In this life, humans suffer many kinds of deprivations and agonies. Some are deprived of wealth, some of love, some of dignity, some of food, and some of sleep. But there exists another class of humans whose pain is neither seen, nor understood, nor met with any empathy. This is the class of people who have never touched alcohol.
These are the souls who have kept their lips miles away from the mystical liquid that society alternately calls a “bad habit” and “a reason for happiness.” These people, who soothe themselves with titles like disciplined, devout, idealistic, and cultured, live a life where there's no chapter on thrill, frolic, or self-deception.
Whenever these beings arrive at social gatherings—birthdays, weddings, or office parties—they are instantly viewed with suspicion. As soon as someone asks, “What can I get for you?” and they reply, “Just plain water,” a strange silence descends. It’s as if someone just chanted an anti-national slogan on the mic. All eyes turn toward them. Whispers spread across the room: “That’s the guy who never drinks…”, “His wife must be really strict…”, “He must be religious…” and so on, birthing countless theories.
One person asks, “Is your health okay?” Another suggests, “Just start with a little—it kills stress.”
When this non-drinker answers all these curiosities with poise, he’s diplomatically escorted to a corner. No colorful liquid fills his glass. No ice cubes clink. No dazed smile graces his face. He sits there quietly, sipping lemonade, wondering, “Should’ve just asked for milk instead.”
As the night progresses and the crowd slowly tips into intoxicated abandon—dancing, wobbling, colliding with walls, and filming shaky videos—this disciplined soul collects his water bottle and whispers to himself, “Time to head home.” The weight of designated driver is also generously placed on his shoulders. While his drunk friends collapse like cargo in the backseat, he steers with one hand and plays devotional hymns with the other—just to maintain some balance on the road and in life.
His romantic life? Tragic. Women often find themselves drawn to men who are mysterious, slightly messed up, a bit broken. Drinkers embody this package. They hold the bottle, exhale dramatically and say, “I’m shattered,” and the woman’s heart melts. She says, “I’ll put you back together…” and love begins. Meanwhile, the non-drinker approaches a woman and says, “I drink tulsi-cinnamon tea,” and is promptly crowned “Bhaiya” (brother) and dismissed.
Health-wise, these men face a cosmic injustice. They wake up early, do yoga, sip lukewarm water, chew raw garlic, and meditate on their breath. But when the health report arrives, the doctor casually says, “Blood pressure’s a bit high. Don’t worry—just age catching up.” And when the same doctor sees the report of a chronic drinker, he gasps: “Your liver is in perfect condition!” One must wonder—was all this restraint just a long road to silent humiliation?
Even at home, there’s no reward. The wife says, “At least act like a man when you go out!” The kids say, “Dad’s so boring—never has any fun.” And when a relative visits and asks, “What do you keep in your stash?” he shyly replies, “Spice boxes.” He’s never seen as someone with hobbies. No one calls him “cool.” His life is neither bright nor dark—it’s just one long, straight road on which he walks daily with an umbrella, and if even one raindrop falls, he sighs with regret.
He never knows the thrill of disaster. He never wakes up saying, “What happened last night? I don’t remember…” because he remembers everything. Not once does he say, “Dude, I was wrecked yesterday…” His biggest mishap in life? “Too much sugar in the tea.” His version of excitement? Eating unsalted curd, biting into a chili-free samosa, or accidentally swapping pillows mid-sleep.
When he tells people that he has never touched alcohol, some swell with pride. They say, “You’re a great man!” But in the very next moment, the same people pop open a beer and say, “Come on, this life ain’t for you.”
This is a society that praises restraint, but never embraces the restrained.
And so, one day, this man sits alone in his room. In his hands, a cup of ginger tea. Before him, a religious book. In his ears, a devotional tune. He reflects, “I never did anything bad in life… and yet people never saw me as good.” Somewhere, in the distant corner of a party, his drunken friend, slumped with a bottle, murmurs: “Bro, you’re a really good guy… but not party material.”
So dear readers, if you ever meet someone who’s stayed away from alcohol their entire life, hug them. Understand their pain. Because while they may never have been broken by a bottle, they’ve surely been broken within—by neglect, by a joyless routine, by a society that couldn’t find fun in their discipline.
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