Humans, by nature are sluts for nostalgia. They seek it, chase it, create it and then try to recreate it constantly. We’re just wired like that. A beautiful white shirt I own recently tore around the collar button and even though the tailor sewed it up, its not the same, it never will be and neither will my life, nothing ever shall.

If you think I’m being dramatic, you’re damn right I’m being dramatic. The drama this shirt has seen demands it. I’m not overreacting, I’m reacting. Losing that shirt is like losing a part of my life that was quintessentially bittersweet and every time I wore that it was sweet.

I’ll explain why: Lets begin with the fact that I looked good in it. Really, really good.

Exhibit A –
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Let’s start from the beginning. It’s Feb 2010. First Saree/Tie day in engineering college. I’ve just turned 18 and lost a shit ton of weight. I need a formal shirt that does justice to my newly acquired physique. I go to fountain, find this ridiculously nice looking pristine white shirt on the street for 80 bucks. I buy it. Little do I know then that this white shirt will see so many things change – my hairline, relationships, everything I hold dear.

Here’s some photos from that saree day:
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There’s also this one, which is slightly more important that the others. Some things happened that day that may not have if I’d worn a different shirt.
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SO yeah, thus began my love affair with this shirt. I wore it a few more times in college. Great days through dark times, great days as sweet as the last:

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I know what you’re thinking – “Did he just write this blogpost to share his pictures?” NO. I continued to have good times in this shirt. In final year, I had my first job interview. Of course I wore this shirt. I work at that company now. The guy who took my interview in college that day is my boss.
I’ve done stand up in this shirt too. I mean, why would I not?
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And then, I presented my research paper at Victoria University in this shirt.

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The last time I wore this shirt was in a hotel room. Another spectacular day. But you’ve seen too many pictures of me and I’ve made my point.

There may never be another shirt like that. There may never be raunchy moments like those again. Pessimism and nostalgia make for a depressing conflict of interests.

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