A Sunday Tragedy: The Mutton That Got Away

It was supposed to be a glorious day—the aroma of kudal kulambu wafting through the kitchen, the slow simmer of thala curry promising an indulgent feast. But fate had other plans, crueler than the last over of a nail-biting cricket match.

I woke up with dreams of mutton-drenched happiness, only to realize my first mistake—getting up at 9:30 AM. Rookie error. The moment I stepped into the mutton shop, it felt like I had wandered into a battlefield where all the warriors had already claimed their prizes. “Sold out, ma’am,” the butcher said, delivering the death blow.

The heartbreak. The devastation. The injustice! Was I not meant to enjoy my Sunday? Was I being punished for snoozing one extra time? While the city celebrated their mutton-filled plates, I stood with nothing but disappointment and… fish. Yes, fish. A humble 200-rupee consolation prize.

So, I begrudgingly pivoted. Instead of the rich, intense flavors of goat meat, I found solace in meen kulambu and murungai keerai pirattal. It was delicious, no doubt—but my heart was still loyal to the mutton that never was.

Sundays are sinful for one reason—every meat-loving soul lines up at dawn, ensuring that anyone who dares to sleep in is left scrambling for scraps. Lesson learned. Next time, I’ll be there before sunrise, armed and ready.

Until then, I mourn my lost mutton and embrace the fish fate handed me.