Inescapable Truths

After I spent the first half of my week in Bangalore simply trying to rest and recover from the bender on Friday night, I vowed that I would break the vicious cycle of partying once I returned to Shanghai, simply because my body was visibly breaking down from the constant pounding. Bangalore was a welcome change from Shanghai, with its fresh air and temperate climate (though the deluge of Indian food did its share of damage, I’m sure). The last weekend in Shanghai, with the lethal 7-bottle + 2 mini-keg combo, really screwed me up big time, introducing to m a wickedly sore throat, consistently groggy dispositon, and two nasty canker sores all at the same time.

Finally, with lots of lying around in the hotel room, I boarded my flight back to Shanghai (via Singa-bore), feeling enriched with vitamins and minerals (courtesy of the juice bar at the hotel) and ready to be well and healthy and vibrant for my throngs of fans back home (well, if my a-yi counts).

Surprise surprise, right when I land, I get a text-message literally commanding me to go to Guandii. Alex, who was the genesis of my first brush with death the previous week, wanted to celebrate his last few days in Shanghai, and so I was compelled to make an appearance at Guandii, though not before I made a vow with Mike that we would, at most, contribute to finishing a single bottle and then leaving early.

Little did I realize that we were about three months early for April Fool’s. A couple of bottles and another mini-keg later, where did I find myself again but stumbling out of Cash Box at 6 am in the morning, cursing myself for breaking the vow within 5 minutes, and then laughing at myself for cursing myself. In Kafka’s “The Metamorphosis,” Gregor Samsa finds himself one morning having turned into a large insect. I hope that one weekend morning, I will have woken up suddenly turned into someone who did not get smashed and go to Guandii the previous evening.

So Sunday, I found myself with, you guessed it, a canker and a sore throat. Not even the chili cheese frieds at Moon River could quell the tumult in my oral cavity. And yesterday, for the first time ever, I took a cab to the gym. I always likened something like that to the time I was a kid and saw a woman use food stamps at a supermarket, then walk out and open the door to her Benz. Then again, I guess such hypocrisy runs in my blood; after all, it does flow with Chivas mixed into it.

Just a couple of hypocrites