June 24, 2012

Missed a wedding, missing it bad

"The best laid schemes of mice and men, often go awry..."  John Steinbeck, you were so right when you wrote that. As per the original plan, I should have been dancing myself wet now. You dance yourself wet when you dance like a maniac, so hard that you start dripping sweat. Also, you dance yourself wet when you dance like a maniac, so bad that people throw cold water on you. Well, there are maniacs, and then there are maniacs. Ugh... Where am I going with this?!

Right now, I should have been in Balco, the place where I grew up, spent the first 17 years of my life. Tonight, one of my beloved friends—and a classmate from my school—marries another friend, who, too, is our classmate. Friend marries friend in the town where we all grew up, from infants to adults. Many of our school-wale friends are there. I too should have been there, dancing in the baraat, like a maniac... Dancing myself wet.

It was four years ago that I last danced in a baraat. Those were the days when I used to run four-six km every morning. Running that long (we used to run pretty fast, non-stop) never made me perspire as much as dancing on that 300-m distance from our home to the wedding point did. That was my brother's wedding, the first in our generation. Today, too, is my brother's wedding, the first in our friend circle. I should have been there, man.

I would have been there. I even had the train ticket booked. I was to reach Balco three days before the wedding, on the day of his engagement. My train journey would have started from Bangalore and a friend was to join me in the train in Hyderabad. From then, the next few days were to be all about friends, friends, friends and friends. My brothers. I love them.

I had such grand plans... To roam in the township like the loafer I had become in class XII. To sit on the pulia (roadside cement bench) and do nothing, which seals one's loaferdom in Balco. To visit my school, of course. Fielding around the house of the girl, a classmate, who had stolen my heart and then sold it in black market (over-dramatisation regretted). To have lassi at Madhuban, dosa at Indian Coffee House, gupchup at thelas. Oh, man! It has been four years since I last visited Balco.

I had called up all our school friends who are working in other cities and threatened them to come to Balco to attend the wedding. I threatened some, blackmailed some (told him that I would tell his mom about his affair if he did not come.. hehe) and managed to convince all of them to come. And it turned out that I myself could not go.

If there was ever an opportunity to meet all friends in Balco, this was it. This, ladies and gentlemen, this was it. But I'm not there. Man, this work-related majboori. GRRRRRR...

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