I'm a believer!

She stands still, glistening with sweat. Her wonderfully curvaceous body, resplendent in that wonderful soft light, seeming to possess an almost ethereal quality, as if she is set to rise any moment from this mortal earth. The temptation mounts.
She has a come hither look around her, unabashedly seductive, unabashedly provocative. She has nothing to hide, and she has nothing to prove. She awaits you.
You look her over, savoring the moment, feeling that thirst which Mother Nature commands you must. It is, after all, in the fitness of things… the way God meant it to be.
You take a step closer and you feel the tingling of anticipation all over. Matters seem to take a turn for the inevitable. You’re under the spell and neither of you are complaining.
At that moment, it is as if there are only the two of you.
You’ve ever had that feeling with a bottle of Kingfisher Premium? I go through it every time.
If ever the Nobel Peace Prize Committee gets around to announcing the “Ultimatest Contribution to Peace” Prize, I think they should delve deep into the pages of history and award it to the guy who invented beer.
Because nothing promotes peace as does a beer session. Would Hitler have been ranting and raving his way all over Europe if he’d grown up drinking beer and listening to the Doors belting out Roadhouse Blues? Would Attila have been hell bent on ravaging the world if he had a crate of Mallya’s best right beside him?
He’d have thought about it and all, and he might even have had the willpower to think of actually getting up, never mind that last unopened bottle. But right then, some kindly soul would have slipped in a Bob Marley CD, and Attila would have slumped back in his chair, benign grimace on his visage.
Beer does that to you, see? It soothes the senses and drives away the bad memories. It chills your gullet and warms the cockles of your heart. It shows you the world in a kinder gentler… maybe more hazy, but that’s not the point… light.
And it does that every single time.
Come back from a football game on a Sunday afternoon, fall back on the couch in the living room, put on a movie that you know you’re not going to watch, and open a bottle of beer.
Sit up late at night to catch a cricket match out of the West Indies, and open a bottle of beer.
Hanging out with buddies over the weekend with nothing to do… you get the picture.
But my personal favorite?
Wake up at 8 in the morning in Goa. Step up to the window and watch the waves break in the far distance. Walk into the bathroom and grin at self in the mirror. Walk back into the room, open the fridge, and get self a bottle of chilled Kings.
Pop open the short, stubby bottle, and spend a couple of moments appreciating that magnificent work of art. Throw head back, chug a few sips.
They don’t have toothpastes in Goa. Not the Goa I know.
Yo, Goa-brother… we head back to heaven soon, OK?