when Bodo would be searching for “buckets” and Slow for cigarettes, in the confines of the shop; The loud conversations, that plank of wood across the ceiling where every one has banged his head at least once (some everyday) and that fire at the end of the room, are now just figments of the past, in a place that we can’t visit anymore.