A short tribute.
The Wet season has inspired me to write a few lines on the thing that binds us all. No matter what race, cast, colour, creed, state or wealth we possess, a monger will always be a monger.
That irreplaceable feeling when you're just about to walk up that flight of stairs to an unexplored Den. With the loud thumping of music beckoning you inside.
That excitement and adrenaline rush coursing through your veins when you see a dozen gorgeous maidens all over, and don't know where to set your eyes first.
That feeling when your heart races when you finally found HER. That body, that waist. Those eyes. Smoldering eyes. The moves. The waist-line hair. That dazzling smile.
The zillion thoughts in your head when you finally make eye contact.
That first sip of your cool drink, then the "nasha", the song, the garish and gawdy lights, the even gawdier girls trying to get your attention. And then the "pillow faces" trying to get your attention.
That irreplaceable musty odd smell of alcohol mixed with stale cigarette smoke.
The moment she lets down her defenses and gives you that sultry expression. That you would pay a million bucks for.
That feeling when she comes. She's your's. Still, not your's. Knowing she'll vanish into the night when you're done.
A feeling only we would understand.
**
That's my short little tribute. A good evening out on the bar circuit , sure beats a romantic night with your girl. What do guys? With like-minded monger buddies, with a common purpose, I surely think so.
cyrus.