"I Lost Myself, Loving Her" (002)

 

Chapter 2 - Winter Whispers and Unbreakable Bonds

It was a chilly December morning in 2022. The cold wind kissed my face as I slowly opened my eyes, feeling an unexplainable warmth in my heart. There was no specific reason for my happiness; it was just one of those mornings where everything felt right. I was grateful—for life, for art, for my parents, for the little moments, and for the upcoming events that awaited me. I had always loved winters; though rainy days had their own charm, there was something about the crisp, cold air that made winter my favorite season.

With a smile on my face, I got up from my bed, stretched my arms, and hummed a love song as I walked toward the bathroom. The echo of my voice mixed with the sound of running water as I showered, lost in the feeling of love—love for life, for the beauty around me. My mind wandered between melodies and moments, painting my morning with warmth despite the cold.

Once freshened up, I got ready for the gym and headed toward Popo’s house. Popo—Shubham—wasn’t just my best friend; he was my brother from another mother. We had been inseparable since school, sharing countless memories filled with laughter, mischief, and support. Even after school, our paths remained connected. While he had joined his family business, being Sindhi and all, I had continued my education, pursuing a bachelor’s degree in commerce with a focus on banking. Despite our different journeys, our bond remained as strong as ever.

As I reached Popo’s house, I found him curled up in his bed, lost in his dreams. A faint smile played on his lips, as if he were dreaming of some magical angel caressing his hair. I couldn't help but burst into laughter at the sight of him, looking so peaceful yet so ridiculous at the same time. His mother, who had come to check on him, smiled at me and said, “Yash, wake him up and take him to the gym. He got home at 12:30 last night and didn't sleep until 2:30.”

I shook my head with a smirk. “Popo, oye Popo! Get up, man! It’s already 7:30! We were supposed to be at the gym by now. What were you even doing so late last night?”

Popo groaned, turning to the other side like he had been in hibernation for months. His mother sighed and looked at me knowingly. “You try waking him up. He never listens to me.”

I smirked, took a deep breath, and shouted, “POPPO! Get up, or I swear I’ll leave without you!”

His eyes fluttered open, filled with sleep as if he had been lost in another realm. He grumbled, rubbed his face, and slowly dragged himself out of bed. Meanwhile, his mother handed me a cup of tea, the kind I loved the most. She always took care of me as if I were her own son. In their house, I never felt like an outsider; I was family. They included me in their celebrations, their happiness, their sorrows. Popo’s mother, especially, made sure I felt at home. She would prepare kachalu, a traditional Sindhi dish that I absolutely adored, just for me.

As I sipped the warm tea, feeling the love in every sip, I silently thanked the universe for giving me a brother like Popo and a second mother who cared for me just like my own. Some bonds in life are not made by blood, but by love, by time, by moments shared—and this was one of them.

A Journey Through Winter Streets

We finally left Popo’s house, and he hopped onto my Activa. The cold winter air wrapped around us as we rode through the quiet streets of Miraj. The city looked beautiful in winter, its roads and gallis draped in the early morning mist. We passed by sleeping street dogs curled up in the middle of the road, a newspaper boy balancing an entire world of news on his fragile bicycle, tossing papers at doorsteps with perfect precision. The milk delivery boy moved from house to house, carrying kittles filled with fresh milk.

Popo suddenly turned toward me and grinned. “Let’s stop for tea.”

Tea—my weakness, my favorite thing in the world. I rarely said no to tea because I believed it wasn’t just about the drink—it was about the moments shared. Tea had a way of making time pause, allowing us to connect with our loved ones, with our thoughts, and with ourselves.

Sipping our tea by the roadside, we let the warmth seep into our cold hands. This was our time—to talk, to laugh, to reflect. The tea always had a way of sparking ideas, making conversations more meaningful. Once the last sip was taken, it was as if our minds had been refreshed, ready to take on the day.

The Gym, Laughter, and Simran

We reached the gym, as we did every day. The first thing we did was check our weight—an unspoken tradition. I chuckled as I saw mine: 86 kg. “Look at this, Popo! I gain a kilo every day just to lose it again!”

We laughed, swiped our fingerprints at the biometric scanner, and removed our jackets. As I turned around, I saw her.

Simran.

She stood there with a playful yet annoyed expression on her face. That angry, sweet smile of hers—it had the power to both melt and break me. Simran wasn’t just a friend; she was my favorite person, the best part of my life. She was pure-hearted, someone who wished well for even her enemies. Her smile could heal wounds I never spoke about. Her voice, warm and familiar, had the power to soothe every frustration, every ache. We hadn’t met in school or college but in a vocational institute, where fate had decided to make our paths cross.

Simran was a panda—both in size and heart. She was chubby but the cutest person I knew. Her cheeks were like plush toys, her tiny nose made her expressions even more adorable, and her eyes twinkled with mischief. Her hairstyle was always my favorite, no matter how she changed it. Her hands were small, soft, and reminded me of a baby’s. She had this incredible ability to turn even the most critical situations into moments of laughter.

She was intelligent—so intelligent that she had won the Student of the Year award at our institute. There was always a sweet competition between us, pushing each other to do better. She was someone who carried the burdens of her friends, trying to solve their problems as if they were her own. With me, she was both mature and childlike at the same time.

As I watched her lift 2.5 kg dumbbells with a determined expression, I burst into laughter. Simran—who weighed almost 95 kg—working on biceps with such light weights, was a sight to behold. But that was her charm.

We worked out, laughed, and stayed at the gym until it closed at 10 a.m. Before heading home, we grabbed another cup of tea—this time, black tea with lemon. The road back was filled with playful teasing, joking with strangers, and enjoying our own company. With Popo, I never needed anyone else; we were enough to keep each other entertained.

A New Journey Awaits

After breakfast, I sat down with my father to discuss upcoming events. Being an artist, I had earned a world record for sketching 111 Akshar Ganesha drawings in an hour. My father mentioned an event in Udaipur, Rajasthan.

A city of lakes, a city of Marwari heritage. My first visit there.

As he spoke, my mind drifted to one of my favorite moments from Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani—the scene where Naina tells Bunny at the fort of sunset, "Jitna bhi try karlo Bunny, puri life mein kuch na kuch toh chootega hi. Toh jaha ho, wahi ka maza lete hai na?"

A smile spread across my face. I couldn’t wait to share this with Simran.

“I’m going to Rajasthan, Udaipur…”

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