AS children, we would tantalise the drunken soul, despite their rude response predicting mature damnation. We did so despite the fact that eventually, some of us, too, would later stagger and stumble from the safety of some drinking facility after summoning the tempting alcoholic spirits, bottled and promoted with auspicious marketing auras to satisfy our then entertainment needs.

Our wrestling with the trappings of adulthood and becoming familiar with the guardians of adult vices entices and celebrates the locations where manhood and womanhood are summoned to form acquaintances. And we forget the childhood amusements, when we mocked souls enveloped by alcohol, a spirit that knows none, nor respects any class, nor human social clique.

I recall arriving at the conclusion, as a younger man, about what might be going on with the ‘Daru posse.’ We were younger and sailing in respect to most things. This was, at that time, some 30-odd years ago, a popular liquor restaurant—Cassiram—on James Street, Albouystown. A few of us questioned, observed, and watched from the northern side of James Street as men waltzed to real oldies, some with glasses in their hands. Others embraced imaginary partners. Some seemed to be crying as they sang the lyrics to popular melodies. None of us, the onlookers, could determine what was transpiring.

It took years to understand that these men were trapped in the past, possibly the best time of their lives, taken to re-experience that period on a sea of alcoholic intoxication. This is a habit that captures souls in the realm of fond memories, yet is dangerous to the probable present.

In retrospect, today, even with productive ideas that can empower many of us, looking at our age group across the world—and realising that 30 years ago, when that mature, intoxicated crew mystified us—we then lacked the information to understand what that permanent memory lane translated to.

It took a conversation with my wife about the article to recognise the limitations of celebrating local skills within an inheritance of a colonial structure, which has also held ground since post-independence, fighting to sustain an obviously decadent worldview.

It’s not now difficult to understand why so many of our better talents, whom we mainly encounter on social media platforms. They don’t lie—it’s a dog-eat-dog world. But home isn’t ready yet.

In closing, I can only feel the pain of the ‘Daru posse’ of yesteryear and strive to work with greater recognition to transform our little world.