Adi and I spoke after a very long time. He was back at the place where we first met and I felt alone, for some reason. The night two years ago gushed with memories too fresh to push back, and the moments of bonding and disasters in the making ever too familiar. Faces of familiarity among faces of strangeness, Irish girl who liked Adi, and my red coloured dress he remembers vividly. I remember his turban, and the long walk at 3 am when everyone else was asleep. The dogs on the street straying on their own, and the dogs who decided to crowd upon us, and check who were the cowards, us or them. I remember too well, in too much detail.

Deserted streets of exotic dancers returning home after their duties performed, the random men offering their goods for sale, the goods Adi had purchased without my knowledge, which he did not heat up well, failing to perform their expected ecstasy.

The land miles away, the friendship made that remain across borders, religions and ethnicity. I tell Abhi with whom I randomly struck a conversation after weeks, that Adi is online, and that we are talking of our night out, the club, the vomiting, the booze, and the insanity of voluntary intoxication. He laughs, “I remember your red dress!” he adds, I laugh too. I realise that everyone remembers red. Red was the dress, red was his t shirt, red was the sign I failed to see, when I should have, and when I embarked on a journey destined for destruction, red was rape , red were those eyes, filled with lust and drunkenness. Red was what was around, is around and continues to be around.

Yes, it was a night to remember. A road to remember, some dogs to remember, and some people to be forgotten.