It surely felt good to sit in the back seat of his car, relaxed, and not having to do the gear work. He could shift the channels of his surround system with a touch of his fingertip. All this expense had seemed rather unjustifiable to Dhiren when he’d signed the cheque for the car dealer. But today, he’d got so acquainted with the luxury, the astronomical price seemed too less for discomfort.
The road was familiar to him, like an old friend. He had crossed it so often on his bike back in his carefree days at the university.
“Golfer’s Shot,” the big hoarding read in bold letters. He smiled as the comforting arms of sweet nostalgia took him in its grasp. He knew this brand all too well. It had become synonymous with them, ‘The Three Musketeers,’ that’s what everyone called them back then- him, Raul and Sanjay.
Studies or fun, they had each other’s backs round-the-clock. He wondered when and how they’d grown so apart, they hardly kept in touch anymore. If it wasn’t for their class reunion, he doubted whether they would have ever met otherwise. Golfer’s Shot was probably the only thing from the past that had stuck with him even now. They had discovered it first at a friend’s party long back. It tasted rare, too fine and smooth to be enjoyed just once!
Every sip brought back memories of late nights on their hostel terrace where they jabbered incessantly about all things smart and stupid. It wasn’t simply a brand for them; it was brewed to be perfect like their friendship, and Dhiren desired to renew its essence today. They would be meeting each other after a long time and he couldn’t be more excited. He sighed as he clasped the black whisky box in his hands.
He had hardly reached the gates of his alma mater, when a zooming black motorcycle interrupted his focus. The rider stopped, it was Raul.
Dhiren couldn’t hold himself back. He rushed out of the car and both friends hugged. They drove together to the convention hall where Sanjay welcomed them with his signature grin.
Dhiren wasn’t surprised when his friends took out the familiar black box from their bags. Some things always remain perfect, he guessed.
It felt just like the old times. They were all sitting together, with a glass of their favorite whisky, and they jabbered incessantly about all things smart and stupid…