Səhnə Arxası

When we were 22–23, we slowly started venturing into the city center (I grew up in the Rasulzade settlement myself). Next to the Nizami cinema there was a karaoke club, and five or six of us friends would get together and go there to sing. Actually, it was Shaban who got us into it. Mostly he sang himself, and we sang backup. Each table got the microphone for three songs, and if I'm not mistaken, every extra song cost extra. So there were serious debates over which songs to choose — which ones would impress the ladies at the other tables the most. The bill was split among us like brothers. Once our friend Pumba (his real name is Tural; he just looked like the famous character from "The Lion King") even protested: "What is this, I ate one Raffaello, sang 'Искала' twice (he meant Zemfira's song), and you're taking six manats from me." Six manats may seem like little to you now, but in 2008–2009 it was real money for students. Oh, and we never had much money. But we still wanted to have fun. So whenever we went to that karaoke club, we always ordered the same drink. Tonic! (That Tonic in the yellow can.) It tasted bitter as poison and gave us no pleasure at all. Why did we order it?! Because it was the only drink that was pricier than water and cheaper than all the others. But we acted as if we were tonic connoisseurs. We drank it with such confidence, like the villain in American movies drinking whiskey. We told the waiter "one tonic each" so casually, you'd think we'd been raised on tonic instead of sweet tea.

I haven't drunk tonic in years. And I doubt I'll ever want to again. I don't sing karaoke anymore either. The worst part is that I don't see those friends every day like before. Once or twice a year. Life tastes like that Tonic now...