A Christmas Night at Centre Court

It’s Christmas, and like every middle-class guy trying to feel a little fancy once a year, I decided to step out. Centre Court. 8 PM. With my sister. Now, let me set the stage— I’m not your Gen Z fashion influencer. No ripped jeans, no oversized shirts, no sneakers that cost more than my monthly tuition fee. I’m old-school—basic jeans, polo t-shirt, and an Activa parked outside. But Centre Court? Different world altogether. I’d been here once before—with my teacher, mind you—so I knew it was fancy. But at night? Oh, boy. The place looked like South Bombay met South Delhi, then had a baby who exclusively shops at Zara and only drinks cold brew. Parents and kids? Ultra-modern. Teenagers? Speaking in English like it’s an Olympic event. Everyone? Holding iPhones like it’s their birthright. And me? Just sitting there with my Primavera Pizza and Frappe Latte, wondering if I’d mistakenly walked into a Netflix teen drama. I couldn’t help but look back. Once upon a time, families went to Chowpatty, ate burgers at Sugar and Spice, and felt like royalty. Parents wore simple, kids wore Bata and had spiky hair, and nobody cared about camera angles for Instagram. Now? Parents and kids sit together—but in matching sneakers and coordinated outfits, talking in English like it’s the new Hindi. And here’s the thing—I’m not hating on it. Fashion? Subjective. Makeup? Do what makes you happy. iPhones? Flex away. Buying an iphone is a choice too but we all know how many people are pressurized to buy iphones. But it’s wild to see how fast we’ve changed. Growth is rapid, unapologetic. And somehow, necessary. Driving back home on my Activa, helmet slightly loose because it’s been through years of “adjustments,” I noticed something else— Couples everywhere. On the footpath. Cuddling. Hugging. Cheek-kissing. Right there, in public. And it hit me again—how far we’ve come. From secret love letters to Instagram DMs. From shy glances to public displays of affection. From Sugar and Spice burgers to Primavera pizzas and frappes. I don’t know if it’s right or wrong—maybe it’s neither. Maybe it’s just change. And maybe I’m just a guy on his Activa, trying to make sense of it all—one pizza, one latte, and one Christmas night at a time.