Chitchatting random strangers

It’s the first Sunday of the last month in 2017. December is the time we step into party mood, yay! It got me thinking how we have become technology ridden mortals who lost the art of a good conversation.  We prefer to deck our head deep on phone gadgets while sipping coffee rather than smiling to a plain stranger for some chit-chat.

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 The truth is we have lost on so many counts, whether calling a friend or randomly walking to a chick at the bus stop to exchange Hi. Wait! It doesn't need to be a chick or dude for some playful flirting but just exchanging some good vibes or asking someone out for coffee. It may look weird, for sure to ask a stranger out. It whittles down to fear, social construct and the blockage shit we put inside the wired brain or for that matter, our own communication skills.

 Guilty as charged. I am doling out gyaan here but will be the last person to converse randomly with someone in a public place. It makes me wonder how the routine and stressful world of slogging the ass and moral values fetters us to believe in the stupid crap that has turned us into robots. We are the product of a failed system, read faulty education or religious values. 

 There is the fear of rejection and sometimes it's fun to be turned down. Repeat it a second time and be prepared to be ignored. And, the third occasion, revel in the fun of someone's reluctance to speak to you. But, challenge yourself and walk to some stranger to be ready to face rejection. Stoke up the conversation and be human. Yeah! Right!

 Just be yourself if you want to impress this chick sitting at the next table or standing at the bus stop. You don't need to be a dude lying indecently to impress someone. Hey! Everyone carries a mobile nowadays and gone are the days of not wearing a wristwatch! Just smile and say Hi. Behave in a normal fashion and just speak in a casual manner over almost anything under the sun. Be creative and don't go overboard. We are humans who appreciate people who don't try too hard to be themselves.

 Time doesn't wait for anyone. Heard it and done this. But, we are trapped in the so-called busy humdrum of life and have exaggerated this adage which is detrimental to our mental sanity and balance.  In this entire process, we are forgetting how to live life and enjoying every moment whether it’s gazing at the stars, watching people who trudge happily or indulging in joyful moments.  Dare to stop for a while, breath free and talk to people, not technology. Stop being such enslaved beings but be a happy soul. It doesn't cost a single rupee to be this mindful soul who shed all barriers and clutter.  

We are more fearful about the others perception of us rather than what we think of ourselves.  It leads to a low self-esteem that prevents us from growing and deter us to do daredevil acts, be a fun-loving sport and approach someone with confidence. It is something which is holding us back and the mental block of the conservative society which perpetuates our thinking which we have internalized within. We need to get out of this comfort zone which is destroying our soul.  

Joining a club or volunteering for social work is a good opportunity to meet and discover new like-minded people to hit it off. Often, new relationships can kick-start by working for a common cause if you are too shy and it doesn’t harm in greeting a plain stranger at the jogging park.

Remove every blockage in the mind and reach out to people to overcome the burden that you may have carried or accumulated from the past and flush them out in the drainage.

Ciao

Vishal

Burden lost to smiles

Dark alley,

Serenaded by a line up of muddy thatched and bamboo structures,

lesser humans call it home,

feeble light surfacing,

cattles grazing on burnt grasses,

peasant life,

cut off from modernity,

and humdrum of city life,

dwellers squatting on mud,

under the roof of jamoon trees,

wrinkled faces,

children drenched in a pool of mud,

clothes slapped on hardened stones,

aspirations lost in translation,

nursing wounds of destiny,

no modesty to wear on the sleeve,

rummaging through the barren soil,

to feed hungry stomachs,

cooing of birds in the night,

a humble lullaby to the ear,

timid smiles and grins hiding pain,

unburdened by guilt,

happiness is heavy barter to trade for.

 

Flash Fiction: A letter (imaginative) to an ex-lover

Dear ex-Love

Ain’t wishing you a heart attack! I know you have moved to greener pasture with your new boyfriend...I stalked you last night, not on Facebook or Whatsapp...nah! I am that desperate you know. Followed both of you in the crowded mall wearing Santa Claus get up and saw you guys holding hands and smooching.

The ex-looks like that after reading/https://images.gr-assets.com/hostedimages/1464714649ra/19268106.gif

It would be such a lie to pretend I am the new maju Dabbang version of not getting heartburn. See, I was seething with jealousy and my face went red the moment you glowed pink. I didn’t check my face in the mirror, though! Feel like Arvind Kejriwal when Modiji won Delhi and that moment pierced my heart.

Now, who sends letter to an ex by post office? I am the one doing that and feel exactly like you are finding me, a certified jerk. Cut the crap, will you! I am not asking that both of us should let bygones be gones and get together after all the fracas and stupid fight. I am not drowning myself in alcohol...Devdas is passé and was such a chutiya. You know na way hotter and sizzling options in the world. You see, babe, it’s such a toughie and I may end up being single for the rest of my life...so much to chose and I am one-man-woman. I mean, I asked you out since there was no option...the sex was ahem! ahem! okayish, I’d say. I am not a terrific kisser, so are you...dunno why you breathed heavily during the act as if inflicted by some malady.

Idea! Yes! Tube light moment right now. I think your virus has hit my nerve...amnesia you see. The gifts, quite expensive you see, branded perfumes, lingerie, wristwatch, lipstick you left in my house. Wait did you leave it or gave it back? You wanted to fling all of them on my face right. I give you an offer...too tempting to refuse! The gifts...super expensive ...I burnt my pocket yet they have resale value next to zero on the market...can’t even get a Jockey brief if I sell all of them. 

So, why don’t you fucking come over and pick them up! I am just being self-deprecatory and since I cannot recover a single penny spent, you can always burn them or give it to some homes...that too, I ain’t sure people will accept since donations in kind might be illegal. Waise bhi with the entire notebandi by Modi-ji you can just send it to his doorstep as revenge for not being able to change your 1000 notes. Are you standing in an ATM queue? I feel for you babe and it cannot beat the joy of seeing you sweating...you hate doing that na!

Trust me, honey, it’s the perfect revenge for me to see you sweat and dripping on your flawless skin. I did the last time and stopped the car, halted the traffic and the cop gave me a challan...was fucking slapped twice for halting the traffic.  But, all good for nothing beats the sadistic pleasure to watch you sweat and nurse the tears.

Planning to tear this love letter and curse me? You can always keep it for posterity when you in a mood to kick balls.

Ciao

Your now ex-lover

 

Flash fiction: The last local

The railway station was packed with commuters storming to catch the last local train at 1.40 a.m. It lashed heavily in the Mumbai outskirt on that night and the station wore a chaotic look with people scampering in all directions to hop on the last train. Water has choked the entire track and percolated to the surface.

There was not a single local train that could be spotted and worried faces longing for the last local raised a hue and cry at the station and barricaded the railway officers who stood like silent spectators wearing a blank facial expression. A young man in his late 20s abandoned all hopes and slouched on the empty bench with his head deck on a huge bag.

The fan on the tin roof ceiling slowly whirred to life. He chased off the flies hovering above his head and sucking blood on his skin with his hand. Water tapped on the tin roof. He fell asleep on the bench and bore no distraction by the whining voices, wail of a baby and loud steps running heavily on the stairs. The man slept peacefully on the bench. The old clock fixed on the ceiling was on the verge to strike 2 a.m.  

Voice whispers were heard behind the snoring shadow that propelled him to leap on his feet. The station was suddenly deserted.  A couple of railway and army officers stared at him and tried hard to conceal smiles. He was hesitant in his tone, “What happened?”

The officers looked at each other and said, “The rain has put you to sleep like a lullaby sang to a child. The last local came immediately after you dozed off and already left the station. There was so much noise and some people tried to wake you up but to no avail.”

He felt stupid and cursed himself. He didn’t have any choice but to wait until the morning. The officer gave him a cup of tea in a glass and he gulped it. He sat on the lone bench and watched at the empty railway track.

With love

Vishal

Farway destination

A faraway destination,

a smile hidden behind the tiny dot of stars,

 morning mist,

 blue sky,

 emerald stone,

 where shall we ever find you?

Stop laughing at us,

mourning at your disappearance,

 powerful memories,

 the times we laughed, sang and boozed together,

 the voice that vividly pierces the ear,

 still vivid even today,

 a feeling that you never left,

you are here forever,

now tell it to them,

send a sign from the sky,

throw a paper chit,

burst crackers in the middle of the night,

for they think it's hallucination,

 smile like a maniac,

 you always do that,

 man! that powerful gaze,

 strut the feet,

drop of tears,

your unique way to make the presence felt,

what's happening in the sky?

 nah! you shall give no answer!

 one day we shall tinkle glasses together,

 dance and make merry in the sky,

 till then buddy,

 listen to this rant with a smile

Love

Vishal

Clipped wings

Image credit: https://i.pinimg.com

Clipped wings,

Caged pigeons,

desire to soar in the sky,

a quest for happiness,

borderless language,

of love and friendship,

to reach heightened destination,

admiring the city’s skyscrapers,

nestled and bundled under the roof,

gaping at the seas and sky,

crazy city life,

a populace constantly on the move,

flying may just be a dream for the fluttered wings,

white,

yellow and

black pigeons,

only one emotion,

an empathic heart,

a quest for freedom enjoyed by humans,

bizarre men and women,

imprisoned in their thoughts,

come and free us,

they implored,

we belong to the skies and stars,

free your mind

Love

Vishal

 

Love shot: A silly date

Love shot: A silly date

“What a silly date,” she loquaciously tells. I smile and wink to conceal my awkwardness. She persists, “No! I am serious. Guys lack the spine to be creative by calling for a plain coffee date. I hate coming to meet over coffee.”

“Still you came,” I playfully say.

Image credit: ttps://i.pinimg.com

“Obvio...I was bored sitting home alone on a Sunday and gorging over pizza on Netflix,” she smirks.
I gaze at her pink skirt and was amused looking at the matching shoes.

“What are you looking at? You are lusting at my shoes,” she catches me off guard.

“Nah! I am looking at your pink colored lipstick,” I blurt out.

“Simple. I am not Aishwarya Rai wearing Purple at Cannes,” she lashes out.

I am drawn to the spicy words flowing from her mouth effortlessly. She pouts venom rather than saccharine. “I love that?”

“Stop lusting and be bold. You wanna smooch,” she pulls the last one. She wades effortlessly and her leg is pressed on mine. I am shaken off the ground and feel a rush of electricity running down my body. Our lips are cupped together and my hand running over her bare back and naked shoulder. She presses her lip. I am whacked on the mouth.

“Baby! Time to leave. I never expected the first date to end like that,” she seductively flits on her legs and picks up her Gucci bag.

I call out, “Hey! Phone number.”

She turns back, “I have yours. As it is, just not interested in another silly coffee date. Find something better next time. I will call you when my day is not happening.

I am too stunned to speak. A second cup of silly cappuccino is ordered and the sea breeze wafts flutters my unkempt hair at Chowpatty. 

Someone nudges me from the back and turn around to see a hot female flashing a smile. The feminine voice soothingly says, “I’ve been waiting inside and thought you would never turn out.” I am confused. The short hair woman plonks herself, “Your whatsapp date...oh! you having the cappuccino.”

“Silly coffee. I prefer a latte on this not-so-silly date,” she guffaws.

“Now, who is she?” I wonder. “Who was the one I kissed?”

Love

Vishal

Fiction: Quaint cafe, rebel and the teenage girl

Inside the quaint cafe nestled in the old time sloppy rural village, the coffee brewed hot inside the black ceramic mug. The traditional cafe shop gave a wide angular view of the mountain, hills and bumpy road where smoke was lit and blew in the wooden space frequented by poets, writers, and rebels hiding from the cops to plan their next move. 

 The wooden table plonked on the mud outside was in a rustled state and munched by termites.  A lone cutting figure sporting an unkempt beard and long hair walked through and sat on the stool. He rolled the tobacco leaves on his rough palm and expertly filled it inside the transparent wrapper. The couple tightly holding to each other squeezing each other in the unchartered zone, a beggar asking for alms, gun totting men marching on the road separated by the forest and the pretty young thing wading sensually in the blood dress showing her cleavage occupied the quiet village life. He was unfazed by the distractions.

 He remained unaffected and smoked the joint, flipping the newspaper and uncorked the miniature bottle of imported whisky cupping the liquor on his lip. The young man admired the mountain’s edge and hilly slope with a smile that lit his face with subdued joy.

 A sudden rush shook him off the reverie. Bundles of bags were placed on the decrepit and shambled table. A svelte young woman pushed her braid and long hair with her flawless hand almost stumbled on the stool facing him. ‘What the fuck?” He couldn’t believe that someone just made him feel like a displaced human in his own world. The table was covered with fresh food package, mint, chocolate, garments and lipstick. 

 Placing a cigarette on the cusp of his lip, the young man lashed angrily at the pretty young thing dressed in blue denim and a white shirt. She unbuttoned the shirt and winked at him, using her charm to unearth what lies inside his mind. He remained unaffected to the coquettish gaze of the teenage girl verging on the steps of adulthood. “Don’t be rude. I traveled a long distance to follow you, my love,” she sensually said. She was caressing her shirt on top and slid her finger inside to press her breast.

 Bang! In the flicker of second, his eyes preened like a statue on her voluptuous boobs and she swiftly removed the gun and one shot point blank on his forehead.  She walked calmly out of the cafe and disappeared. The most fearful rebel to the British colony lost the war. They were celebrating his end. The British invaders chased him for a year and the trap laid by their soldiers was unsuccessful since he put a modicum of disguise. The teenage girl unabashedly used her womanly charm to bring him down.

Love
Vishal

Flash Fiction: Adios Amigo

I stare at the ceiling fan and furtively bob the black eyes, right, left, up and down. No, I ain’t practice asanas. The furious barking of dogs, a cat yelping in pain and tiger growling in the dark forest slowly rings an echo in the ear. I am breathing profusely and gaze fixing the yellow cream coated painting on the wall. 

The room went dark and the light off. My stomach is churning and growling. I move and squat on the bed in a yogic position. A shadow seeps slowly behind me and pops out of nowhere. I am sweating and almost shrieked with fear. I go numb and the voice is lost to the sight of the mighty round body with a protruded belly hiding secrets surfacing in front of me. 

The fan whirs back to life like a lost pup finding its way after wriggling the monsters in the dark forest. Light shone on his face. I become sibilant watching the yellow tube light. He is me. His face is black. I am fair. I am thin. He is fat. The icy cold face stares at me as if I am a hardened criminal. He wore no expression. I go blank at my own version.  

“Who are you?” I balk.

He is dumb and numb. A coarse voice thunders, “Your reflection.” I wonder there is no mirror.

“Identity,” the terse human says.

He goes into silent mode for seconds and minutes. I am getting pissed.

The silence is broken. At least. “You are me. I am your voice of truth. I am the demon. I am the angel. Your savior,” he calmly says. 

A shadow enters my house in the night and I am compelled to listen to lesson doled at this odd hour. I am fuming but cannot move an inch away from the bed. A strange force has imprisoned me and fettered me on the bed. There is no chain but a strange fear. I cannot move at all.

He winks mischievously as if laughing at my misery. “You are still not listening and just being a hyper fool. There is nothing that you can do. Loosen up and chill. Understand why you are here and I have come to visit. Face the demons. I am you.”

I see butterflies, flowers and stars in the sky. Is it this what he means by loosening up? I slacken my grip on the body. He broke into a shrieking laughter, “See you soon. Be a good boy. Adios Amigo.”

A shrill laugh broke inside the room. An ear-splitting sound almost deafened me like a balloon cracking into tiny pieces.  He disappears out of the room like a fly.

 

Flash fictio: Barren love in the wild forest

Barren love in the wild forest

Soaked winter leaves and mound of muddy patch jutted deep down the trench at the root of the huge tree. The window blew with force that the leaves were thrust upward at jet speed and flung past the huge trees and forest.  The sun glittered and faded away behind the vast mountains and lakes. It started showering in the dead city.

The silence was spooky, narrating the tale of ghosts romancing each other and witnessed two naked souls making love inside the muddy water. The bodies melted to the fury of human emotions and jealousy hit the wild forest like a tornado swirling its force to protest.  Nature lost its power and glory that night.

In the morning, two dead souls were lifted from the unfrequented and dense forest, far away from the bustling city life. Two icy cold bodies twirled inside each other and stuck like the wooden toys ensconced into a whole and hardened particle. The emotions were real. In the world of humans, it’s called honor killing for daring to live and rebel against the established caste supremacy. A grandmother’s tale scarred the innocent children and a fear instilled in their minds not showing the courage to fall in love. They were not allowed to dream but their intensity and passion gained wings, oblivious to the ruthless forces. The day love died when all limits were transgressed.

The bodies were splashed inside the vast sea that bore no anger but turned violent and stormy, shedding tears. The sea would never stay silent after that except on the night to mourn the lovers. Humans behaved like vile ghouls and lacked nature’s empathy. The most dangerous tigers, wolves, and dogs went into hibernation and slept like children as if the lovers sang a lullaby to them. The dense tree foliage wore a colorless shade at the surfacing of the moon’s crescent and the bushes lost its sheen in the dark.

Nature and animals have a heart that can teach humans something about limitless love and compassion.  The forests, lakes, and rivers cried for the two lovers they welcomed in their abode. The parents were made of stone in the name of honor blinding their visions. Don’t they say, a stone can cry? Every shred of stone sitting inside the forest cried on that day. They lost their faith in love which was just a name. Perhaps, a fear raged inside the trees whose root stood tall and survived the storms over decades, animals charmed by a gentle human touch and caress, the seas and rivers that flow smoothly on a lucky day.

Everyone cried for two innocent lives. Loving without holding themselves was a crime to humans whose minds were trapped in the dark. Nobody ever visited the forest, except those two. Now, no one will. It will remain barren which tore the heart of its populace.

With love

Vishal

 

Fiction: A smoke to light

 A smoke to light

The light wore a dim shade. The room was eerily dark. He sat on the bed inside the hotel room and popped open the scotch bottle with his teeth as the alcohol wafted through his nostril. He took a long breath and lay on the bed, pouring a large peg. 

The alcohol swirled on the palate of his tongue and guzzled inside his throat to flow inside his belly. He felt a rush of warm sensation spurting inside the body that helped him overcome the icy cold winter that paralyzed his entire body. 

The room was silent. He was enjoying the moments of solace with the alcohol for company and switched off his mobile. After gulping three pegs of his favorite Scotch, he felt dizzy and reached out for his cigarette pack. He exuded relief. There was only one stick of Wills left in the box.

He ruffled through the table filled with papers and but the match box has mysteriously disappeared. 

After turning everything upside down in the room, he was resigned to his fate and slouched on the soft bed, caressing the mattress, longing for a smoke and intimate passion. There was none today.

Cursing his destiny, he rested his head on the white bed pillow and blinked the eyes, imagining the next erotic story that haunted his mind. ‘But how’, he wondered. ‘There is no one for company and can’t even feel the dirty twist and moves. Even there is no smoke to fire the brain,’ he whined.

In the flick of minutes, he choked and felt an unknown force pressing his chest that could explode at any time. He struggled with the invisible force running the legs up and down his chest, flipping on face and ear. Soft music played. A long black skirt dropped and the flawless skin crawled on his stomach, bending seductively to the cusp of his lip with a knife, she whispered in a sensual voice, “Why you need a smoke, baby? Light me up. I am the fire. Perish in my flame.”

Love

Vishal

Flash fiction: Lone woman and the teddy bear

The station was packed like tiny eggs huddling for space and pushing to adjust in the small boxes. The profused sweat could be treated like a new home made deo flung on the market as shoulders brushed past each other in a randomly hairy and skin touching invisible affair.

A sensual hand pushed the hair tress falling on her icy face like a brush stroke back and looped around to wriggle her way among the bustling crowd at the Chatrapati Shivaji Terminus in Mumbai. She furtively cast a glance and shot a menacing gaze at the leering men around her, knobbed her palm in a fist to attack. A dabbang woman, she had her huge soft toy for company as she pushed people to make way in between as if they are some thick bushes to plonk herself in the last seat in the men compartment.

The train slowly chugged away from CST station. She was fixing the crowd on the road, roaring to activity, taxis and buses stormed like devils spouting fire, and the people going berserk to run against time. 

She broke up with her guy after seven years and felt triumphant for calling him off. A ditch is the last thing she ever wanted to fall into. There was no goodbye tear or pleading him to leave his wife. She sat cross-legged and stared at the crowd that didn’t intimidate her.  It was a mystery to her that she sat among a horde of sweating men and whose shoulders occupied the space on the seat and almost crumpled her. She felt no pain or awkwardness.  

A young college kid traipsed inside and held on to the handle on the roof, wearing a tired look. She offered her seat to him but he pretended to ignore him. "Oye! Kid! Don't show so much attitude. I am not some despo woman hitting on you or some bhabhi hungry for sex. Dekh tu bacha hai. Sit! I can stand. Just because I am woman, doesn't mean that I need a favor from the world in the local train. You are so mild mannered and rude...someone is speaking to you and can't even acknowledge her."

The young man looked around and peeped through the window as the train zoomed ahead of the slums and decrepit buildings where children were prancing around the mound of mud.  She was tired calling this boy who seemed to be carried deep down in a trance-like world.

She fell asleep and was swayed by the whistle of the train and the windy breeze that felt like a lullaby. Growing voices stirred her and she rubbed her eyes with her hand. The college boy has disappeared. She looked around but there was no one traveling with her in the wagon that zipped at the speed of light.

The invisible voices laughed and shrieked, teased her on her reluctance to leave her flesh and the body shot at gunpoint by her boyfriend inside the train. 'You knew too much, baby,' the invisible voices roared. She clutched to her lone friend, the soft teddy bear and watched the last shred in her life get away like the local train moving past the huge trees, earth, and human populace to enter a dark tunnel. Her eyeballs popped out and travelled to the tune of the train dangling in the air. 

The end

Parch of emotions

Parch of emotions,

pigeons flocking with ruffled feathers,

morning cooing,

melodious lullaby to the ears,

fluttered branches,

dry season,

windy conversation,

turn a new leaf,

it's no imagination,

sensual feet interlocked under the white sheet,

the naked caress,

like soft furs.

human flesh is no crumpled paper,

stain of blood,

the rebel march,

to satiate hunger,

wipe dust of caste, gender, and class,

destroy the lies,

break the shackles.

a long way to freedom of mind,

pick a berry,

oppression everywhere,

sex,

women,

men,

the paddy field hiding the sinful and lusty bodies,

don't douse the flame.

till every oppressor is exterminated.

Love

V

A decade of Jab We Met, slice of joy and cherished affair

A decade of fun, love, free birds, unlimited craziness and timelessness can make you feel old as you look back suddenly realizing how time has flitted to soar in the sky. Like the brush of windy winter, Geet seeped into our lives and her innocence captured our hearts and imagination. Hard to believe that it’s been a decade when Imtiaz Ali’s Jab We Met (JWB) gave us so much unadulterated joy and happiness.



A carefree soul and longing to explore life as a student in Mumbai when the magic of Jab We Met hit me in places and like many, I was head over heels in love with Geet. One of my favorite if not the one, the ‘mein apni favourite hatke girl made us dream of love, dating or being in a relationship with someone like her who is like the Mumbai local trains, bak bak, and dhak dhak.

At that time, I was in a relationship with someone that was going nowhere and it almost hit my head on the wall since we were in a switch on and off mode. I so wanted Geet to be like her. She was in a way my ‘Geet’.  It was a Saturday evening lazing around in the hostel at Churchgate when I suddenly decided to catch Jab We Met at Eros, the typical theatre that brought so much joy sitting in the balcony seat for 60 bucks and munching samosas at a time when the virus of multiplexes just started.

Thanks to the small mercies of life that it was just the start of the plex era which didn’t go into the destructive spree of killing the small joy and fun of watching movies in a typical theatre during those days.

 

The audience laughed at the crazy jokes and Geet’s innocence mouthing, ‘Bachpan se hi naa mujhe shaadi karne ke bahat craze hai’. The taalis and seethis made the memory of JWB a resonating affair, captured by the mind, soul and heart. There is so much that Geet has taught us in life. Live with wild abandon and indulge in things in a very innocent manner to explore your inner side. You are never too late or old to have fun, be it plunging in deep water, pursuing the passion left midway or never say no to love. I always say it, Life deserves another chance. We don’t owe it to anyone but to ourselves. Close the eyes, fall in love again and get into a brand new relationship for it doesn’t matter how much you suffered in the previous one.

Be stupid. Yes, I love Geet’s philosophy and approach to life where she slowly takes Aditya’s hand to teach him the basic lessons that he has either forgotten or the ruthless society imposed to harden him like a stone. There are many Adityas in this world and we need just one Geet to remind us about the simple and basic facts of not taking load, de-clutter or free ourselves. Life is too short for us not to make the most of every moment, right.





Bury the past with a smile or flush this picture that hurts you the most. That’s Geet and you cannot stop yourself from being smitten with her. The smile, attitude and innocence that Kareena injects into the character make her breath Geet in every single frame of the movie. Of course, the vision of Imtiaz Ali makes us relate to the characters that have carved a special place in our hearts.

As a character, Aditya is underrated and it’s fine that many find him boring but there is no denying the fact that he is endearing.  He is humble, gentle, brooding but genuine. Shahid Kapoor injected his personal touch in constructing Aditya Kashyap, perhaps his boy next door image made the character believable and the vulnerability quotient lent a unique charm in fleshing it. What I love about Aditya is that he hides his emotions and there is a certain jealousy that makes him hate his mother for leaving her Dad. But, hey! That’s what love is all about. Geet tells him that his Mom was in love and teaches us that all is well when we are in love. There is no justification of good or bad. It’s the only thing that should matter to us. ‘Jab koi pyar mein hota hai toh koi sahi galat nahin hota.’

The scene at Hotel Decent-how can we forget it-‘train mein mila...item’ and what expression of the hotel owner. In the film, Geet undergoes a transformation where she almost converted into a nun but then love has its own way of finding you. The new and changed Aditya comes to rescue her at the right moment plus the icing on cake, the gaali to Anshuman that makes it epic.

Love yourself first. There is nothing wrong with that. Geet says it unabashedly and yet it doesn’t make her selfish for she is a totally free, kickass and independent woman who goes out of her way to help a random stranger in the train. ‘Mein Khud ki favorite hoon’ is all about taking care of the self and about having a huge self-esteem. It’s pure love and not vanity. Always follow your heart and the crowd doesn’t define you as echoed by Geet’s multi-faceted personality for she never lived a life of lies and leaves everything in the pursuit of love. Do not let the world define who we are and what we become or else, it means living someone’s else life.

Jab We Met redefined urban relationships on the silver screen and sashayed in our lives by portraying the down-to-earth characters. It was not just a film but a journey, not shying away from narrating the philosophy of life. Imtiaz Ali taught us how to live life to the fullest and of course, Geet is the dream girlfriend that we would all love to have. The movie has brought back so many fresh memories where it explored the various shades of relationships that make it a timeless affair to cherish.

Love
Vishal