My First Beer - A Tipsy Tale from Bangalore’s JC Road

Disclaimer

This blog is a light-hearted, personal reflection intended purely for storytelling and humor. Any references to caste, community, religious background, or personal relationships are solely based on my own lived experience and are not intended to generalize, stereotype, or offend any group or individual. The mention of terms like Brahmin, priests, in-laws, or specific locations is used in a narrative context and not as commentary or critique.

I hold deep respect for all communities, belief systems, and traditions, and I recognize the diversity and richness they bring to our society. If any part of this story causes discomfort or offense, please know that it was never the intention. Thank you for understanding this as a genuine recount of a chapter from my journey toward self-discovery.

Drink responsibly, live kindly, and laugh a little — especially at your younger self.

Just imagine this, Bangalore, early 1998. The outer ring road is a chaotic mess of tar, bulldozers, and construction workers dodging two-wheelers. I’m a young lad from a semi-orthodox Hoysala Karnataka Brahmin family, where the closest thing to “spirits” is the incense wafting from our pooja room. My ancestors were priests, devout worshippers who probably chanted mantras with more precision than I could ever muster. And yet, here I am, about to embark on a quest that would make them spin in their heavenly abodes: my first sip of beer.

Why, you ask? Well, love makes you do crazy things. My would-be wife and her family were the cool, liberal types—folks who’d casually sip beer or whisky at social gatherings. Me? I was raised on filter coffee and curd rice. If I wanted to fit into her world, I needed to level up my social game. Enter Vijay Kumar, the unlikely guru of my alcohol initiation.

Meeting the Beer Sensei

Me with first sip :)

I met Vijay at a computer training center in Basavanagudi, Bangalore. He was a college kid, one year my senior, with a swagger that screamed “I’ve seen things.” Vijay was the kind of guy who had an opinion on everyone—from the instructor’s bad haircut to the receptionist’s choice of sandals. Loose talker? Oh, absolutely. But he had one redeeming quality: he knew his way around a beer bottle.

One late evening, Vijay, with his mischievous grin, said, “Hey, let’s hit a bar on JC Road. You need to try Haywards 2000.” My heart raced. JC Road? That gritty stretch near Town Hall, where autos honked like they were auditioning for a Bollywood chase scene? And a bar? I’d never set foot in one. But love is a battlefield, and I was ready to charge.

The Bar - A Sensory Assault

We arrived at this nameless dive bar, a stone’s throw from Town Hall. The moment I stepped in, I was hit by a wave of smells: stale oil, fried eggs, sweaty humans, and the unmistakable tang of alcohol. It was like walking into a chaotic symphony of chaos. The place was packed—daily wagers, office-goers, and shady characters who looked like they’d sell you a fake PAN card for a hundred bucks.

I kept my eyes glued to the floor, terrified I’d lock eyes with someone who knew my brother-in-law. I was staying at my sister’s place, and the thought of him catching me here made my palms sweat. Vijay, unfazed, led us to a rickety two-seater table. He ordered two Haywards 2000s, and when the waiter plonked down the glasses, I noticed they weren’t exactly beer glasses. These were the kind of tumblers you’d find at a roadside tea stall, probably last cleaned when Bangalore was still Bengaluru.

The First Sip - A Battle of Mind and Body

Vijay poured the frothy golden liquid into my glass, and I stared at it like it was a potion from a shady alchemist. My mind was at war. One half screamed, “You’re a Brahmin! Your ancestors chanted Vedas!” The other half, the logical one, whispered, “Chill, dude. Worshipping is one thing; sipping beer to impress your future well-wishers is another. All’s fair in love and war.”

I took my first sip. And oh, sweet mother of Hoysala temples, it was horrible. Bitter, fizzy, and cold in a way that made my throat revolt. My body screamed, “Eject! Eject!” but I held my nose and gulped it down, determined not to look like a rookie in front of Vijay. Each swallow was a struggle, like trying to down a spoonful of bitter medicine while pretending it’s dessert.

The Fifth Gulp - Enter the Sway

By the time I ordered a deep-fried egg masala (because, apparently, that’s what you do in a bar), things got… interesting. After my fifth gulp, I stood up to wash my hands. Big mistake. My back betrayed me, my legs wobbled, and I swayed like a pendulum in a storm. My head spun, not unpleasantly, but like it had just discovered a new dimension. “Is this what being tipsy feels like?” I wondered, half-amused, half-panicked.

Vijay, the jerk, was doubled over laughing. “Bro, you’re done after five gulps? What’s gonna happen next?” I shot him a glare, but honestly, I was too busy trying to catwalk to the wash basin without face-planting. Every step was a calculated mission, like navigating a minefield of boulders on the under-construction outer ring road.

The Great Escape

Vijay dropped me off near Katriguppe Circle, still chuckling at my plight. The walk to my sister’s house was an odyssey. The road was raw, littered with construction debris, and I dodged every stone like I was in a video game. My only goal: sneak into the house without raising suspicion. I crept in, mumbled to my sister that I was “full” and “just wanted to sleep,” and collapsed onto the bed.

When I woke up at 7 a.m., the Haywards 2000 was still in my blood—and my breath. I realized why people in the bar were staring at me the previous night. I was probably the youngest guy there, looking like a nervous kid who’d wandered into the wrong movie. Vijay, that one-year-older “veteran,” had probably seen it all before.

Reflections and a New Chapter

That first sip lingers in my memory, not just because it was my gateway to the world of alcohol, but because it was a rite of passage. I wasn’t chasing a buzz; I was chasing a version of myself that could stand confidently beside my future wife. Over time, I found my own way without Vijay (whose loose-talking ways I happily left behind). I learned my limits, never got addicted, and kept my purpose clear: this was about connection, not escape.

Bangalore has changed since then. The outer ring road is now a smooth highway, JC Road is less chaotic, and I’m no longer that nervous kid dodging stares in a smoky bar. But every time I pass by Town Hall, I smile, remembering the night I took on Haywards 2000—and survived to tell the tale.

So, here’s to firsts, to love, and to the questionable wisdom of guys like Vijay Kumar. Cheers!

I have upgraded now after 27 years

I have upgraded myself to this type of PUBS :) :)