Champagne for the non-occasion

I got home from work yesterday evening when the sun was still visible, albeit faintly, over the horizon. I hadn’t seen the sun setting in weeks. Thanks to a workload that made building the Pyramids look like a walk in the park.

I sat down on the balcony and decided to work on my column. This was usually a harried, late-at-night exercise, the tap-tap of the keyboard almost colliding with the throat clearing of the rooster. But today, I had time.

I tapped away at the keyboard as the sun sank lower. I finished the column in an hour and sat back with a feeling, rather, a gentle glow of achievement. Much like the glow of the setting sun. But cooler.

I also realised that I had nothing to do till dinner time. Which was a very strange feeling.

A drink was called for.

I walked into the kitchen. Opened the refrigerator and found…a bottle of champagne. With the tag (“Congratulations on your promotion” in fake cursive) and foil untouched. I remembered I had purchased it to gift a friend on his promotion, but had forgotten to carry it as it was in the ice box. I had arrived at the party with a cake bought on the fly.

I examined the bottle. It was a rather expensive brand. Naturally. As I tapped the foil, the phone rang. A colleague from work.

Colleague: “Hey! Home. Alone! Early!”

I: “Never mind that. I finished my column way before the rooster wakes, for once.”

Colleague: “Celebration time! Chinese takeaway? With a beer or two?”

I: “A flute of Roederer Champagne 2014. Or two.”

Silence on the other end. Then: “Seriously?”. The click on the other end was very loud.

I opened the bottle very slowly and carefully. Spraying bubbles is not only horribly passé; it’s wrong. Verboten.

I poured the golden bubbles into a flute and went back to the balcony. I sat down, sipped, and felt as if I was sipping nectar. I savoured the moment. Reverent silence.

I recalled the first time I had tasted champagne. As a raw youth in Mumbai. At the successful end of a play in which I had the lead role. The French director took all of us to his home to celebrate. There was a lot of noise and bonhomie. He didn’t have enough glasses. So, I had my first sip of champagne from a chipped saucer.

That evening seemed far away from this one.

I took another sip and pondered on my colleague’s reaction. At home. Alone. No call announcing an award for writing. No lottery win. Not even a new car purchase. Just…a column finished early. A cup of tea? Yes. A chilled beer? Totally! But champagne? All by myself?

Champagne comes with a dress code: an Occasion, preferably with witnesses. Otherwise, it is showing off. It is supposed to be grand. It is meant to accompany that big achievement. The proud father giving away his daughter in marriage needed something to mark the moment. The cricketer hitting the fastest century can’t celebrate with water.

As I emptied the first flute, the doorbell rang loudly and insistently. I opened the door to find my colleague standing outside. He was wearing shorts, a tee-shirt and no apology. As he walked in, he said, “What an idea! Champagne for a non-occasion!”

I just had one flute. So I picked up a wine glass for my colleague. As we settled on the balcony, I looked at the half empty bottle, and realised it was half full.

I poured for us and we clinked glasses. The colleague sat back, sipped, and sighed. “Who would have thought!” Minutes earlier, he had poured cold water on the very idea.

For once, neither of us had anything to say. The bubbles did all the talking. Outside, the sun was setting. Inside, Monday could wait its turn.

I got up for a second pour. My colleague held his glass out too. My flip-flops made a rather ordinary sound on the floor.

The British, arguably, taught wine to fizz. The French pinched the idea, put it in a better dress, fenced off a small patch of land, and sent the world the bill. Centuries of very good marketing later, we keep it for podiums and promotions, as if the bottle had ever asked to be a trophy.

My Louis Roederer bottle rested on the table between us. Empty. No promotion. No podium. No photographer.

It marked the end of a day.

Wine should be enjoyed. Drink responsibly.

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