I suffer from a chronic case of being scatter brained. So when there is an important event at home- a puja or a get together of some sorts, the organizers think it prudent to have me out of the way, lest I break a glass or serve payasam instead of the chutney to some poor old lady. Those, by the way, are feats that I manage to pull off with alarming dexterity at regular intervals.

So when my 80 year old grand father asked me to ‘pour some wine for the ladies’, one evening I was more than just a little keen to prove that I could be trusted with such grand responsibility. Off I went to look for the perfect glasses, have them wiped and pour the wine with practiced ease. Now before you draw any final conclusions about my abilities or the lack of them, let me throw in my disclaimer: it was white wine in a green bottle that looked a lot like the green bottle of scotch that my grand father had left on the table so that the men could help them selves to a second fill.

So you’ve probably guessed what I managed to pull off this time around. The point is that when poured in a glass, white wine looks a lot like scotch to the amateur drinker. And the connoisseurs who sat sipping their scotch were probably a little too high to make that judgment by the time I brought in the wine.

When it comes to wine, nobody likes to admit that the drink tastes awful, lest they criticize a really expensive bottle of wine and be scoffed at for their lack of taste. So usually people simply sip on the drink and swirl it in their mouth before gently gulping it down. The ritual is sometimes followed by “Ah, lovely wine!”. This time was no different. The women gulped down the whisky, poured neat, without so much as a wrinkle on their faces. One lady asked for ice, but her connoisseur husband wouldn’t hear of it “wine must never be had chilled!” he exclaimed, eager to cover up for his wife who was preposterous enough to request for ice in her wine. Five minutes into my drink, I realize the scandal I have caused and know that I would be done for if the wine drinking women found out. They’d probably have gotten high just hearing about it!

Frantic calls are made to a friend who seemed to know a little about wines and whiskeys. After having a good laugh he says “Just watch the fun dude. Nothing major can happen, they’d probably just sleep off real early. But if something does happen, make sure you capture it on camera”.

Fortunately nothing did happen. My grand mother seemed a little disoriented, but people insisted it was the toil of getting the dinner together. Another aunt was more chatty than usual. But that wasn’t a problem either. Senior Citizens parties are always about hoping that some one would fill in the silence!

I guess the world of fine dining has always struck me as being stiff and odd. Full sleeved, collared shirts on a summer evening, a bazillion folks and knives and weird rules about when to ask and when not to ask for ice in your drink. One rarely enjoys the evening since they’re so worried about juggling all those rules together. And its always more boring for the ladies, at least in an Indian set-up, since its not socially acceptable for them to have anything stronger than wine. A drink or two would certainly lighten up things I suppose. And I guess I did just that, apart from of course adding another incident to my long list of scatter brained doings!