Though the only disco in town had been unceremoniously shut down (“So much of nonsense happens when people get drunk,” as I was informed by a sternly smiling cop who was posted outside the closed doors. “Our people don’t know when to stop unlike you people from outside.” I wanted to tell him that he couldn’t be more way off, at least about me.) but not much dent had been made on the gaiety all around me. Alcohol, like in every State in the country where it is officially banned, was freely available here too. “What do you have?” I asked the chap behind the counter of a shop right in the centre of the town. “What do you want?” He asked me. Then, these shops mostly pander to the needs of the tourist – the Naga still loves his native drink. Each time I invited uncle to join me for a drink he came with his own bottle of rice beer. And it took much (drunken) cajoling to make the younger lot to join me in the case of Foster’s that I bought at the rock concert venue at a sky high price – they were already high on their local brew.