You know one of those weekends when tragedy strikes? The kind of tragedy that you have nightmares about, the kind of tragedy that’s predestined, the kind of tragedy over which you have no control. It’s like being in a second class compartment of a C’gate-Virar local. Once you somehow manage to get in, you surrender to your destiny. You have no option but to live with the push and the shove, go along the direction of the crowd, get out only when you are allowed to. There is no turning back and there is no looking back. It’s unidirectional.
This weekend was something that movies are made of, bestsellers are created and hundreds of sitcom episodes are churned out; this weekend was about looking back till we could no longer remember what childhood was all about; this weekend was about drowning ourselves in sorrow and alcohol till we could block out the harsh realities; this weekend was about looking towards the heaven and asking God, “why God why are you doing this to us?”
JDs and Talisker Single Malts notwithstanding, this weekend was depressing and the haze just refuses to go away.
This weekend was about turning thirty…