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All of you know quite well by now that Chennai is not the city for a casual evening drink. But a combination of history and geography has ensured the convenient proximity of a union territory, whose sole claim to fame is the ability to ply a forever parched metropolis with tax-free liquor on a weekend. Ok, that’s unfair.

Pondicherry is an utterly charming and picturesque seaside town with a certain unique kind of Tamil-Frenchness that is quite interesting. For instance, unlike ‘Anglicized’ Tamil Nadu, with its Trichnopoly for Tiruchirapalli and Tuticorin for Thoothukudi, names in Pondicherry are Francophone. Gunasekaran, you say? No way. In Pondicherry, it’s Counnessegarane.

Frenchified names aside, Pondicherry is full of quaint seaside resorts where you can down several pints while lying down in a hammock soaking in the winter sun. In summer, the outdoor sun effectively replaces the resorts Tandoor oven and one really can’t use the word ‘chilling outside’ and ‘summer’ in the same paragraph when speaking of South India.

So we set out last Sunday to soak in a bit of the sun and lounge in one of several French style cafes and eat Hors d’oeuvres with perhaps a spot of wine. That’s when we were given that utterly unique Tamil bend-forward and whispered ‘Sorry saar’ and told that it was a ‘Dry Day.’

I loathe dry days. Not because I’m a raving alcoholic who needs to imbibe several centiliters a day to stay one with the universe and all that, but because I don’t like the concept of a dry day. Right from the time when I threw tantrums over daily baths as a small kid, I have always fiercely defended my right to choose an appropriate amount of dryness for myself. I cannot tolerate a bunch of louts I didn’t vote for deciding when I can or cannot drink.

Why do we still have dry days? We seem to have this unique ability to take what is a solemn and special occasion and ensure that people disrespect it by insisting that all of us respect that occasion in one kind of way, in this case, by not drinking. In this week’s case, it was Milad-e-Nabi. And it’s the same for Gandhi Jayanthi. How on earth would I be disrespecting a religion or the Father of the Nation by not depriving myself of something I like? I am willing to bet that several people curse Gandhi for getting himself associated with what is essentially a tyrannical attempt to make people respect his memory. I am even willing to bet that he would have insisted against forcing people to do anything just to respect him.

If I want to respect Gandhi, I’d go distribute food and clothes to the needy on his birthday. And I will drink beer after my efforts. And if I can’t buy it legally, I will besmirch his memory even more by procuring it through black market channels.

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