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The New Moon Brings New Beginnings

There are days when the stars align so that everything that can go right in your life, does. Today was most definitely not one of those days.

‘Shit, shit, shit,’ I cursed as I stumbled into Last Call, a brewpub in Koramangala, Bangalore. I was dripping wet, holding one broken slipper in my hand while struggling to pull the other one off without falling flat on my face. After getting the slippers off, I blinked away the water and looked around as my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting inside. I started to shake my head to get some of the water out of my thick, curly hair in a manner not unlike that of a shaggy dog. Drops of water went flying around.

‘Hey, watch it!’ snarled the guy I had accidentally splashed. He was sitting at a table by the door and peering into his phone as though whatever was on it was the real world, and the world around was merely an annoyance.

‘I . . . ’ I began, ready to apologize.

‘Sorry, sir,’ a server cut me off, as he quickly handed the man a bunch of napkins and began wiping the table.

‘You don’t have to be sorry, you didn’t cause this deluge,’ he said pointedly, still staring at his phone. With that passive aggressive comment, my apologies evaporated almost instantly.

What an ill-mannered grouch, I thought.

It was quite unfortunate that he was such a grouch, because he had the kind of good looks that would’ve otherwise taken my breath away. I decided that he was one of those handsome men who have a terrible personality. I started to scan the pub for my friends.

It was Last Call’s weekly trivia night, and our team, Whiskeypedia, was a regular contender. I had attracted some top quality trivia nerds in my life, and we’d put together a team that could beat Bangalore’s best trivia enthusiasts hands down. We took great pride in the width of our knowledge of random trivia. I was the literature expert, thanks to my ability to read while I walked, even if it meant that I regularly tripped and sometimes broke my slippers. My best friend Kavya was a ‘paparazzi-level’ expert of pop culture, with an extensive knowledge of both Bollywood gossip and Meghan Markle factoids. Shirin, my colleague, had the uncanny ability to remember almost every obscure historical fact she’d gathered from the works of Manu Pillai, William Dalrymple, Ira Mukhoty, Alison Weir and the like. My other colleague, Upasana, was our current affairs expert and her brother Krish was our science guy. Krish was also supposedly our sports specialist, since he claimed he had followed cricket all his life. Over time, we realized he spent all his time drooling over cricketers and not paying attention to the actual matches, thus making sports our Achilles heel as the rest of us were equally clueless. We were all good at current affairs, and bonded over 1990s Bollywood music, which should be an official category but generally isn’t. 

‘Sitara! Over here,’ I heard Kavya call out.

For once, I was glad they weren’t sitting at one of the tables in the centre, but were squished into a booth tucked away into a nondescript corner. I wanted to get to our table without drawing too much attention to the fact that I was creating mini puddles on the clean wooden floor.

‘Now that’s what they call commitment, folks! She doesn’t let rain, shine or broken footwear stop her from getting her trivia fix,’ said George Cherian, the quizmaster, with a wide grin.

With that, my hopes of sliding into the booth unnoticed went crashing as every head in the place swivelled in my direction. I tried to appear inconspicuous, cursing my decision to wear jhumkas with tiny bells on them that morning. Thanks to my fashion choices, I was jingling with every step. I felt like a cow with a bell around my neck announcing my arrival. I shuffled over to the booth and settled in with a sheepish smile while a staff member came by to mop up the mess I’d left behind.

‘What happened?’ said Kavya, as she took in my bedraggled state. As always, she was perfectly put together in her fitted shirt and black cigarette pants. She looked the spitting image of the high-flying, corporate executive she was—a senior manager of procurement—at a leading consumer goods firm.

Upasana was already digging around in her bag, presumably for some kind of fashion appliance or accessory that could help tame the frizz bubble that was slowly growing around my head, giving me the appearance of someone who had accidentally electrocuted herself.

‘Worst day ever,’ I said breathlessly. ‘I got into this endless meeting with Harsh, and it took forever to get him to stop talking so I could leave. I was already late, and then five Ubers cancelled on me back-to-back. I waited for an hour, and even then, I had to beg the last one to accept . . . ’

‘That’s a day in the life of Sitara. Why’re you barefoot?’ asked Shirin, cutting to the chase, as she was wont to do. 

‘Haven’t you seen the jam outside? I got down two signals ago and began walking. And then, some moron stepped on my foot, so I tripped and my slipper broke just as it started to rain. I’m telling you guys, I’m Murphy’s favourite child. I had to run just to get here on time,’ I said as I reached out and took a swig of beer from Kavya’s glass. I needed a drink and while there was a pitcher on the table, there were no spare glasses. I gestured at a server for another glass.

‘I remember telling you to leave work with us,’ said Upasana in an accusatory tone as she finally emerged from the depths of her ginormous bag, holding out a large clutch that actually looked like it could hold up my voluminous mane. I wondered why someone with a silky straight pixie cut would even own this clutch, but Upasana’s bag was like a mini beauty store. I was yet to face a situation where she didn’t have a ready solution to a beauty emergency. I took the clutch and began putting up my hair into a bun, thanking my lucky stars that I was saved the fate of looking like the guy from the erstwhile Center Fresh ad.

‘Harsh is claiming credit for all your work for his own promotion,’ Shirin said. ‘And you can’t even muster up the courage to ask him for yours!’

‘Yeah, Ash has started off with his doomsday speech about how we’re low on cash so that our expectations are super low. After all the gloom and doom, you end up feeling like you should be grateful for even having a job,’ Upasana sighed.

‘Guys, trivia is starting,’ I said, desperate to draw attention away from the post-mortem of my dead-on-arrival promotion chances.

Trivia night was supposed to be my way of forgetting about work. And yet, I had recruited people I spent all day with into my after-work escape zone. I really should find some non-work friends beyond Kavya! Upasana started to say something, but the lights dimmed as George began his welcome spiel. 

I opened my bag and pulled out pens and sheets of paper. I began handing these out as they collectively rolled their eyes at me. I took my pub trivia very seriously. I looked around the room to size up the competition. There were some regulars like ‘Google It’, ‘We Need No Name’ and ‘Smarty Pints’, as well as some new faces. Given the shitty day I’d had, I hoped to win today. Last Call offered winners one round of free drinks and a pizza on the house, and since we were regulars, it would be good to get some vouchers for next week. I was especially glad that our arch nemeses The Sherlock Homies weren’t there. We’d lost to them three times in the last month, and I didn’t want to deal with them today.

‘Round 1 is for our literature buffs.

‘Our first question tonight is about a prolific author’s most popular character. The author hated him, and referred to him as a “detestable, bombastic, tiresome, egocentric little creep”. Name the author and the character,’ George announced.^*

Even before he’d finished reading out the question, I was done writing down the answer on our response sheet. My mood was slowly but surely improving. 

Two rounds in, we were leading by fifteen points and feeling very pleased. We had also demolished a pitcher of ‘Hoptimus Prime’, one of Last Call’s signature brews, so I was well on my way to cheering up. Just as I was about to suggest ordering a second pitcher and look at the list of woodfire pizzas, there was a commotion. Arnav, Namrata, Zaina and Satish, also known as The Sherlock Homies, walked in. I glared as the four of them took their seats. Zaina waved at someone by the door, and I saw him approach them. I stared as the cute grouch I’d splashed earlier took a seat at their table.

‘Of course Oscar’s joining their team,’ I muttered to myself.

‘Who’s Oscar?’ asked Kavya.

‘Screw Oscar, who is that?’ said Krish, openly ogling at the guy. 

‘He’s cute,’ agreed Shirin.

‘He’s a grouch. Like Oscar. I may have accidentally drenched him when I entered,’ I said as I sank lower into my seat so he wouldn’t spot me.

Kavya burst out laughing. ‘Only you would name a cute guy after the grouchiest muppet on Sesame Street!’

I was done talking about Oscar the Grouch. Even if I did forgive him for his rudeness, he was still part of The Sherlock Homies, which automatically made him my sworn mortal enemy. 

‘Focus! Just because we’re leading doesn’t mean they can’t beat us. We have to win,’ I said, wishing that George wasn’t so lenient about allowing teams to join trivia night midway. I would’ve loved it if they weren’t allowed to participate because they were late.

‘We’re not here to win, we’re here because it’s fun,’ said Upasana.

‘Except, Sitara doesn’t do anything for fun. What’s our lifetime score against them? I’m sure you’re keeping tabs,’ teased Kavya. 

‘I’m not,’ I defended myself hotly as I mentally did the maths and realized we were down to thirty-one to twenty-six. Shit. 

‘He’s totally checking you out,’ interjected Krish. ‘Actually, he’s more of a Cookie Monster than an Oscar. He has the same cute eyes . . . ’

‘Can we please focus?’ I insisted through gritted teeth.

Thankfully, George called for silence so we could move on to the next round. I sneaked a quick glance at Oscar. Our eyes met and he smiled. Suddenly, it was like someone had switched on a bright light in a dark room. He was one of those rare people whose smile didn’t just go up till their eyes, it radiated out. And he had a deep dimple on his left cheek, damn him. He really was cute. But then, he was also a complete jackass. I looked away quickly. 

There was a raging battle between our teams in the next one hour. Questions and answers flew past as we tried to one-up each other. Our sledging game was on point, with a lot of trash talk that the other teams were enjoying. At the end of five rounds, The Sherlock Homies were ahead by five points. I was in a terrible mood. As Krish gestured for our fourth pitcher, I stopped him.

‘No more beer,’ I announced as I reached for another slice of pizza. 

‘Speak for yourself, Mom,’ said Krish. ‘I’m having another.’

‘Thanks to you, the supposed expert, we just bombed the sports round,’ I glared at him.

‘C’mon, some of my answers were close,’ he muttered.

‘Lasagne is a food item. Labuschagne is apparently a person,’ I said icily. ‘A person that every other team, including The Sherlock Homies, knew as the first concussion substitute in test cricket.’

Krish stuck his tongue out at me.

‘Chill, I was close. And we’ll catch up . . . ’

‘You’re simply taking your frustration out on Krish. You’re mad because you missed the question on Daphne du Maurier and Oscar got it,’ said Kavya hitting the nail on the head. I hated it when she was right, which she always was, when it came to me.

‘While we’re waiting for the scores, here’s a bonus question for everyone here, whether or not you’re participating in tonight’s trivia,’ said George. ‘Raise your hand to answer, and we’ll send a mic your way. Last Call has a giveaway for the right answer.’ 

‘Ooh,’ exclaimed Kavya, eyeing the beer mug that George was hoisting over his head as though it was a trophy. 

It was definitely ooh-worthy. It had a lovely illustration of a group of people drinking and said ‘Thirsty Thursday’ on top. I was imagining it as a pen stand on my desk at work. I leaned forward to hear the question, determined I’d take the glass home.

‘By the fourth century AD, Rome had twenty-eight public _____ stacked with rolls of papyrus. What am I referring to?’ asked George.

My hand shot up. This was so obvious. Rolls of paper. There was only one kind of paper that was sold in rolls. That mug was mine!

‘Two hands went up almost simultaneously. Sitara raised her hand first, so she gets the first shot. You, sir, in the blue checked shirt get a chance if she answers incorrectly.’

‘I have the right answer so you don’t have to bother getting up,’ I called out as I started to walk towards George.

‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ I heard a deep baritone ring out. I turned and saw Oscar get up from his spot at the Sherlock Homies’s table. Krish began miming an arrow hitting his heart. He was a total sucker for deep voices. 

For a second, I wavered.

What if my answer was incorrect?

I quickly dismissed the thought. One of my rules of trivia was to never second-guess myself. Whenever I did that, I always substituted a correct answer with an incorrect one. Besides, the question said ‘rolls’ and that was a dead giveaway. 

I took the mic from George, and confidently announced, ‘Rome had twenty-eight public toilets. Stacked with rolls of toilet paper, of course.’

I heard a muffled laugh behind me, followed by Oscar quipping, ‘The Romans would have loved it if they had invented toilets in the 300s.’ 

The comment set off a wave of laughter from the trivia enthusiasts. My cheeks burned as the entire pub laughed at me.

‘What my friend here meant to say is that Rome had twenty-eight public libraries. The Romans sure as hell weren’t wiping their behinds with those rolls of papyrus,’ said my new nemesis with a wide grin, as the pub erupted into cheers and George handed him the mug.

I died a little inside. Why didn’t I think of libraries! The word rolls had led me directly to toilets. That was probably one of my worst trivia answers in history, and thanks to Oscar, the entire pub was now laughing at me.

I slunk back to my seat, convinced that everyone was still laughing at me.

‘Someone is trying to catch your eye,’ said Kavya.

‘Yeah, Oscar is looking at you,’ said Upasana.

‘You mean he’s laughing at me, just like everyone else,’ I said glumly. 

‘He’s not! As for everyone else, I’d say you did that to yourself,’ laughed Shirin. ‘Toilet paper? Really?’

Thankfully, I was saved from having to respond by the start of the next round. I couldn’t afford to lose this round or today’s trivia to The Sherlock Homies now that their newest member had made me the laughing stock of the pub trivia circuit. I looked over to the adjoining table and saw that Oscar was mouthing something. It was most definitely another joke at my expense.

What a colossal ass, I thought as I turned away.

At the end of the last round, our team was tied with The Sherlock Homies and we were going into a tiebreak. Each team had to nominate one person to answer the question. My team sent me because I was the most sober, and could actually frame a response. The rest of them were wasted and could barely string together coherent sentences, leave alone comprehend a question. I sat down at the front of the makeshift stage, and George handed me a mic. The Sherlock Homies sent Oscar who ambled over and took the seat opposite me.

‘OK, here’s how this will work. You each have a buzzer. I will read out the question; whoever presses the buzzer first and gets the right answer wins,’ said George. ‘If it’s another tie, I’ll ask another question.’

We tested our buzzers, and got ready.

‘To win today’s Thirsty Thursday Trivia, here’s a literature question . . . ’

I held my breath. This was too good to be true. I had a winning streak with literature tiebreak questions.

‘Much of this book written in the 1980s consists of letters written by a character to God . . . . ’ George began. ‘It . . . ’

BUZZ! 

I pressed the buzzer hard, nearly jumping out of my seat. 

My heart hammered in my chest as I confidently announced, ‘Are You There God? It’s me, Margaret by Judy Blume.’

‘That’s the wrong answer. I’ll now complete the question for the benefit of the other team. It won a Pulitzer Prize . . . ’

BUZZ!

Oh bloody hell. 

I watched miserably as Oscar picked up his mic. Now that George had mentioned the Pulitzer, I knew he would get this.

He looked directly at me, grinned, and said, ‘The Colour Purple by Alice Walker.’ The pub erupted into hoots and cheers.

‘Of course, you’d be extremely remiss if you didn’t thank the lady for jumping the gun on the buzzer,’ George said, rubbing salt into my very large and extremely raw wound.

‘Are you there, God? Whiskeypedia needs you,’ Oscar heckled as the pub erupted into laughter at my expense for the second time that day. 

I hated the guy. He had made me the laughing stock, again. Of course, it was my fault for giving away the opportunity but there was no need for him to rub it in. 

What a dick! I thought as frustrated tears pricked my eyes.

Suddenly, all the laughter and the buzzing in the pub stopped. The pub was so silent, you could hear a pin drop. I looked up and saw Oscar looking as though he had been punched squarely in the gut.

Or worse.

I looked around the room. Every single person was frozen. It was like looking at a sea of shocked statues. At The Sherlock Homies table, Zaina’s eyes were shooting daggers at me. Arnav was staring with his mouth open. Even the garrulous George seemed to be at a loss for words.

Shit, shit, shit. 

I had just accidentally called him a dick out loud.

And my mic was on. 

I was mortified. I wished that the earth would open up so I could bury myself within and disappear. Of all the idiotic things I had done in my life, this was possibly the worst. 

‘I didn’t mean . . . ’ I began as he walked away. 

George quickly began announcing the results. The Sherlock Homies went up to receive the voucher for their free drinks and pizza. As everyone began to leave, I ran outside to find Oscar and apologize. He was standing by the door, waving at an approaching Uber.

‘Hey,’ I started. ‘I’m really sorry about what I said. It’s . . . ’

‘This is what happens when someone whose head is stuck in the toilet is handed a mic,’ he said as he got into the cab and shut the door on my face. 

I stared.

I was right. 

He really was a dick.