Some ol' fashioned Southern Comfort, y'all.

Southern Rock is quite the eclectic combination of music, isn't it? As per Wikipedia, it consists of the veritable ZZtop, Lynrd Synkrd and the Allman Brothers band. The wikipedia page also suggests that recent additions such as Kid Rock can be classified under Southern Rock. But let us take a moment to consider that Southern Rock, if analysed geographically, is the rock of the ol' fashioned south, mainly influenced by the country (South-East) and Western (South-West and California) styles of music. This old hillbilly style soon moved towards rock'n'roll, and then followed the trend followed by electric blues. So, to put it simply, Southern Rock, is rock'n'roll, country and western, mixed with blues and topped with some electric guitars.
But enough about that kind of Southern Rock, shall we? Let's get into the kind that's really interesting.

There are institutions, and then there are institutions. I like institutions, especially the kind that are old, and have something old school about them. You can see that straight through in my choice of football club, favourite cricket bowler and favourite football player. And the most respectable amongst many institutions dedicated to the listening of rock'n'roll music and drenching our ever-parched throats with nectar is Hard Rock Cafe. I like Hard Rock Cafe. No, actually, I love Hard Rock Cafe. I love the lighting, the decor, the all-American feeling of the place, the mustard and yes, the music. Every Hard Rock that I have been to has been good, if not brilliant. My most recent visit to an HRC was in Pune, and it brought back memories, not just because I met Siva and Anees, but I met with another old friend who shares his name with the respectable rock music that we talked about earlier.

It all started at a place as far away from warm Southern comfort as one could think of, in the USA at least, it all started at Niagara Falls, NY. The motley crew of NITK Racing were vacationing after FSAE Michigan and we reached the Hard Rock Cafe there, after a cold blustery day under the short and squat Niagara. The warmth in the cafe was a relief, and as we pursued the menu with vigor, I didn't know what to choose and I asked the waiter to recommend something delectable for me. And that was for the first time that I met my old friend. He had a hard and rough upbringing, but he had been coated by layers of education and sophistication, a touch of humor and some dry wit. You know his name, but his description reads, Jack Daniel’s, Southern Comfort, black raspberry liqueur and ABSOLUT Vodka, mixed with sweet & sour and topped with lemon-lime soda. My old friend was a keeper (literally ;) ) and I cherished every moment that I had with him though it was too fleeting, and much much too early that we retired for the night. I did not meet him for a year.

The next time that I met him was at a more exotic locale, if ever Eastern Europe can ever claim to be exotic. In the wide and crowded streets of the Pest half of Budapest, I was there with the next generation of FSAE. And we met again, my old friend and I. The best part of an hour and a half I spent with him, was something else altogether. I thought as I drank the last sip that this might be the end for a while, as I was soon going to be out of college and out of the FSAE team that travels every year. I sighed, and gulped him down, all the while thinking of Jim Morrisson crooning, "This is the end, my friend, the end!".

Fast forward six months and I found myself in an HRC in Hyderabad, chilling with an altogether new crowd. Tom Petty was singin' Free Fallin' in the background while I hunted the menu with a vigor for my old friend, but alas, I was struck by a thunder-thriker-bastard. He was not there, he had disappeared, he was gone forever. And I had to make new friends. Despite my bloated Facebook friends' list, I don't like meeting new people that much anymore, at least people who don't get it. And this new friend didn't get it. I made do with what I had, and left, thinking of that Doors' song, rueing that I didn't get to say a better goodbye...

So, fast forward another 6 months, and I find myself in another HRC, in my adopted (cringe) city of Pune. I walk in and am surprised to get a pleasant reception. And as I pursue my menu again..., and as I pursue the menu again, he's not there. My old friend seems to have left me for the gorgeous Hungarian women and the ridiculously cheap JD at Pest. But I take a deep breath, a leap of faith and I ask the enthusiastic bartender, "Do you have a Southern Rock?".... "Jack Daniels...". He smiles and says "ABSOLUT Vodka and ....". My heart beats faster, my world grows a little brighter and all seems better. I say, yes, yes, you fool, make me one, pronto. And as I wait feverishly for the next two minutes, he pops it in my hand. I say hello to my ol' friend. He smiles back, a gruff smile, reflecting thoughts and memories untold. Though I am dying to take that first sip, I offer it to another old friend that I met by chance that night. Siva takes his sip and the memories take hold of him. I sip that first sip of holy nectar and it feels blissful, it feels like nirvana, it feels like a thunder-thriker-bastard. I tell the bartender, it's perfect. My friends acknowledge gruffly in approval.

This is the end, my friend, the end....