Final Episodes

D. is getting married. Somewhere in the first week of February. I am not aware of the exact date. D. never was very good with exact dates. The man possesses the dubious tendency of communicating approximate dates. He once did that with the arrival time of his flight and as a result, drove my habitually nervous father to report him as a missing person to the police. The details are not relevant. For that fact, the astute reader will also discern that this post and this whole blog in general is not exactly dripping relevance. At the end of the day however, hardly anything drips it. The point is that those details are not relevant to this irrelevant post. The bigger point is that D. is getting married.

There is an aura of finality around the whole occasion. D. was the last standing symbol for an era gone by. An era of dirty socks, frustration with the system, drinking binges, aimless wandering, amusing boredom, undying faith in the power of kulfi-falooda, laughing with the rain, late night football matches, the unending search for the perfect tandoori chicken, and possibilities. Those days will now be finally packed and unceremoniously consigned to the recesses of a few rebukes from G. and the dusty corners of some rarely narrated anectodes.

Henceforth, D. and I will probably meet once every few years and update each other of the disappointments which inevitably accompany the arrival of the desired. Apart from that, D. will follow his determined path and I mine. Such is time.

Tags: nostalgia, India, falooda