Aphelion
It is Saturday night and the bar is in full-hustle. Sweaty people everywhere, pumped by the stentorian music, I sigh in relief. Drunken people, drunken stories. Not a care in the world. After TGIF, it's Pass-Out-Saturday till you wake up on a Sunday looking like a dying rhino. So many people, so many stories. Looks like a lot of tips to me! I miss being out on Saturdays and just... being myself. Exploring, dancing, singing, hanging out with my friends, everything! but here I am, a part-time waitress at a very top-class restaurant that i otherwise won't even have been able to step in, considering the skyscraper priced menu. I swear, the amount of money people spend in just a day-scratch that, a couple of hours- is astonishing.
This part-time waitress job at a renowned bar did not sound like a good option at all, but desperate time calls for desperate measures, always. And beggars are never choosers. I am desperate and as close to being a beggar as possible. So who was I to complain? Struggling to make my ends meet, I was left with no other option but to serve rich-spoilt brats their beverages politely. No matter how much ever degrading or embarrassing this turns out to be, i will not deny the handful of tips, almost the double of my salary every month. This is something to look forward to.
"Whisky on the rocks at the VIP Stable, you know how they like it," and I do.
i pick up the tray and march towards the VIP section. I have been working at this place for a little over a month, but i have gotten around to knowing their preference all too well. The brands, the pegs, how much ice people need, how much water or coke- everything. I can now successfully spot an alcoholic from a mile away from just the way they breathe, I'm telling you. This place reeks of brats from the upper class side of the city. Everyone is an alcoholic and this place is a little too posh, so every once in a while, you'll come across some or the other celeb. Which is way it has too much of attention and you'll find glimpse and pieces on some local tabloid or e-paper every now and then. Joseph really did a number with the PR Team. They won't ever go off the limelight.
This dreamy place is called, wait for it,
The Stables, 1980
Ta da! And in their dictionary, the word Table has been completely replaced by Stable.
"Here's your Bourbon, sir, and scotch for the young lady, just the way you like it." With that, i turn around, ready to make my way to the bar side again, only to be stopped in my tracks by a strong voice, almost authoritative.
"No, no, no! You've done it all wrong. This is not how i want it. Change." What?
"But, sir, you preferred three ice-cubes with 120ml of Bourbon, just yesterday. Surely your taste couldn't have changed overnight?"
"Not your concern. I only need one ice-cube. Change right away." And I do. Dealing with customers is never easy and sometimes, it seems they purposely want to make your life a living hell by giving you shit at all the time.
And this young man here, he is the epitome of shit-giver, if there exists a word like that, because annoying just won't fit the case. Neither would an idiot. You see, we just don't get along. Majorly because I really don't do well with entitled assholes and he seemed like the most entitled jerk-face to me. I think i radiate this way too clearly- this dislike vibe- and he picks on it, too. He seems to think it's funny to mess with me and then call the day with a bundle of thousands on the table as compensation. But bitch, no! Things are about to go down (in my head. You really need this job to pay for you tuition fee, always remember that. Only a couple of months and you'll sprint out of here faster than a fucking jet. Stay calm. Cool. Savvy. Think of Captain Jack Sparrow…)
"Yes, Sir, changing it right away, and from next time, could you be kind enough to inform me beforehand about your ice preference so that i don't have to waste anyone's time here. Or better yet, just call for another waitress. I am a newbie." I fix this little poodle's drink
"That won't do. I like you too much to be summoning someone else. You know that, right?" he smirks and i think that's enough so I storm the hell out of there. Man, I could use a drink myself a cup of tea would be nice.
A little background on this clown here:
He's super spoilt and super rich and he has the potential to ruin your life faster than you could blink you eyes. By profession, he is a layer. And from what I've heard by eavesdropping obviously, he is also the next in-line to become the CEO of some top-shot company which happens to be a part of some hot-ass merger with another top-shot company for some political and geo-conflicted reasons. To name it, and put a number on it, he has a net worth of some billions, but not on paper. Everybody's trying to hide their wealth. Otherwise where would the tax money go, right? I may have called him a clown and a poodle, but he is actually more along the lines of a delicious looking taco. A taco that looks way too heavenly but tastes like complete shit. My girls, never be deceived by looks or the back of someone's head. It's a trap.
And this devil's name is Aayan Kapoor. Why couldn't he be named just.. Raju or Sonu.. or Bob or Bill, if he wanted to sound a little English. Just about anything. That would have not added in his personality because then he won't look so intimidating.
Do you sometimes wonder how people are able to afford such heavy and expensive surnames? I do. My name is Meera Desai. I wish I was Meera Khanna or Meera Bachchan, like Amitabh Bachchan-Bachchan, but I have to make do with Desai.
There's a little tea-shop right adjacent to the bar which is open only at night, and the owner is an extremely kind man. I should pay him a visit soon. He makes the best tea, like totally. That place has been keeping me sane all this while when the city of dreams treated me coldly.
Tall buildings, starlit skies, moving bodies and crazy minds- this is Mumbai, my love!
And how did i get lucky enough to have found a place here, you may wonder?
See, I am a master's student, although a distant student and a really bad one at it when it comes to getting on to my modules and finishing my assignments, I really like writing. The place where i hail from, it was too remote for someone as dreamy as me. At 21, after graduation, i decided to opt out the family lineage and make my own living; the living i want and not the one that's been thrown at me with no alternative but to accept.
I dreamt of becoming a writer and frankly that seemed a far-fetched dream in my quaint little hometown, nestling behind the walls of mountains. I really miss the fresh air and nature, to be honest. I found my master's course and applied and got through. Nobody in my family was informed about this decision and they were furious. They were raging with fire and it almost burned me, too, but i ran away just in time.
About time to take matters in my own hands, right?
How much longer can you let people dictate your life? Only a short while before you grab your life in your fists and mould it in the way you want.
I stare outside at the sky from the cramped window in the corner. I am tired, god knows I am tired.