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Showing posts with the label yashiism

To Baburao Ganpatrao Apte

To Baburao Ganpatrao Apte, There's something about you that left an indelible laughter in my mind ever since the first time I saw you on screen. Wait, do you understand you are no comedian or joker. You are an alcoholic, debt stricken bloke always swaying to and fro between Raju's cunning mind and Shyam's righteous attitude. You affirmed your seniority everywhere but you never made any sense to me or anyone out there. Tenants need to pay their rent. You get it right? On my off days, when I see your unadulterated smile it bewilders me - I mean how can this man live with such conviction and ease. What about his isolated life? His debts? These questions linger on my mind. It's not okay to be unambitious and surrender to your fate but when life doesn't give you 'Star Fisheries', you can always show some content in your dilapidated 'Star Garage'. Your innocent gullibility, incorruptibility and rustic lunacy bought chuckles. Well, you need to learn that Sh

Tujhe Kitna Chahne Lage Hum...

There comes a phase in our life, where neither can we hold feelings, nor can we let it go. We hopelessly love them without any expectations, without any condition, and even knowing they won't love you back, you still love them holding all the broken pieces of your heart. 'Tujhe Kitna Chahne Lage', is a song that directly holds the feeling we always want to express but we can't. And every time the songs plays randomly from our playlist, we all just feel the song immensely, holding the feelings out, which were graved deep inside our heart. // दिल का दरिया बह ही गया... राहों में यूँ जो तू मिल गया // It's not easy to love someone who we know won't love us back ever, where this song is a struggle between heart and mind, and how difficult is it to hold onto the feelings and even its not easy to let it go and move on. This song best represents the unrequited love, the unsaid emotions, and a broken heart. // वक्त ने है किया हम पे कैसा सितम... तुम भी बेज़ार हो, बर्बाद है

Clichés Are Good Sometimes

Seven Months Ago: "Excuse me? There's no space under the umbrella!" "Hey! I'm sorry. Could you please walk me over to the bus shelter over there?" "You can keep it. I don't mind getting drenched." "No, no. This is your umbrella. I am prone to catching the flu real quick, and the rain was unexpected." "I insist you keep it," I jogged down the path. Present Day: Seven months ago, when I saw her for the first time who would've imagined me falling head over heels for this woman. So much so that the only way I could move on in life after her moving out of my life was to take the extreme millennial step- Blocking her. Life is strange. It makes you meet people you can never un-meet. Sadly, she probably would've boarded her flight, but I am hopeful that driving, rather unsafely, to the airport would bear my heart all that guilt of not bidding her a 'good' goodbye. And oh, yes! The gift. What would I do keeping it any

My Head's Above The Rain And Roses

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

Room Number 69?

"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

No Time For "Transphobia"!

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

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

Everybody has a story. This is my story, what's yours?

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

The "Pehla Nasha" Phase

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

He panicked, He prayed, He hoped that she was safe!

"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?

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

Bandra-Churchgate Slow!

"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

Biryani without Elaichi

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

I wish for a happy ending this time!

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

I watch her walk away, without an urge to stop her...

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

Ajeeb daastaan hai yeh, kaha shuru kaha khatam...

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?

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

Lag jaa gale, ke phir yeh, haseen raat ho na ho...

 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're not that great a writer!

"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...

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