The long awaited weekend arrived again when the flock got together again. Setting aside their myriad chores, bothers, and unique challenges that they faced in each of their lives, this time 19 of us were able to set aside time for yet another rambunctious weekend at Lonavla. We also had yet another new member join us and overnight assimilated into the group as a long lost part that was always meant to be part of the whole. Vijay mane joined us from Abu Dhabi having flown especially for this event.
Also, Vijay didn’t join as well but it was a different one - the one who everyone refers as a round sweet - couldn’t join as he had to attend to a medical emergency and undergo a surgery. He didn’t even let us know in advance he was in a hospital as he didn’t want the group cheer to get diminished during the weekend - such was his fervour to make sure that the spirit doesn’t get affected - he chose to keep it a secret.
Groups arrived separately with the Pune group arriving first in a mammoth vehicle that was helmed by a man who according to some was so careful he competed with the minimum speed on the expressway. Safely brought into the hill station that was seeped with rain and filled with clouds, Pune group got things in place before the rest of the gang arrived and engaged in their favorite pastime of making fun of each other and recalling past incidents and revelling in a night of bacchanalia.
As there were a few rooms - everyone had a chance to relive their hostel days again with our old room partner drink to the gills expressed amazing happiness on being reunited with his hostel room mates of 30 years yore. The night of revellery followed a short night of sleep with the ones who were likely to be creating a sound ruckus through their nostrils and throat relegated to the common room so others could get a quick shut eye before the next morning beckoned.
The indomitable organiser amongst us who has a penchant for mufti shirts and matching footwear and headwear had already organised for meals and the program for next day involved going out and having lunch at a place of our choice to be sponsored by one amongst us.
Vast quantities of drink and food were consumed and we woke up to a Saturday where the heavens had truly opened up and it was raining heavily. We took our vehicles to a nearby picturesque spot and had a great time clicking pictures, eating some hot snacks and having a cup of tea. Some also made reels or were watching others make reels and trying to form core memories for themselves.
Later the CEO amongst the group treated everyone to a scrumptious lunch and then the lady with some royal vibes treated us to dessert on account of one of her daughters birthday.
Saturday evening we had a even more fabulous get together with karaoke being in the spotlight as well as some recorded playlists with our female friends being much more active, experimental on the dance floor. People sang songs, a lot of bhadang was eaten - good prepared by the caretaker was adequate and filled everyone’s stomach that was lined with alcohol amongst the drinkers.
As part of the things we discussed - it was indeed quite a shock to some of us who have been having fun all these years found ourselves discussing the marriage plans of our children and having a mixture of views about the utility of the marital bond in today’s environment and yet despite our experience collectively it seemed as if most people still thought marriage was a good idea and the idea of tolerance and space occupied high relevance in managing relationship complexity.
At the end of Saturday when we already had a great time through the couple of days, some people had a bizarre idea of going to a tea shop to drink and tea - and it was strongly recommended that we don’t take chances going out in the middle of the night among heavy rain.
Eventually everyone slept again and woke up in time to get things in place and started on the journey back home after a quick breakfast.
So - this group is now schedule to meet in November with perhaps a couple of additions who could t make it this time and we are sure to have a blast in November as well celebrating the marriage of one of the first next generation amongst us.
Till then - take care and good bye.
OR
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The rain in Lonavla does not merely fall; it arrives with the weight of unremembered decades, soaking into the red earth and the porous masonry of temporary sanctuaries. It was into this liquid green world that nineteen souls gathered, untethering themselves from the small, domestic tyrannies of their weekdays—the chores, the quiet anxieties, the subtle reckonings of middle age. They came together to perform an ancient, familiar ritual: the deliberate, joyful suspension of time.
There was a fresh thread woven into the tapestry this time. A new Vijay arrived, having crossed oceans and time zones from Abu Dhabi, sliding into the collective intimacy so seamlessly it felt as though he had simply been waiting in the margins all along, an absent piece finally restored to the mosaic.
And then there was the other Vijay—the one affectionately named after a round, syrupy sweet. His absence was a heavy, quiet thing, though he had engineered it to be invisible. Resting from a hernia operation , he had chosen the dignity of silence over the dampening of group cheer. It was a sacrifice of love, a secret kept so that the laughter in the hills might remain untainted by worry.
They arrived in fragments. The Pune contingent came first, conveyed inside a colossal steel beast driven by a man whose devotion to caution was so absolute, so meditative, that he seemed to compete with the absolute minimum speed limit of the expressway. They slipped through the cloud-choked passes, arriving first to warm the cold rooms and initiate the opening movements of the weekend: the merciless, affectionate teasing, the unearthing of old scandals, and the opening of bottles as the night deepened into a gentle bacchanalia.
In the narrow, crowded rooms, thirty years evaporated like morning mist on warm concrete. Men who had shared cramped hostel dormitories in their youth found themselves back in close quarters, drinking to the gills, looking into eyes that held the memories of who they used to be. For the notorious nocturnal noise-makers—those whose throats and nostrils produced rhythmic, thunderous ruckuses—a exile was arranged. They were gently banished to the common room, leaving the rest to snatch brief, quiet sleep before the dawn.
At the center of this orbit was the Indomitable Organizer, a study in sartorial precision with his coordinated mufti shirts, matching shoes, and headwear. He moved through the chaotic joy with quiet efficiency, ensuring that hunger was anticipated and that the grand itinerary—including a sponsored feast—was set in motion.
When Saturday broke, the sky gave way entirely. The monsoon unleashed vast, indiscriminate oceans overhead. Vehicles crept toward a picturesque overlook, where the group stood shivering and laughing under wet umbrellas, consuming hot tea and greasy snacks that tasted like pure comfort against the cold air. Some captured reels; others simply stood still, watching the young-at-heart pose for screens, attempting to freeze the fleeting light into core memories.
Lunch was an extravagant affair, offered with effortless generosity by the group’s resident CEO. Shortly after, as the rain drummed against the windowpanes, dessert arrived courtesy of the lady with the quiet, royal air, celebrating her daughter’s birthday with sweet slices of shared affection.
By Saturday night, the house echoed with the sound of karaoke—imperfect, passionate, and triumphant. The female friends took to the floor with a spontaneous, experimental vigor, their laughter cutting through the recorded playlists. Plates of crunchy bhadang were passed around, and the caretaker’s steady, honest cooking lined stomach walls that had been well-fortified with spirits.
Yet, amid the clinking glasses and chorus lines, a strange, quiet gravity settled over some of the conversations. People who had spent their youth together raising hell suddenly found themselves speaking of their children's upcoming weddings. They dissected the institution of marriage—debating its fragile utility in a modern, hyper-individualized world. Yet, despite their collective scars and accumulated wisdom, the consensus remained tenderly traditional: that marriage was still a leap worth taking, provided one packed enough tolerance and vast, unstructured space into the baggage.
Late into the night, when the warmth of the room had lulled everyone into contentment, a sudden, wild impulse seized a few: a midnight trek through the dark, torrentially raining roads in search of a tea shop. But cooler, wiser heads prevailed, warning against tempting the monsoon in the black of night.
Eventually, sleep claimed them all once more. Morning brought the quiet, efficient routine of packing, a quick final breakfast, and the gentle dispersal back toward their separate lives.
They parted with a date already anchored in the horizon: November. There will be new faces then, old friends who missed this rainy chapter, and a grand new milestone to celebrate—the very first wedding of the next generation. Until the calendar turns and the circle gathers again, the memories will sit like warm tea on a cold afternoon.
OR
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