I had a Naga army officer, who was my friend and he took me to the weekly public dance. This was the time when I was posted in the "far East" of India. Such an action( Public dance) doesn't happen anywhere in India except Bangalore. He introduced me to a lovely girl. She was Naga and I requested a dance. She smelt of perfume and everything nice. Finally, we danced close to the lilting tunes of Louis Armstrong and Kenny G. She told me her name and gave me a number.
I had a Royal Enfield and I requested for a drive with her. We began to date and one fine day she even invited me home. Those are cherished moments and form the theme of my new novel. I roamed on my bike with her, through mountains and jungle roads, all maintained by the BRO( Border Roads Organization). We sat in coffee Houses and dined at a Punjabi Dhaba. She loved to have drinks and we often carried the best Indian whiskey, Peter Scot. Those were great days. I suggested that would she leave Nagaland? No, she replied and the man she would marry must stay in Nagaland.
What could I do? Air HQ posted me to Baghdogra in North Bengal and it was time to leave. We had a last tumultuous drive, plenty of whiskey and a night under stars. Does the tale end? I am afraid so.
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