2024: The Year That Didn’t Happen

If 2024 were a movie, it would be titled "The Great Anticipation", a Pune-based drama where the credits roll before the story begins. We began the year with grand plans and lofty ambitions. Spoiler alert: none of them happened.

First, the Royal Carribean cruise. Oh, the cruise! An 8-night Mediterranean escape that turned into an 8-month-long lament over $92 loss on refund per ticket. Somewhere, Poseidon is laughing at us while sipping a mocktail and eating hummus. The Mediterranean called, but we ghosted.

Next up, the Nandan Prospera stair climb. A two-story ascent, unassisted, was to be Alka's Everest. Alas, Everest remained unscaled, and the stairs remained... stairs. They looked daunting every day, like the Sphinx daring us to answer its riddle.

The culinary dream of chicken curry and rice cooked entirely by Alka? The chicken stayed in the freezer, the rice stayed in the jar, and we stayed hungry for that unrealised milestone. I swear the chicken chuckled each time we opened the fridge.

The saree blouse? Even with assistance, it eluded us like a slippery eel. Every time we tried, it felt like solving a Rubik's cube blindfolded. I’m convinced sarees were designed as a cosmic joke to humble my poor wife who broke into tears at not being able to drape her favourite clothing which she used to do a Zillion times ever wince she became an adult. 

And oh, the spoon. That tiny, defiant utensil. Alka's left fingers refused to cooperate, like disgruntled employees on strike. Every attempt felt like negotiating with stubborn toddlers who simply won’t budge.

We tried divine intervention, of course. A total of Eight pujas, fourteen gurujis, and enough haldi, vermilion fruit and milk to rival an Indian veggie wedding. The gods must be crazy—or deaf. Ultimatums were issued. “Deliver a miracle or face a watery exile from our home!” They called our bluff.

Every physio session brought new hope. It didn’t happen. Physio became the mythical phoenix we could never summon from the ashes of our intentions.

As the year closed, we realised 2023 wasn’t our last Christmas in mental and physical detention. But here’s the thing: even a year of "didn't happen" is still a year lived.

Hope is our unwritten sequel, and 2025? Oh, it will happen.