Glory Days

We raided their well-stocked kitchen almost every weekend. It was a food haven for us-the ever starved hostel inhabitants.

We spent countless weekends chit-chatting the lady while admiring her gorgeous collection of chiffons and pearls.

We sneaked into the man’s cigar smelling den and pored over his extraordinary collection of books.

We sat in front of their exquisite art collection, the creative, modern pieces that adorned the walls of their beautiful duplex and played the guessing game- ‘what the heck is this painting telling us?

We lounged next to the oversized bay windows of their spacious home admiring the majestic Arabian Sea, the skyline of the city beckoning us, firing up our aspirations and dreams.

We watched movies after movies over brownies and munchies, treating their home as if it was ours.

We stole drives in the lady’s small Maruti 800 all the way up to Nariman Point in the wee hours of the morning. While most of the world slept, we reveled in our youthful exuberance.

We ventured out onto their tiny balcony to steal cigarette puffs and play drinking games.

We were the first ones to show up at their son’s fantastic parties, dancing and singing to every song, eyeing handsome boys flirtatiously and having a time of our life.

We spent numerous evenings listening to the man engage in profound, philosophical yet delightful conversations that made us wonder about the complexities of life.

We enjoyed life to a hilt, without a care in the world. We were unstoppable. We seized every moment, every opportunity that came along our way. We were free-spirited, laid back and uncomplicated.

And thanks to this man and his wife for adding that extra zing to our carefree existence.