Tonight, J and I tried out Athena and Merlot in Koregaon Park.
Because a harried Sunday needs to end with something slightly despondent and intrinsically beautiful – like a tear, perhaps, or a last embrace on the beach. Sometimes a day’s epitaph must be written in elegiac form, in ink, in a foreign language, in entirety. Sometimes, you must end a day seated under an open sky, among dancing flames of candles and lanterns, amidst perfectly curled leaves floating on glassy water on granite. Sometimes, you must end a Sunday gingerly twirling the fragile stem of a glass. Sometimes, you must end a Sunday dipping skewers of fruits in a pot of melted chocolate and then giggling over drops that fall on your gleaming white plate. Sometimes, you must end a Sunday opening your heart carving ham glazed in orange sauce. Sometimes you must end a week in an impulse dipping the meat in chocolate and squealing with surprised ecstasy the taste brings.
Sometimes that’s how you end a Sunday – with a fine pour of wine and some chocolate over swine.