Yash Soni

I still remember fifth grade when I was too young to think about this but ended up thinking anyway. I thought the people around me were the people who would stay with me forever. I thought that this was my wolf pack. I really enjoyed the company of all the people who were a part of it. I was happy. Post summer holidays when school reopened, I was all excited to meet my friends again and tell them stories about my summer vacation and enthusiastically listen to their stories. Life, however, had other plans. A week after school reopened a teacher walks into my class and tells me that I had to shift to another section. That was perhaps my first ever heartbreak! I packed my bag; my best friend was sobbing already. I left my pack. I vowed to have lunch with them every day, spend time with them after classes and all. It never works that way though. After a while, I started to feel out of place. My best friends felt like my ex-best friends. They were living their life, definitely, but I was no

Sitting in the corner, anguished and despaired, I often blame and curse my life for turning me down. But when I listen to you, my whole perspective changes. That I'm crying for nothing and I'm responsible for my situation and not life. That life is not preplanned but my own creation. It is my story and I decide how it should be. You enlighten me in my bad times. You are the true meaning of life. You taught me to steal the moments to make use of the opportunity, to live the fullest. To gain something you have to lose something and when you do lose, you'll gain back too. That's what life is, to be successful you have to work hard, to maintain a relationship you sometimes have to back down. "Kuch paakar khona hai, kuch khokar paana hai Jeevan ka matlab toh aana aur jaana hai Do pal ke jeevan se ek umar churani hai Zindagi aur kuch bhi nahi teri meri kahani hai" In the generation of Taylor Swift's "Love story," I find you, "Pyar Ka Nagma",

"Room number 69?" I asked a half-asleep man at the reception. "Second floor," he mumbled. It was one of the shadiest lodges in town. I had my appointment at 12 AM. Satan's hour as my friend always calls it. 12:04 AM; I knocked on the door of room number 69. I gasped as the door clicked. I stepped inside and locked the door behind me. My friend had set me up with this person. I entered a dimly lit room. 6×4 cot on the left. A bathroom towards the far right. There was a window that faced the main road. TV was on low volume. 2:40 AM; I'm riding back home in an auto, writing my first draft of an experience. An experience that changed my life. Desperate times, desperate measures. From life changing moments to lessons for a lifetime. This was a night that changed my life, completely. 12:07 AM; She lay on her side, absolutely staring at me. She was beautiful! I sat on a chair at an arm’s length from the cot. "Nervous?" she asks. "This is my first tim

The rickshaw wala asked if he could onboard another passenger. Trampling on my hesitant approval, he came sat next to me. Cosied up on a cycle rickshaw as it peddled forward. I think there are no bigger signs for a feeling as ones when we are tentative – the fidgeting, the clamminess, the unpurposeful whistling, the show of looking the other way. – there’s just so much, given away so easily. And I am sure I did too. For I was excessively aware that I was sitting next to an eunuch but more so because of what he asked next. Darr lag rha hai? (Are you scared?) I nodded away – no – managing a nervous half-smile and a plastered silence. But our conversation escalated when he admitted his next sentence – hum bhi toh insaan he hain (We too are humans). I shot a glance at him, at his face. The 14-year old me didn’t know any better. But when I retrospect today, I wonder what would have hurt more – to have someone look at you with un-bargaining denial or with sympathetic acceptance

Tujhse Naraaz Nahi Zindagi is a landmine of life’s wisdom. Despite being tapped into countless number of times, it still has more to offer.  Its layered texture is without the overbearing appendages of pretence. No wonder it is wielded by the pen of Gulzar Saab, one of country’s most aware and prominent literary voices. In its own right this summons life to a center table. And then submits to it. Ensues an engaging conversation that I’ve never had the courage to move away from. For it has often felt a bit too personal when pain is made to sound like a due to be paid. In lieu of life’s grand moments. But isn’t that true? Even without the poetic justice. Come to think of it, don’t we always carry the pain like a tagged baggage? How terribly independent though are our joys, squared up only by infrequent bouts of nostalgia. Barely anybody has spoken about adversity with such poignancy. Life’s hard questions are not innocent whims but Gulzar Saab, a stellar wordsmith, romanticizes pain with

Walks up to the stage, the audience clap. Picks up the mic and starts my set, "Why do we fall?" A loud cheer from the audience. I smiled at them, "I would like to share my story with you. We'll get back to comedy after this, okay? So, a few years back I was sitting in my room, all time books in front of me. I had board exam the next day. I had a breakup the last night. I was shattered. I knew, I was going to fail the exam. I cursed myself for everything. I was at my all-time low." "Some of you might be judging me already, but trust me guys, I was so stupid back then. There was just one question in my mind; Why do we fall? Why do we fall when we know that it's a trap? My grades fell very badly too; I was an above average student until this." "I was a 17-year-old, confused teenager. While all my friends were busy studying, I was trying to figure out life. I wrote the exam next day. Fortunately, I did not fail. I later realized life is simple. We

When I had completed my diploma, my parents made me join a degree college though I was bad in academics. They believed coaching would help improve my grades. The first week of the 6th Semester, my gaze turned towards this girl, and I continued to look at her for a while before I introduced myself to the teacher. Being from an all-boys school, this Engineering college was like a cheat code. But because I was from an all-boys school, I didn't know how to talk to a girl. The guys from class talking to them so effortless, and I was just brainstorming conversation starters in my head. One day, I was the first to solve the problem. That kinda grabbed everyone's attention, and I sat there giving awkward smiles. She smiled at me too, and man, that smile! I was daydreaming about going on brunches with her. Two months passed by and we hadn't spoken anything other than subjects, college, and teachers. It was our mutual friend's birthday, and we all bunked class and went to McDonal

"I've got a long day ahead," he sighed. He checked her last seen. It hadn't changed since yesterday. "Argh!" He sat upright in his bed, pulled his not so long hair and buried his face in the pillow. It was going to be a long, dark, night. Her phone was not reachable; her best friends were not her best friends anymore. Her parents stopped answering his calls long ago. He panicked, he prayed, he hoped that she was safe. His heart beat rhymed with the only other sound, his ticking bed side alarm, set at 5:00 AM. Staring into the void of the night with sudden flashes of her blurry images, he sat in silence. 3:47 AM; His phone screen flashes with her name. Grabs it immediately, "Hello?" "Hello, I'm sorry! Please let me explain..." "Are you okay?" he asked, curiously. "No no, I am totally fine. My phone just died & I couldn't find a charger. I crashed at a colleague's place and left my phone there; I'm sorry..

What do you do when your best friend is crying? There are a few persons whom you never wish to see with tears in their eyes. I attended college as usual. It was a regular Saturday afternoon; the cultural activities were in full swing. More deafening cheers accompanied loud music from the auditorium. I kept calling her from half an hour; she did not answer. She was nowhere to be seen too. I inquired few of our mutual friends if they had seen her around. "She is always with you," said one. "Heard you guys fought," giggled another. "What rubbish ya! They're best friends, they wouldn't have fought," argued a third. I smiled and left the place, still searching. There she was sitting in a corner, engaged busily on her phone. This pissed me off. I walked up to her and said, "Answer your phone." She looked up; her eyes were teary and red. "You crying?" I asked in disbelief. "No," she said. Her voice was thick. "Is it beca

"Look at your nails!" she complained. "How the fuck am I supposed to eat Biryani with a spoon?" I expressed my displeasure. "Stop yelling at me," she demanded. We ate in silence and stood up to leave. She wrapped her arm around mine. I twitched. I pulled my hand away. "You hardly spend time with me these days, and now you're pissed off because I whined about your curry filled nails?" she grumbled. (When I first took up this job, I wondered what it felt like to go on dates during the day. Not that I've never been on dates during the day but getting off the night shift at 5 am on a Saturday morning and being date-ready wasn't my thing.) "I am busy with work on most days, be happy I am at least doing this," I yawned. "I am concerned about your health. You can easily find better jobs," she suggested. I didn't reply. I bought two tickets to Bandra and found a place to sit on the ever-bustling Andheri station. (We us

16.06.15 I'm not one of those who can manage to maintain their diary every night, but today is special. Thanks to A common friend, she convinced me to meet her second best friend (like she termed it when she saw my look). Well, it was her who introduced us, but it was us who had the conversation, a conversation I could never imagine myself in, especially with someone I had just met. I wish I could write the whole talk, but it's too much after a long break I took. To summarize- how it's so difficult to find Biryani without Elaichi, experiences with lizards and cockroaches, weird encounters with aunties in trains, blah blah. I also had a delicious Vadapav, but surprisingly now, I have a faint memory of it. All I remember was, the scooty ride back home, I was smiling. Today is the day; I met Ashini. 17.06.15 Now when I think of it, it's strange, how a foodie doesn't remember the taste a Vadapav, how an introvert decided to meet a stranger and melt in her presence. She

My ring tone dragged me out of sleep. Squinting, I try to see past the burning brightness of my phone. As my tired brain tried to make out the ten digits, I was mentally cursing the person who'd call me this late at night. "Hello," I said, rubbing my eyes. "Hey, did I wake you?" asked a husky voice. I immediately jolted up, not because of its deep tone, but because I knew it all too well. It was the voice with whom I'd spent hours on the phone. It was her voice. "I know it's late. But are you free?" she asked. "Uh..uh.. yeah sure," I stammered. It had been months since we'd spoken. Apparently, exes can't be friends. "I am aware it's been long, but I need to talk to you," she said. Those words immediately brought a smile to my face. Had she been thinking about me? The butterflies came back to life in my stomach. "I know it's selfish of me to talk to you about this, but I didn't know who else to go.&qu

Another rainy day, I was sitting by the window, reading my book, when I heard the knock. I never expected it would be her, at least not right now. "Can I come in?" She asked, and I just nodded. I got her a towel and asked her if she needed a coffee. "Beautiful rainy day, I wouldn't mind a cup of coffee" she smiles. I get her coffee. As I hear her sip, talking to me, I keep looking at her, thinking about all those questions I have been waiting to ask, two years now. Did you miss me? At least initially? Did the other men tell you that you looked good in blue like I did? Did you actually share your ice cream with them, like your Instagram shows? Did you miss the special Maggi I used to make? Did you miss me calling you by your nickname? Do you remember how I used to be while ordering food, all excited? C'mon, you missed that at least. You remember those gifts you got me, that umbrella, on my birthday? I hated the rains always. You loved them. People said opposi

The cold, grey morning of December that you first saw me, I was laden with three layers of unimpressive wool and a silly monkey cap. Yet, you smiled at me, and strangely, it felt more comforting than any sunny spot on that winter day. My cheeks turned red; my soul was perplexed. It felt weird, felt different, felt right. 'Ajeeb daastaan hai yeh, kaha shuru kaha khatam...' You kissed a boy and told me. That made me kiss a girl and tell you. Not exactly the maturest thing to do, but you were clueless and me, young, dumb, and chaotic. What were we supposed to be? Where do we go from there? 'Yeh manzilein hai kaun si, na wo samajh sake na hum...' A long aisle lined with red roses, you on the opposite end with a sparkly ring, the boy who wears fancy leather jackets and no socks on cold winter mornings walking down it and me, on the sidelines, watching. I couldn't interpret my emotions. But then again, when were they ever clear? 'Kisi ka pyaar le kar tum, naya jahan b

Do you ever look back at pictures and wonder? What if time had stood still and I could for once take it slow. I could taste your laughter as though it was the last thing that was still real. Something that was still able to make me feel. If I could hold your gaze like a page in a story, I've read over and over again. A page marked like something worth remembering. If I could know what it would be like to have reality without you. My very first memory of a rose was a dried one. I had for so long thought that's how love is supposed to be, outlived, on the verge of death. Only existing in someone else's story. The next memory of a rose was from a fairytale. It lasted for as long as a curse did. I didn't know what difference there was between my two perceptions. Somehow to me, long gone love seemed like a curse reckoning in our dreams, the news of something awful. The most everlasting memory until today is from a blue door, in an abandoned place, a rose placed by a love tha

 I pour water in the bright red pot, gleaming on the outside, a bit rusty on the inside. Red was always your color. Your wardrobe was literally fifty shades of it. The familiarity and warmth of the color red make me smile as I bring it to boil. “Look for angry water bubbles,” you used to say when you were teaching me how to make tea instead of stacking my kitchen counter with instant coffee sachets. I take out the twin tin containers marked “sugar” & “tea” off the cabinet and carefully put them in, systematically counting the number of teaspoons and measuring the amount in each. “I prefer coffee,” I used to whine but would still let you hold my hand as we put in the sugar, not too much, not too less, surprisingly always the right amount. Then in went the tea leaves, a bit less than I'd like, I always had a taste for intense flavors. But I rarely complained for I knew how much you valued your perfect, daily cup of tea. I then pour in the milk, thinking how I'd never been abl

 One of favourite tales from 3 years ago :') I still remember that tragically beautiful day when I opened the door to your goofy face. You were ten minutes late, as usual. You were carrying your silly orange umbrella, and your hair was wet from the wild, heavenly rain. I put on my new brown sandals even though I knew we were going to come across numerous dirty puddles. Did I tell you I loved how we braved against the ferocious winds, drenched from head to toe but oh, so happy? I won't ever forget the plate of delicious Maggie we shared & the steaming cups of Coffee, under the tip-tap of the rain on that little roof of that warm place. I won't forget the brown of your eyes eyeing the last bite as you sipped your Coffee and your smile when I let you have it. The bus ride home was strangely comforting as the tune of Hindi love blasted through the damp air. “Lag jaa gale ke phir yeh haseen raat ho na ho..." I did not hug you, never had before, but trust me, I really wa

"You still manage to write these cheesy love stories, all so fresh and bright, even after so many years. I'm sure I have been quite inspirational," my friend smirks. "Very much. You're everything I don't want my protagonist to deal with," I respond in haste, casually, but ouch! That must've hurt. She didn't say anything, and I didn't know what to say now. I walk up to the laundry room. She's cussing me in a low, grumbling tone while putting clothes into the washing machine. "I didn't mean any of that," I said. My voice low as my eyes filled with discomfort starred at her. It was a peak summer afternoon, and sweat trickled down her forehead as she checked the pockets of my jeans before dumping it into the machine. "For once, take your wallet out of your goddamn jeans!" She hurled my wallet to me. It missed me. She was a bad shooter. *Phew* But my flying wallet hit the wall and took a tumble or two before landing on

Kahin To Hogi Wo tiptoes into my world, its arrival not adorned with accompaniments. It finds its way in like it was meant to belong here. Long before it talks about a parallel world, I find myself levitating. Summer of 2008, I was a teenager when I first heard this song. Yet nothing seems to have changed in how I, even today, feel about it. I sometimes wonder if that’s a good thing. Evolution must mean that our perception of things change, right? But what do you do when you find yourself at the same juncture as you did all those years ago? Yet that is not the reason why this song has stuck with me for so long. All it took was just this one word to sound the way it did. This one word for which I haven’t yet found a more suitable cousin in another language. This one word that shadows everything else that is going on in the by-lanes. This one word that I make room for almost instantly. This one word - khafa. Jaane na kahan wo duniya hai jaane na wo hai bhi ya nahi jahan meri zindagi mujh

You always had your coffee black, and I always liked mine with full fat and loads of sugar and caramel. That's how different we were, right? As different as our coffees. *sighs* Remember how you always told me at the beginning that I'd eventually start hating you, but I laughed it off then, considering it as some sarcasm you always preferred? Somewhere I knew, it wasn't a joke then, and it surely isn't one now. I always knew we wouldn't last. But a part of me always wanted to take that chance even if there was the minutest possibility of it being true. That's just how I was, right? Dreamy, Optimistic or maybe just in Love? But oh girl, what a ride it was! I hadn't experienced myself like this before. I hadn't smiled this way before. I hadn't cried this way before. It was all so surreal and addictive. So addictive that remembering it even now takes my breath away-Exactly how it felt whenever you touched me. It was magical you know. Everytime your hand

"Tera Yaar Hoon Main" is absolutely delectable in how it doesn’t try to elevate friendship by pitting it against love. It first quietly establishes that both can co-exist and then, just how it should be done, goes on to celebrate friendship with great aplomb. Insecurity in friendships is a universal phenomenon, which is why this song strikes such a chord, but instead of conveniently spewing hate against love, it goes back to the drawing board, back to its very basics. It walks through the old by-lanes with nostalgia running high in its veins. The first hi-five, the first secret, the first act of sharing, the first fit of laughter – long before friendship becomes this school of unwitting selflessness, so much of it is about the little nothings. The moments that you bring together in the universe, so exclusively yours, nobody ever will live it the same way. "Aaja ladein phir khilono ke liye Tu jeete main haar jaaun Aaja karein phir wohi shararatein Tu bhaage main maar khaa

"Kal Ho Naa Ho" tries to tell us that we don’t have time – a lesson that we possibly learn only once in a lifetime but conveniently forget every day. It measures the spectrum end-to-end, from "chaav" to "dhoop" just to ask us to not rely on second chances to experience first-hand emotions. And in driving this message home, it places under the microscope, feelings that are perhaps the most universal in nature – love and regrets. Simply because it knows that to experience one is to experience another. It moves away from the belief that love can just be a product of circumstances. Love needs effort and it needs it every day. This song yearns to do the right thing and that is to learn how to fight for love because if love is not worth putting up a struggle for, then what is? But, this song, just like it knows when to hold on, also knows when to let go. Even if it has to be with the eyes brimming and the heart, full. And that’s my favourite part about the sad,

1 AM Arijit is crooning ‘Bedard thi, zindagi, bedard hai..’ as I take a drag and smile at the irony of Kamil’s lyrics. "Rahman and Kamil are the perfect combos, Yash, and they always get me high!" You used to tell me, and I often wondered how you’d feel if I said to you that I was high on you. 2 AM I realize it’s been eight months since we last talked. Honestly, the passing time hasn’t been that difficult. Most days are perfectly normal. Good, even. But every once in a while, comes a day that is the exact opposite. The day I miss you like maybe Rahman misses his Piano or Tendulkar misses his bat. Perhaps this is nostalgia. Or perhaps I am just lonely. I don’t know what this is. I just know that maybe I still love you. 3 AM I am reading our old chats. I sometimes wonder who this guy was. How is he so happy! Goofy pictures, poor jokes, cheesy songs, intense poetry, and, most importantly, that warm feeling of home. Maybe that’s what you were. Home! 4 AM And vulnerability is neve

Baksha gunaho ko Sun ke duwao ko Rabba pyaar hai Tune sab ko hi de diya… ...writes lyricist Irshad Kamil. And that is truly the premise from where all the strength, all the rebellion in this song stems from – just a simple belief that no matter what, love is for everyone, that it exists for everybody. The heart, naive, gives into this at once acceding to its own confirmation bias. So when it is wronged, all hell breaks loose. And "Aaj Din Chadheya" carries the baggage of that. Of all the times a prayer wasn’t heard. That is why the plea that sounds insistent at best turns defiant at once. It speaks to God directly asking for some accountability, a fair justification? The challenge in its voice – almost battle ready – doesn’t worry about how it sounds. Yet, I am certain "Aaj Din Chadheya" is a conversation in private, probably in the dark of the night too but most likely on paper. For it is impressively potent. Its protest is so powerful, it ropes you in. Its purpose

"Call me foolish, but I still believe in happy endings and fairy tales," I smiled. "Happy endings, fairy tales. It's so ironic, isn't it?" she mocked. "Life taught me to look at the brighter side of things," I countered. "Let's not get into an argument," she stood up to leave. "You're leaving?" I inquire. "My local is at 7:45. It's 7:37 already," she hurried. 7:43 PM; Overcrowded platform I looked around, but couldn't find her amongst the heavy crowd. *Announcement regarding the train* I could hear the faint honking of the local from a distance, people around me became more alert now. The train slowly arrived and halted. Commuters got on and off the train. I kept searching, but in vain. The train starts to move, it picks up speed gradually, and it's gone. Pin drop silence for the next few minutes. "And I woke up," I tell the psychiatrist. "I am sure you can narrate better thrillers,&q

It was an oddly rainy day, I tore the last page from my book, made a paper boat scribbled my name on it and watched as it found its way slowly yet steadily towards yours. In a moment we were laughing. The trees rustled as if, it was laughing at the fate of us. You won't remember my sound and I'll forget the way my name stayed at the rim of your lips holding onto its life. The endless messages that passed will settle itself onto the distance between us like a wandering searching for a home. The love we once had will become a tourist home, you will wonder why you could never make anyone stay and I will think about all the ways why I can't leave. The photograph of ours will hide amongst the bookshelf, maybe you will look at it, and feel the sun pouring and its warmth in our smiles and the forever locked in our breaths and a love that stayed within our hearts. Years from now the butterflies in your stomach won't flutter as it used to when someone calls my name and the firef

Ever wondered why the world seems to exaggerate romance like it's the best thing that has happened to mankind? Be it the countless movies glorifying the act of falling or being in love with the number of romance writers who make the singles feel almost miserable. There are perhaps thousands of songs about love too. Put the numbers aside and just imagine how many people depend upon this whole idea to earn their livelihood! Maybe love is literally in the air. It's all around us. Sometimes to the extent that it's choking us, all. This beautiful feeling is often accompanied by setbacks, disappointments, challenges, etc. And it's not like 'When the going gets tough, the tough get going.' People who have experienced heartbreaks or have been cheated on or fall out of love never tend to go all out in public. Why? When you were in a relationship, you are proud of your partner, you're happy. You'd post pictures with them, of them, and let the whole world know what

Dear You, My hands tremble as I write this to you because I feel too shy to talk to you directly. Even though I have written so much about you, talking to you directly still gets butterflies in my stomach. You have always had this magical impact on me. It's unreal. But there are still a few things I'd like to talk to you about on this drunken night. Turning you into poetry is probably the stupidest thing I have done. Please don't get me wrong, this is not about whether you deserved it or not. It's just that I have romanticized you as a muse for so long that every other person I meet now seems so ordinary and worthless. I keep finding pieces of you in others. Someone smiles a bit like you; someone is finicky about timing as you were and so on. But no one is even close to what you have been…and that's so wrong, isn't it? I don't even know if this is real or not. The lines between reality and fiction have blurred in my head to the extent that I keep quest

The first week of college; New place, new faces, awkward first conversations, silent observations. We were asked to register for something called 'The most promising fresher.' Our seniors judged us on our communication skills and talent. In the first round of the screening process, I was asked to give a creative introduction about myself followed by a talent round. A lot of people sang, danced and even beatboxed. I wasn't that kind of a person who'd enter a room and boom their greetings. I finished my short intro. "What's your talent?" someone from the judges asked. "I can write," I replied. They didn't seem impressed. I was interrupted, "Can you narrate a story?" "My stories are kind of big, but I'll try to be brief..." I was interrupted again, "We don't have much time, do you have any other talents?" "No," I replied. "Thank you. Who's next?" I felt dejected. The list of students

The air feels too heavy right now. There are unsaid goodbyes and dreams suspended here. One side there is a chorus of cries and songs being sung for their bravery. Another side there is a deafening silence. Emptiness, grief, pain, and loss collide with each other. Nothing happy is born out of this tragedy, just the remnants of bodies and blood! There are no winners or survivors here. This is a plain cesspool of tragedies. Somewhere in the background, a distinct war cry can be heard. A six-year daughter was waiting for her dad to come home and sing for him the national anthem that she learned in her music class. Somewhere at a home, a mother cradles photographs and memories of her son. She remembers singing him brave songs as lullabies and reminisces fighting with him to come back home. Somewhere a newlywed wife instead of draping sindoor wears white but all she can see is blood and loss. There is a red rose pinned to her dupatta. She places it gently on what remains of him. It

You still cry about someone who left you for someone else, Who doesn't think of you anymore. It's been a year that he broke your heart. But you still couldn't talk about it; you tremble when someone enquires about it, You little girl, you dared to push someone out of your life whom you loved with all your heart. You didn't give him the chance to destroy you anymore emotionally. You're wise enough to sense that he is not the one for you even if you've loved him for a few years now. You deserve someone who will treat you the way you treat every important person in your life. Someone who will travel half the world just to see your eyes. You deserve someone who loves books as much as you do, Who plays tennis as much you do, Who will be ready to travel 20 kms at 1 am to drink masala chai with you. You deserve someone who won't give excuses or beg for second chances. You deserve a man who calls you his queen and not a guy who keeps switching betwee