Turning 25 and a half is a bitch – II

This is, apparently, the second part to what looks like a series. Totally unplanned. Like the first hangover movie. They didn’t know then that they were going to make a sequel. So they couldn’t name it Hangover – 1. But two just happened. This is my second hangover. In two days.

We lost two in one week. One to a surprise engagement in Kolhapur and another, to a pre-engagement announcement. We paid our respects in the city of Gaavran chicken and the Mahalakshmi Temple and then road-tripped to Vegas (Hotel in Mahabaleshwar) and gambled and drank our small moneys away. That relief, however, was only temporary as we came to a realisation during the car journey back.

We realised that we are in the stag-est phase of our lives. Complete nadness for us 25 and a half-ers. Us constitutes two other friends of mine who were born just a month either side of October – my birth month.

We are like our birthdays. We are almost exactly the same. Indifferent, lethargic homeboys of average smarts who seem contented after having reached the heights of mediocrity. We are far away from mainstream. One is waiting for Ms Right because she’s wrong in so many ways; the second in rehabilitation from a success of 20-day relationships; and the third is in mourning. We are still living in the now, while we see all the women around us scouting for future potential.  Yes, we’ll chat a girl up every now and then, feed them some bullshit and they’ll bite. But sooner or later they’ll realise we’re just beetle juice and spit us right out. We are on either sides of the commitment fence and ridiculously unattractive to the fairer sex at this moment. Even more than before. One look at us and the women are hitched, bored or extremely ambitious. Thus leaving us tweeners out in the grey. 

Our lives are completely colourless. Drab and undecorated like a bachelor pad. We’ve stopped watching movies in theatres because guys just don’t do that with other guys. We’re on a steep cultural decline. We have money but no inclination. Also most times, we are swatted away by popular bars for the embarrassing shortage of women folk. So we drown our sorrows in cheap alcohol served by the shady bars that have ‘Family sections’. Another realisation that I came across while swatting mosquitoes and sipping beer at Radha – a trucker’s bar on the highway off Balewadi. Every night is a boy’s night out.

But the boys are slowly dwindling. They’re biting the dust one by one. We lost two in one week and we’re down to three. It’s time to rev up the engine. Pull up our socks. Get unstuck and start making our way towards the bus. Or… just write more blogs.