Shashwat was drunk. No.
Technically, he was not drunk though he wished he was.
He was nagging in bed like a child, whining (and subtly showing off) of how tolerable of alcohol he had become over the years in Bangalore.
“How boring!” He said, asking for more.
I climbed up the bed next to him to have a better view of his expression.
He blinked at me playfully, as if subtly reminding me that he could get out of bed any time,
that all of this was merely a playful act.
Looking at him, I asked, “Why do you wish to be drunk?”
“So I can see people take care of me instead.” He mumbled. His eyes were half closed, gazing at mine waiting for a response. There was a note of bitterness in his voice, like a proud kid unwilling to admit they too, can be fragile. Finally, I said
“You don’t have to be incompetent to be taken care of.”
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