As narrated by Gajju to me on 27th November 2011 ... with very little spice added by me for enabling translation of the tale to English.
The 3 chaps mentioned in this story were my classmates while we studied Mechanical Engineering in Jaipur. Pradeep Ajmera and Puneet Mittal grew up as typical Indian middle class 'achae laddkae' (good boys) - obedient and hardworking with no bad habits like smhaaking beedis or dringing alcohol. As may be expected they wanted to grow up and 'be a man'.
Once in their second year Pradeep Ajmera and Puneet Mittal wanted to drink some "daru". They wanted to know what the hell was so great about alcohol and how does one feel when one has consumed it. Now being the good homely "Mamma's Bois" that they were, they had no idea of where to procure it from and were also very scared that someone would see them carry the container from the point of purchase to their hostel rooms. Used as they were to a life of sobriety in their personal lives so far and in the families and localities where they came from , this was a bold step for them and an essential rite of passage.
Not knowing where the shop was AND not having the guts to go to the daru shop themselves they decided to ask the 'baddest' boy they could find in the class whom they could trust and rely upon to safely escort them to the shop and back to their rooms. Gajju for reasons best known to them was the ideal person. They probably also expected him to teach them how to drink and mix the liquids in the right ratios little suspecting that he probably was just 1 or 2 litres more experienced than them in life.
So off they went to Ajmeri Gate to buy the stuff and returned back in the Vikram (or "phat-phat" as it was colloquially called). In his eagerness to conceal the bottle Puneet hid it inside his sweater very safe and secure. Now being of a slightly portly nature no one noticed anything bulging from his tummy. He however forgot the bottle and when it was time to get off the phat-phat near the back gate of the college, he stepped out and the bottle slipped out of his sweater and it fell to the earth and broke into pieces. His face was so tragic it could have launched a myriad of Cutty Sarks. Gajju couldn't control his hysterics while recollecting Puneet's 'chehera' .
Such is life. Mostly tragedy, but funny if you can laugh at your misfortunes.
3 very sad bois walked back to their hostel rooms that evening.
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