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All that now remain are the photographs, some are on display, while the rest stay captured only in our mind - our crazy moments, which the unfortunate world can never see.

After ten years of contemplating and procrastinating, the gang of three set off on a vacation to Kerala. Sadly (in a way), in my 25 years of existence, this was the first time I went out on a vacation with my friends. Of course, the vacation wasn't sad. The plans were simple, first day we land at a nice resort in Cherai, located close to a beach, stock hell lot of beer, head to the beach, empty the stock, eat some good Kerala food, sleep, wake up, ferry along the famous backwaters, carry along lots of beer of course, get home, eat, pack our bags and leave for Allepy, more beer, more backwater rides, more beer, more food, more sleep, wake up, more beer, pack bags and head to Changanacherry, more beer, food, sleep, wake up, train to Cochin, beer, eat, check out the brilliant Portuguese and Dutch architecture, beer, eat and land back to Bombay.

More or less, the plan stayed the same. But there were "buts". Of course, one can't really cherish life and it's moments without these "buts".

List of "buts"
We didn't expect
1. The resort people to rob us, just cause we didn't speak their language
2. The resorts to run out of beer
3. That one of us would find beer bitter in middle of a beer drinking session
4. To hate Kerala food and stay hungry all the while
5. The rickshaw drivers to quote a fare of Rs.15 and for us to fight to pay him Rs.20
6. That one of us will keep looking for the loo every 20 minutes.
7. That one of us will get drunk in front of someone's would-be in-laws.
8. The most calm and composed of us, will start a fight on Bombay roads, right after getting down from the plane.
9. To find Hum Aapke Hai songs on one of our cell phones.

Hell, give me one reason to forget our first vacation.

Ah, Vegas. Spring break approached, and armed with a Government of India notary-issued ID, I made plans to spend a long weekend in Sin City. Gambling was great initially, and everyone in our five member-gang, all underage, managed to gamble without getting caught by casino security. The evening beckoned and I decided to hit the Rio hotel, which had two interesting nightclubs—the Voodoo lounge, on an open-air deck on the 40th floor, and Bikinis, where the waitresses and bartenders wore..well, use your imagination. I hit the Voodoo Lounge first, and had a good time. I was several drinks down when I decided to head to the other nightclub on the ground floor of the hotel about an hour before closing at 1 am. I got in line, and was extremely surprised when the bouncer refused to let me in. In hindsight, I suppose it was but appropriate—I was single, it was late, and I was visibly intoxicated.

Ordinarily, I’d have seen reason and headed elsewhere. However, my friends were inside, I was rather “happy,” and I wasn’t prepared to take no for an answer. I demanded to see the manager, who sauntered over and said something that I probably took offence at, because I called him either a moron or a douche in retaliation—the details are fuzzy. That was that and the manager had two large bouncers escort me from the line. I was hanging around outside the bathroom, unsure of what to do next when a friend who had already gained entry found me there and resolved to sneak me in. He put his arm around me and led me in through the re-entry line, and we managed to get past the bouncers at the front.

I had been in for about 20 minutes when the club decided to close and all the lights were turned on. As luck would have it, the manager was standing right next to me, and recognized me immediately. He called a few bouncers over and asked them to throw me out. They took me not just outside the club, but outside the hotel itself. I took the ejection in stride, heading straight for the taxi stand and to my hotel room.

I visited the nightclub again a year later, and everyone with me was extremely amused by my story about how I was thrown out of not just a club, but an entire hotel.

Somebody should tell adults not to have hard drinks that look like colas in front of curious kids. An uncle visiting us in Dubai used to start his job search every morning with the classifieds in one hand and a glass of whisky or brandy in the other. One such morning, I (just two years old and not allowed more than two sips of Pepsi or Coke, and dying to drink more) was left unsupervised for a couple of minutes while my mum was on the phone and there was only the uncle in the living room. Seeing his glass of brandy on the table and mistaking it for a cola, I quickly dashed to his glass and took a big swig. The uncle surfaced from behind the paper to see me running out of the room screaming. I had to confess to my stunned mother that I had taken a mouthful of some spicy drink and that my throat was on fire. She would have spanked me if she hadnâ??t been so convulsed with laughter. Call it an early lesson in life, but I donâ??t touch alcohol or colas even today.

 

 

So there I was in the US, all of 18 years old, and finding the age restrictions on alcohol and club country in that nation extremely tedious and restrictive. However, I’d come well prepared—I had a fake ID in my possession. The first time I tried to buy alcohol, I was extremely nervous, but it worked like a charm, and I soon became the liquor supplier to my dorm. Then spring break approached, and plans were made to hit Las Vegas. Now a regular fake ID may have been enough to get past the bouncers and supermarket clerks in my college town, but Vegas was another matter entirely. A quick phone call home, and a certain cooperative family member located a notary with a sliding value scale. Money changed hands, and an extremely official-looking ID, stamped and attested by a Notary of the Government of India, was dispatched to me. It arrived a few days before my departure, and I had it laminated to make it look even more authentic. It was soon put to the test at a Vegas liquor store, and passed admirably. Next test: a casino—it passed. I decided to push the limits by even enrolling in the casino “gambling rewards” program, and that soon removed the need to show an ID anywhere. I was the only of several friends allowed to gamble, and found myself alone in nightclubs where the rest of the group had been denied entry. It was a bittersweet outcome, but I made the most of it. I lost most of my gambling stake, but that’s a different story entirely. The fake ID led to some very real good times.