Thursday, July 21, 2011

36 Hours of Sin - Chapter 3

(Disclaimer : This post may not be suitable for audiences below 18 ...blah blah blah. You know the routine by now . But there's one more disclaimer. Here it goes : The views expressed here are the author's own. And the descriptions here are depicted through the author's eccentric eyes and should therefore not be generalized. )

Chapter 3
Of Aunties and Hotties
01 hours to 03 hours

For about a gloriously boring hour, we stood outside the airport, amidst all that sweltering heat, waiting for our good old friend to turn up in his mean machine. We were tired. We were jaded. And all that initial hysteria (the time when I kept screaming out "I'm in Vegas! I'm in Vegas" again, again and again with that blissfully dumb grin on my face) had finally ended. The sun had begun to set and the sky slowly turned from azure blue to a pinkish vermillion and then to a dark shade of crimson. The air became a little cooler, and the lights began to come on. Vegas had just begun to wake up from its deep slumber.

"Dude, I hope he comes in that one," I pointed to a sleek black Mercedes that came gliding into the Passenger Pickup area. A gorgeous brunette was behind the wheel, and two equally gorgeous blondes got in.

"As long as he doesn't come in a rolling tin can!" A replied.

And so, we passed our time, ogling at those stunning creatures - their lustful curves, the smoothness of their exposed parts and the glitter of their bodies. Sexy. Posh. Tough to get hold of. I was talking about those cars, by the way.

So, we waited there staring at anything and everything that would amuse us. And by the time K arrived in his decent looking Mazda, most people around us would've probably concluded that we were drug dealers or something. (And in fact, we did meet some actual drug dealers about whom I'll talk about in the later chapters.) After slinging a few friendly curses (the kinda abuses guys throw around, when they are with their friends), we finally made our way to the MGM Grand.

A gigantic statue of a golden lion greeted us at the entrance of the hotel. It was a majestic beast about three stories tall, its massive paws resting on top of raised platform. It's fiery eyes peered into the horizon, looking sideways along the famed Las Vegas strip, while its golden mane glittered in the twilight.

After winding up through countless levels of the tiered parking lot, we finally managed to find a vacant spot. Once our car was safely parked and the GPS was carefully removed and placed in K's backpack (After that incident in Washington DC, we wouldn't dare to leave anything inside the car), we headed off towards the hotel lobby.

The lobby area was jam-packed with tourists. And even more were pouring in through the numerous entrances of the hotel. There were people of all ages, all races and all sexes, standing there clicking photographs of a smaller version of the Golden Lion that stood inside the lobby, or chattering away excitedly, or chugging along their wheeled suitcases towards the check-in desk.

I had always thought that Vegas was kinda like an 'adult' place. I would've believed that it was not suitable for kids, based on what I've seen on movies and stuff. But the place was teeming with kids, the ones who kept running along like crazy little headless chicken, with their guardians running after them, screaming their lungs out. But I guess, the hotel would have some playroom or something where they'd lock up all these little devils, so that the adults could go and have some dirty fun!
There were people from all over the world. No kidding. From whatever limited knowledge that I have, I could hear English, French, Spanish, Chinese, German, Hindi, Telegu, Tamil, Gujarati, Marathi, Bengali...and all the other Indian languages that you find written on that ten rupee note. There isn't a place in the world without Indians, I tell you! And when I think of that Agent Smith dialogue in the Matrix when he tells Morpheus that humans have multiplied like a virus and spread everywhere and all that, I think he was definitely referring to us, Indians. No doubt about it! And when I saw old aunties dressed in saris and riding in wheelchairs (yes, they were old enough to not be able to stand up), I realized that Vegas is not just about the sex, drugs, alcohol and gambling. Well, it is mostly that. But there are other things that people could do like errr....uhmmm....like errr...I dunno, there must be other things, I guess!

And of course there was the regular Vegas crowd...the kind we see in movies - groups of decent guys like us (decent in any place other than Vegas, that is); groups of decent girls (same applies); couples; groups of guys with tank tops, sideways tilted caps and tattoos running throughout their arms, (the ones that I call pachaas-paisa wannabes); groups of girls wearing glittering cocktail dresses (dresses that would've fit a 5 year old pretty well) and high-heeled stilettos, with which they could barely maintain their balance (I was half-expecting or perhaps wishing that at least one would fall down and I would be at the right place and the right time); single men wearing swanky coats and leather boots, standing in places with high 'chick-density' waiting for something remarkable to happen; and of course those ineffable drunkards. How charming they were!

So, we went to our hotel room, admired the sheer elegance of the place and freshened up for the young and sexy night that awaited us. But before we could hit the Vegas strip and go wild, we had to respond to our rumbling tummies. Sadly, we realized that relishing the natural (or perhaps artificial...in this day and age, you can't tell them apart), beauty is isn't enough to satisfy one's real appetite.

"Food. Where?" I asked, rubbing my tummy. A whole colony of goddamn rats were running riot inside. If I waited a little longer, I would've had to call the Pied Piper, for Godsakes!

"There's a Chipotle somewhere on the strip. We could get a quick and fulfilling bite there," K replied in his usual 'safe-as-a-house' tone.

"Chipotle? Coming all the way to Vegas and Chioptle?" A blurted out.

"Well, that's true. What about Indian food? There's this place called Gaylord. Okay...Don't look at me like that. I guess the food is good there," I replied.

"That's a little far off," K replied.

"So, what then?" I asked.

"This is a hotel for heaven's sake. It's supposed to have restaurants! We'll eat in one of those," A suggested.

"Dude. Vegetarian. Please be considerate," I patted my chest.

"I'm sure they'll have vegetarian stuff to eat."

"Yeah. I'm sure they'll have leaves for me to chew on," I muttered in an undertone as we left our room.

Two guys were standing in the lift when the doors opened on the 8th floor. One was a Caucasian and the other was an African-American. The Caucasian guy was swaying around in the corner, fighting to keep his balance. His eyes were hazy and his shirt was tucked-in at some places and hanging out loose at other places. He was gloriously drunk, beyond that 'i'm-so-happy-that-I-want-to-hug-random-strangers' phase where you generally see drunk people at. This guy was beyond that stage. This guy was about to pass out. This guy was frikkin' time bomb of puke. Let's call him Mr. Drunk.

The other guy, the tall and well-built African-American dude was dressed in the standard party attire - good shirt, a neat coat, dark-blue jeans and leather shoes. He smiled politely when we entered the lift. Let's call this guy - Mr. Smooth.

"How are you guys doing today?" Mr. Smooth asked.

"Good," A replied.
"Excellent," K replied.
"Pretty okay, I guess," I replied.

"Whendja guys come here?" he asked.

"A few hours back. How about you?"

"Partying since last night."

Just then, the lift stopped at the 6th floor. A loud and excited chatter of girlish voices could be heard on the other side. And the doors opened to a group of four good looking and well dressed girls standing outside. We suddenly stopped talking and couldn't help staring those damsels in front of us. Simultaneously, the girls who were chattering away stopped abruptly. They hesitated for a moment to enter the lift, partly because it was small and already five of us were in there, partly because Mr. Drunk was tottering around everywhere and partly because we were staring at them like goofy testosterone-driven maniacs.

There was an uncomfortable moment when everyone was passing glances at everybody else. But Mr. Smooth broke the ice, "Why dontcha girls come inside? There's plenny of room in here." He winked at them. The three of us backed to the walls of the lift to allow the four of them to squeeze in. Mr. Drunk continued to sway and totter. By an unspoken agreement we had reserved one entire corner for him to carry out his shenanigans. But Mr. Smooth stood where he was - right in the center of the lift. So, the four of them had to distribute themselves to fit inside. And as the doors closed, Mr. Smooth found himself in a very good position - two ladies to his left and two ladies to his right.

And in those brief few seconds, I would finally come to realize as to what one needs to do, to get laid with a total stranger. No, nothing kinky happened inside the lift. Control your imagination, for Godsakes!
But I'm sure loads of kinky stuff would've happened afterwards....

Saturday, July 16, 2011

36 Hours of Sin - Chapter 2

Disclaimer : This post may not be suitable for audiences below 18 without parental guidance.

Chapter 2
Did we just land into a casino?
oo hours to 01 hours

They say that Vegas is different, Vegas is unique, and there is no city in the entire length and breadth of this country that can even remotely resemble Vegas. And I thought,
'How different can it be? I mean it's just a city with casinos, in the middle of a desert in Nevada, whose lights you can see from outer space...how different can it be?'
'How different can it be? It's just a city where people within a blink of an eye, get bankrupt, get wasted or even get married to strippers...how different can-
'

I stopped this chain of thought partly because it began to defeat my original logic and partly because I somehow managed to walk into a casino, the moment I boarded off the plane! Yes, you read that right - we landed right into a casino!

With my heavy bag weighing down on my shoulders, and my back aching with the tiredness of air travel, I found myself standing on a plush carpeted floor in the midst of hundreds of whizzing and glittering slot machines. Slot machines were everywhere! They were there standing beside check-in desks, they were near water fountains, they were in front of luggage carousels, they were even placed outside restrooms! Heck! The entire airport was infested with these species, these merciless sirens of the modern world that tricked many a greedy traveler with the ruse of making a quick buck or hitting an entire jackpot. It took me a good minute or two for the reality to sink in - McCarran International Airport was a frikkin' casino! (And only would I realize later on, that there are more slot machines in Vegas than there are toilets, ATMs and vending machines all put together! Slot machines were omnipresent, omnipotent and omni-everything!)

Apart from doubling up and serving as a casino, the airport was full of advertisements. Not a single piece of naked wall could be seen, as hoardings upon hoardings decorated them like wallpapers. There were advertisements of casinos and hotels, which cajoled the already mesmerized travelers into checking in at their plush suites; shows and performances, that catered to every age group imaginable - from musicals like the Lion King, theatrical shows like the Cirque de Soleil and magic shows of David Copperfield; to more adult oriented shows like Criss Angel's Mindfreak, Playboy Standup Comedy; to more kinkier shows like Holly Madison's Peepshow (oh boy! what a name for a show!) and of course I assume that there would be others whose posters they could not have possibly put up in the Airport!

But there was one poster covering almost one entire section of the hallway that was jarring and annoying to the eye. It read 'Chippendales' and it had the picture of 5 barely clad muscular dudes showing off their six pack abs. I asked in a partly disgusted and partly envious tone, "Dude, what is that?"
"Oh, I guess that's a strip club for women," A replied. (A and K were the two other members of our three man wolfpack.)

And when I saw hordes and hordes of ladies excitedly chattering away amongst themselves, in their sparkling and skimpy outfits, I realized that Vegas was as much a place for estrogen charged females as it was for those testosterone driven males. (And what was most surprising was that there were more women in Vegas than there were men!)

We decided not to wait for our third friend (K) who was driving in from Arizona and was supposed to pick us up at the airport, since it would take him about an hour to reach Vegas. After all, there was a fantastic room at MGM Grand that was eagerly awaiting its new temporary occupants.

"So, we'll ask K to come to the hotel directly?" I asked.

"I guess so. We'll take a cab then?" A suggested.

"Dude, MGM is just like a mile or so away I guess," I responded after scrutinizing the route shown by Google Maps, "Let's walk. We'll get the true feel of Las Vegas, that way!"

"It's gonna be hot outside," A warned.

"So what dude? You think I can't handle the heat? I've been brought up in Delhi. I used to play cricket when it was 40 plus outside. Let's go," I said.

"Suit yourself," A shrugged and followed me outside the doors of the airport terminal.

And as we stepped out of the airport and landed our feet firmly on the sinfully opulent soil of Las Vegas, it felt as if we had walked right into a furnace. My skin burned and my body felt as if it had been set on fire and an invisible shadow of incessant heat descended down on me, swallowing me into its fiery, infernal mass! To put it in simple words - it was insanely hot. Like delhi-in-mid-june-3pm-hot! And for a person who had been forced to acclimatize to bone chilling temperatures of -25 degree celsius in the unforgiving village of Lafayette, this oppressive heat seemed too much handle.

"Dude, cab...please," I grinned shamelessly.

As we walked towards the taxi stands, we saw a couple of sleek Lincoln Limousines gliding away from the airport. A looked at me ogling at those elegant machines and said, "You know, we could ride in one of those...those limos are taxis."

"Wow! It'll be so awesome riding in a limo! Let's go!" I chattered like an excited child in front of a candy store.

"But it'll be expensive," A said in his typical warning ridden tone.

"It's alright. We are earning now." I said.

"Ok. But let's just check the prices for the normal taxi."

"Shouldn't be much. I mean, MGM's like 1.8 miles away or something. Shouldn't be more than 7 to 8 dolla-"
I was cut short when my jaw dropped at the prices listed on the taxi stand - a dollar for every 13th of a mile.

"And that would be more than 20," A looked at me with a mischievous smile on his face.

I adjusted the collar of my polo tee-shirt and replied, "Let's just wait for K...he should be reaching here any minute."
And I continued looking at my watch long after I had seen what the time was...

Monday, July 11, 2011

36 Hours of Sin - Chapter 1

Disclaimer : This post may not be suitable for audiences below 18 without parental guidance.

Chapter 1
The Inception
-04 hours to 00 hours

The idea of going to Vegas was seeded long ago (the moment I set foot in the United States, to be precise), but the idea began to take shape only a few weeks back. I realized that it was the perfect time to visit the sin city - free flow of cash (thanks to the internship), absolutely free weekends (thanks to the internship), no assignments and exams and papers and submissions and deadlines (thanks to the internship) and a group of friends split by geographical differences (thanks to the internship) who wanted to come together to experience one hell of a time! And thus, after little deliberation, the plan to go to Vegas was forged. Although I wish the wolfpack was complete, the three of us were enough...enough to do crazy shit! :)

And so I found myself sitting in the cramped and tattered seats of Spirit Airways, which happens to be America's proud version of our very own Air Deccan. Yes, the seats were actually tattered with the seat cover broken at places, exposing the yellow sponge of the cushion underneath, and it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that the interiors of the plane had an uncanny semblance to the interiors of a semi-deluxe Haryana roadways bus! Although they claimed to be a low cost airline, the tickets were as expensive as the other biggies. (We were compelled because of time constraints. Sigh!) So, I was cramped between an old blonde woman wearing a few clothes and excessive make-up, and a broad shouldered muscular dude with a tatoo of Japanese lettering on his bare forearms. With my i-pod battery discharged and a book that I had finished reading at the airport itself, I was left with nothing to do except close my eyes and relive the movie - Hangover, again and again and again in my mind. And just when Alan was getting tased by the fat kid for the 5th time now, I was disrupted by a very disturbing comment made by the captain of the plane. He said (and I reproduce almost verbatim), "...We'll be a little late to take-off. We had some maintenance on this plane in the morning. So, we are just doing some last minute checks before we get the all clear. Hopefully, everything should be fine...."

The three of us looked at each other with one common expression - 'Hopefully? WTF!'

And although my mind moved over from playing countless repetitions of Hangover to playing countless repetitions of Airframe (that's a Michael Crichton novel...obvious isn't it? :P), the flight was uneventful (thankfully), apart from a few roller coaster simulations due to weather turbulence. The minutes seemed like hours and the hours seemed like days, while I watched the guy in front of me order 5 rounds of Smirnoff shots. And it was during his fifth round that he and his girlfriend began to sway in their seats, and dropped the vodka bottle which came slowly rolling down to my feet. I picked it up and tapped the man on his shoulder.
"You dropped your bottle," I said.
He turned around and with a silly smile on his face, replied in a deep drawling voice, "Thanks man! My girlfriend told me not to drink too much on the plane." He started laughing.
"Err...oh..hmm..yeah," I replied.
"By the way man-" he began his drawl only to stop suddenly. A look of astonishment and surprise came over his misty little eyes, "Dude, what's your high school...where'dya do it?"
"What?" I asked.
"High schoool," he replied slowly, thinking that I didn't understand what he was speaking.
"I...err..." What the hell is he asking, I thought. "I go to college...Purdue," I replied for the lack of anything else meaningful to say.
"Dude...We went to high school at Michigan! Remember me?"
"Uhhh....I don't think so."
He looked at me in shock, as if I had committed a blasphemous act by not recognizing him. But then slowly reality dawned on him.
"Oh, sorry man. I just thought that you were someone I went to school with. Sorry man, I'm drunk. Haha!" He laughed.

It starts here and it never ends! I thought.

Two hours later, the plane began to descend over a sea of red - the Nevada/Arizona desert with miles and miles of unending canyons, mountains and red soil, where neither vegetation grows nor animals dwell. And standing amidst the surrounding barren landscape, a tiny strip of land loomed in front like a mirage. Through the brown dusty haze, I could see the silhouette of buildings...buildings with weird shapes - A Pyramid, A Colloseum, skyscrapers resembling New York, a structure that looked like Seattle's Space needle, and believe it or not, the Eiffel Tower itself!

And thus, in the center of the geographic badlands, lay the 'baddest' lands of them all - Las Vegas!

As the tires of the plane screeched on the burning tarmac, the hefty guy sitting next to me and turned and spoke out, "So, is this your first time to Vegas?"

"Yes," I replied.
"Then you're gonna love it," he smiled mischievously.
"What about you?" I asked.
"I used to live in Vegas. Played professional football here. So, how long will you be here?"
"I'm here just for the weekend."
"Ah! That's sad man. Would've got more girls if you stayed more days." He chuckled and continued, "By the way, where are you staying?"
"MGM."
"Holy shit! Awesome man!" He smiled with that typical 'Kya baat hai!' smile. He continued, "This place is crazy. Every time I'm here, I wake up with a different girl on bed!"
I did not know whether to act astonished or to act horrified, so I simply said, "Oh I see..."
"There are prostitutes everywhere...if you planning on doing them that is," he winked.
"Err...no," I replied.
"Be careful man. This is your first time in Vegas. Take it a little easy. Don't get too carried away with the gambling, booze and the girls."

"We'll see," I smiled back.

And then I stepped out of the plane and into the terminal of McCarran International Airport, Las Vegas.