The Secret Cocktail Bar Party

(Fiction)

Note: This story is written in the context of the COVID-19 pandemic.

Despite the lockdown in Washington, D.C., Imperial Wine and Spirits was buzzing with people. As I arrived, I saw a crowd jostling for liquor. I, too, began peering into the shelves, hoping to discover a new brand. I had never tried Crown Royal whiskey, so I began searching for it.

Just as I reached the shelf, I saw a bearded man — he looked somewhat Indian — walking away with the last five bottles. I addressed him in Urdu:

“Sir, could I please have one bottle?”

Without looking at me, he replied coldly, “Had you come earlier, perhaps. But now, you’re too late.”

“I just took a little time locating the shelf… I only want one bottle,” I said politely.

“Sorry. I’ve taken them all,” he repeated, without remorse.

I followed him silently to the counter, where he was having the bottles packed. I turned to the salesperson and asked if there were any more left.

“That was the last of our stock,” he said.

I sighed and left the store. Walking along the sidewalk, I asked a couple of passersby about another wine shop nearby and eventually reached Continental Wine and Liquor.

Just as I stepped in and approached the counter to inquire about Crown Royal, I saw him again — the same bearded man. I was stunned. He had beaten me here too.

“Sir, did you also take all the Crown Royal from here?” I asked, half expecting the answer.

He smiled slyly. “Yes. You’re late again.”

“How did you get here before me?” I asked in disbelief.

He had bought ten bottles this time. As he packed them up, he said jokingly, “Why are you so stuck on one brand? Whiskey is whiskey — they’re all the same.”

“I’ve never had Crown Royal before. Thought I’d try something royal today. But it seems you’ve already claimed every bottle in the city.”

He paid his bill, and we both stepped outside.

“That’s quite a lot of liquor you’ve bought. Planning to fight off the coronavirus with it?” I quipped.

He chuckled. “Just hosting a party. Everyone’s requested Crown Royal. So I’ve obliged.”

“Sounds like quite the party,” I said.

He smiled, “Why don’t you come with me? You’ve never attended a real royal party — one you won’t forget.”

“Seriously?” My face lit up.

“Come on, hop in,” he said, hailing a cab.

As we rode, I asked, “Do you also live on Massachusetts Avenue?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Sorry — I never asked your name.”

“I have many names. Which one would you like to know?”

“Just tell me your real one,” I said.

“I’m Ishwar,” he replied.

The cab stopped near the Indian Embassy. We got out and walked toward the Gandhi statue nearby.

“Why have we stopped?” I asked.

“I’m getting old. My legs cramped up in the cab. Just stretching them out,” he said.

“In this state, and you still drink? You should take better care of your health,” I advised.

He ignored me and placed a hand on my shoulder, walking on.

“Who else is at the party? Must be people your age — probably no young crowd. But from the amount of liquor, I’d guess at least forty or fifty guests,” I said.

“There’s all kinds of people. Different ages. And not all men, either,” he said.

That sparked my curiosity. “Ah, so there’ll be women too. Great!”

We reached a grand, palatial home. He rang the bell. A doorman opened the door with an air of regality, bowed, and stepped aside. I followed Ishwar into the house.

The house was as majestic inside as it was outside — like a palace. We passed through room after room until we reached a massive hall. Ishwar pointed toward a side room.

“Relax in here for now. We’ll call you when the party begins.”

Honestly, I wasn’t so thrilled about the party itself — it was the free premium liquor that excited me. The room I entered was empty. The whole house felt eerily silent. I began to suspect the old man had lost his mind and the party was all in his head. I lay on the bed and, lost in thought, soon drifted off to sleep.

I woke up to someone shaking me. It was Ishwar.

“It’s ten o'clock. Freshen up. There are clothes in the wardrobe. Choose what you like and join us in the hall.”

He left. I opened the wardrobe — all the clothes were my size. I chose a vibrant t-shirt and jeans, took a shower, and changed quickly. Music echoed through the halls.

When I entered the hall, my jaw dropped.

The hall was packed. People dressed in elaborate costumes — ancient Indian, Roman, Greek, and Egyptian royalty. It felt like a historical fantasy. Ishwar stood as Lord Vishnu — with a discus, a conch, a lotus flower, and a mace. Beside him sat Shiva and Brahma, with their consorts Parvati and Saraswati. Across the table were Zeus and Athena. Others were introduced to me as Inanna, Ishtar, Ninhursag, Ahura Mazda, Mithra, Ra, Osiris, Amun, and many more gods whose names I couldn’t remember.

“This is Manu,” Ishwar said, pointing to me.

“My name is Manoj, and yes, people call me Manu. But how do you know that?” I wondered.

He smiled. “You seemed lost. Come, meet the rest,” and continued the introductions.

“Who are all these people? Cosplayers?” I asked.

They laughed. “We are gods, deities, divine beings. These are the goddesses, too.”

The drinking began. I sat among the gods, drinking toast after toast. Each god told wild stories of their glory, their powers, their cults. We laughed, ate kebabs, and drank more.

“So… what are you all doing here?” I asked. “The world is in chaos with coronavirus, and you’re all drinking here?”

The room fell silent.

“We don’t know what this virus is or where it came from,” said one god. “When we used to spread plagues, we knew how. This one’s beyond us.”

“You mean to say the world is just running on its own?” I asked.

“Of course! We can’t even control our own wives, let alone the world,” said Enlil from Mesopotamia, stumbling toward me with his arm around my neck.

“Humans gave us these thrones. Why blame us?” he added.

Then Narada arrived, holding a veena in one hand, cymbals in another, and a glass in the third.

“Manu,” he said, “once humans feared what they didn’t understand. They turned fear into worship. Then they imitated each other. Eventually, everything became a god — even things like you.”

“Wait, so I’m a god too?” I said proudly.

Ishwar gestured to a servant. “Take this god to his bed and let him rest.”

The doorman gently helped me back to the room and laid me on the bed. As I closed my eyes, I imagined myself on a divine throne.

And then, someone shook me awake. It was my roommate.

“Wake up! It’s morning. Let’s get to work!”