6.“It’s... So-So”

As Yash and I walked down the street, I spotted my younger brother Kartik approaching the school, flanked by his friends. I raised an eyebrow and called out, "Kartik, what are you doing here?"

Kartik looked up, a bit sheepish. "Going to school. What else?"

I grabbed him by the collar and gave him a stern look. "School started 30 minutes ago. If you don't tell me why you're late, I might just have to punch you."

Kartik squirmed, trying to wriggle free. "If you punch me, I'm telling Mom!"

I couldn't help but smirk. "Oh, really? And what are you going to tell Mom? That I found you here with your friends instead of being at school?"

Kartik's eyes widened, a mix of panic and resignation. "Sorry, sorry! I'm late because I went to my friend's house to call them," Kartik stammered, clearly flustered. I released my grip on his collar and sighed. "Go on then. Get to school before you're any later."

He quickly pulled out some money and handed it to me. "Mom said to buy some vegetables—get whatever you like." Without waiting for a response, he bolted off with his friends, leaving me holding the cash.

I stared at the money, puzzled. 'Why didn't Mom just buy the vegetables herself? Anyway, it's not a big deal,' I thought. I shrugged and turned to Yash. "Let's go."

He nodded, and we walked toward the vegetable shop. The afternoon sun was warm on our backs as we made our way through the bustling streets. The shop was lively, with vendors calling out their prices and customers haggling for the best deals.

We picked out some fresh vegetables, with Yash offering suggestions and making light conversation. The interaction felt oddly comforting, a pleasant break from the usual routine.

After buying the vegetables, we continued our walk home. The bags were a tangible reminder of the simple, everyday tasks that anchored us to the present. As we neared our buildings, Yash turned towards his, giving me a casual wave. "See you later, Hari."

"Yeah, see you," I replied, returning the wave with a smile.

I continued toward my building, feeling a mix of relief and satisfaction. The afternoon sun cast long shadows on the pavement, and the day's routine seemed to settle into a comfortable rhythm.

As I reached the entrance of our building, I made my way up the familiar, worn-out stairs. Each step echoed softly, a rhythmic reminder of the countless times I'd walked these same stairs. When I reached my apartment, I pressed the doorbell and waited for the familiar chime. After a moment, the door creaked open, and Grandma stood there with a warm smile.

"Come inside," she said, her voice as comforting as always.

I nodded, slipped off my shoes, and stepped inside. The aroma of home-cooked food and the slight hint of incense greeted me, a nostalgic embrace. In the living room, Grandpa sat on the sofa, absorbed in a television show. He looked up as I entered.

"Mauli, you're back," he said with a nod.

"Yes, Ajoba," I replied, walking over to hand Grandma the bag of vegetables.

I then walked towards the table, unburdening myself of my school bag and pulling out my tiffin. I moved towards the kitchen where Mom was busy with her work. As I approached the kitchen, As I placed the tiffin near the sink, I started to head toward the bathroom, eager to freshen up.

"Stop there, Hari, for a minute," Mom's voice called out, stopping me in my tracks.

I turned around, slightly puzzled. Her tone was gentle but firm, a reminder of her authority mixed with care. Mom walked over to my tiffin, opened it, and a look of surprise crossed her face. "Hari, you finished all the bitter melon. This is a first!"

I waved a hand dismissively and said, "Nah, it wasn't me. My friend ate it."

Mom's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "How many times have I told you that bitter melon is good for your health? If your friend ate it, what did you have?"

I shrugged and replied, "She gave me her lunch, and she ate mine."

Before Mom could respond, Grandma shuffled over, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh ho, a girl, is it? Looks like Mauli has already found himself a Rukmini!"

I turned to her, slightly exasperated. "Seriously, Aji? You're teasing me. It's nothing like that. I don't have time for those things."

Mom chimed in, her tone light but knowing. "Everyone says that at first, but things change."

Rolling my eyes at their teasing, I made my way to the bathroom. The cool splash of water on my face felt refreshing, washing away the residue of the day. I scrubbed my hands and feet, drying them with a towel.

Returning to the living room, I quickly changed out of my school uniform and into comfortable casual clothes. The transition from the structured school day to the relaxed comfort of home was always welcome.

I sank into the sofa next to Grandpa, feeling the familiar sense of calm that came with being at home. The gentle hum of the television and the comforting presence of my family created a haven of peace. I looked around, appreciating the simple, grounding moments that made up my everyday life.

As the afternoon waned, the house fell into a serene lull. Mom and Grandma settled into their afternoon routine, preparing for their nap while the TV played softly. When it was time, Mom switched off the television, and soon, the house was filled with the gentle sounds of their breathing.

I got up from the sofa and moved toward the table, picking up my school bag. Settling on the floor, I spread out my books and began tackling my homework. The task was straightforward, and within thirty minutes, I had completed everything. With a sense of satisfaction, I packed my bag and placed it back on the table.

Glancing around, I saw everyone still nestled in their afternoon slumber. I let out a soft sigh and decided to spend some time in the gallery. Walking there, I felt the coolness of the floor beneath my feet, a stark contrast to the warmth outside.

The afternoon sun bathed the city in golden light, and the sky above was a canvas of clear blue. I stood there, letting my thoughts drift, considering the future and the steps I needed to take. The peaceful atmosphere of the gallery provided a perfect backdrop for reflection.

As the clock ticked towards 4 PM, the sky began its slow transformation, the colors shifting to soft oranges and pinks. Reluctantly, I headed back inside. Everyone was still peacefully asleep.

I sighed quietly, feeling a sudden craving for tea. Making my way to the kitchen, I began the comforting ritual of preparing tea. The familiar aroma of brewing leaves and the rhythmic sound of the kettle whistling created a sense of calm.

As I prepared the tea, the sweet aroma began to fill the kitchen, its warmth mixing with the comforting scent of spices. The enticing smell soon reached Mom, stirring her from her nap. She hurried into the kitchen, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"What on earth are you doing, Hari?" she asked, her tone a mix of surprise and concern.

With a playful smile, I looked up from the kettle and said, "Making tea."

Mom raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "Do you even know how to make it?"

I shrugged, still smiling. "Of course I do. That's why I'm making it. Come over and try some."

I poured the tea into a cup, its golden-brown hue glowing in the soft kitchen light. Mom approached hesitantly, taking the cup from my hands. She sipped carefully, her eyes lighting up with genuine delight.

"This is really good," she said, her smile widening.

I grinned, pleased by her reaction. "I told you so."

I poured myself a cup and left the kitchen, cup in hand. Settling onto the sofa in the hall, I took a sip of the tea, savoring the rich, soothing flavor. The tea was just the right blend of strong and sweet, providing a perfect counterpoint to the soft, fading light of the afternoon.

After finishing my tea, I rose from the sofa, feeling refreshed. The quiet of the house and the warmth of the tea had provided a moment of peaceful solitude. I made my way to the kitchen, carefully placing my empty cup in the sink.

"Mom, I'm heading out," I said, glancing at her as she prepared a snack.

"Okay," she replied, looking up briefly. "But don't wander around too much. Come home early."

I nodded in acknowledgment, appreciating her concern. As I approached the door, I opened it and stepped outside, the cool evening air brushing against my face. I took a moment to adjust my shoes, tying the laces with practiced ease before starting down the stairs.

The path from my building to Yash's was familiar, a route I'd walked countless times. The late evening light cast a warm, golden hue over the neighborhood, with shadows stretching long across the pavement. Each step felt lighter as I moved through the streets, the rhythmic sound of my footsteps mingling with the distant hum of the city.

Reaching the gate of my building, I turned towards Yash's place, a sense of anticipation building as I approached. The journey, though routine, was a comforting ritual, a transition from the quietude of home to the liveliness of meeting a friend.

As I walked, the bustling energy of the neighborhood began to pick up, I breathed in the familiar scents of the city—freshly cut grass, the faint aroma of street food, and the ever-present undertones of urban life.

After walking for a while, I finally arrived at Yash's building. Standing in the parking area, I glanced up at his apartment gallery, my voice cutting through the evening air. "Hey, Yash! Yash!"

Yash appeared at the railing, looking down with a mix of irritation and curiosity. "Why the hell are you shouting my name and disturbing everyone? Can't you just come up and press the doorbell? Anyway, what's up?"

I shrugged, grinning up at him. "Let's go for a stroll around. It's a nice evening."

Yash sighed but didn't resist. "Okay, okay, I'm coming down."

As he disappeared from view, I waited by the building's entrance, my gaze wandering over the parking area. The late afternoon light was beginning to fade, casting a soft glow over the surroundings. The air was crisp, carrying with it the faint sounds of the city settling into the evening routine.

The quiet hum of distant traffic and the occasional chirp of evening birds created a peaceful backdrop. I felt a sense of anticipation and relaxation as I stood there, looking forward to spending some time outside.

After a few minutes, I saw Yash making his way down from the building, a familiar look of casual discontent on his face that quickly softened into a more relaxed demeanor. As he joined me, I could tell he was ready to let go of any annoyance and enjoy the evening.

"Ready to go?" I asked, falling into step beside him as we headed out.

Yash nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, let's see where the evening takes us."

With that, we began our walk, the city's evening lights starting to flicker on around us. The streets were bustling with people.

After walking for a while, we arrived at the entrance of the Pune-Okayama Friendship Garden, also known as Pu La Deshpande Udyan. It's one of the biggest and most beautiful gardens in Pune, spanning over ten acres, and its Japanese-style design makes it a peaceful oasis in the city. As soon as I saw the entrance, I looked at Yash and said, "Let's go inside."

Yash glanced at me, then at the garden, and nodded, following me inside. As soon as we stepped in, a wave of calmness hit us. The garden had this serene, almost meditative vibe. Small streams flowed gently, with wooden bridges arching over them, inviting you to pause and take it all in. The sound of flowing water mixed with the rustling of leaves in the soft evening breeze was soothing, like nature's own music.

We walked along the winding pathways, taking in the sight of lush plants, carefully placed stones, and beautiful trees that were full of life. The air smelled fresh, and every turn of the path offered something different—sometimes a pond reflecting the setting sun, sometimes a small stone lantern adding a touch of elegance to the natural landscape. There were wide-open spaces too, perfect for just sitting down and losing yourself in thought or enjoying a quiet conversation.

As we continued walking, we noticed a small crowd gathered a little farther away, their attention fixed on something. Curious, I looked at Yash and motioned toward the group. "Let's check it out."

He agreed, and we walked over. As we got closer, I heard the soft strumming of a guitar and a voice singing a melodious tune. The closer we got, the clearer it became. It wasn't just any gathering—it was a group of college students performing songs for charity, raising money through their music.

The singer's voice was rich, and the guitar's chords flowed smoothly, filling the air with warmth. I could see their passion as they performed. The students were gathered under a tree, with a makeshift stage set up on the grass. There was a sign next to them that read, "Music for a Cause."

We stood among the small crowd, deciding to enjoy the performance. Yash stood with his hands in his pockets, his usual nonchalant expression replaced with one of quiet appreciation. The songs being sung were familiar Bollywood hits, the kind of music that tugs at your heartstrings and makes you think of long drives, old friendships, and distant dreams. The crowd clapped softly, encouraging the performers to continue.

As the performance continued and dusk settled into the garden, the evening sky deepened into hues of purple and orange. The student who was singing finished his song and looked at the crowd with a playful smile. "Does anyone else want to sing as well?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of challenge.

I glanced at Yash with a knowing smile, expecting him to ignore it, but to my surprise, he caught my look and then turned toward the student. "Can I?" he asked with a confident smile.

The student beamed. "Of course, you can!"

Yash casually walked up to the small stage, taking the guitar from the student's hands. He adjusted the mic stand and strummed the guitar strings a few times, making sure it was tuned. The crowd grew a little quieter, curious to see what he would sing. The student, still standing near the mic, asked, "So, which song are you going to sing?"

Yash flashed a confident grin. "I'm going to sing Tum Hi Ho," he said, and the crowd responded with excited murmurs, recognizing the popular love song.

As soon as Yash began to sing, the atmosphere changed. His voice wasn't perfect, but it had that raw, unpolished quality that made it feel real. The familiar melody of Tum Hi Ho floated through the air, mixing with the soft breeze and the fading light. His fingers moved gracefully on the guitar, and the emotion in his voice resonated with everyone. For a moment, it felt like the whole garden was wrapped in the warmth of his voice.

When the song ended, the crowd burst into applause. Yash stood there, breathing slightly heavier but with a satisfied smile on his face. He turned to me, still holding the guitar, and with a smirk, asked, "What do you think?"

I crossed my arms, pretending to be unimpressed. "It's... so-so," I teased, but there was a playful glint in my eyes.

Yash wasn't having it. "You can't even do this!" he shot back, still grinning.

I raised an eyebrow, my competitive side kicking in. "I can, bro."

He walked back toward me with a mischievous smile, offering me the guitar. "Then go ahead and sing," he said, his smirk growing wider.

I sighed, knowing he wouldn't let me off the hook. The crowd was watching now, curious to see if I'd follow through. Taking the guitar from him, I shook my head and said with a grin, "Don't regret this later."

I walked up to the mic, adjusting it carefully while the crowd watched with a mix of curiosity and anticipation. The student who had been performing before gave me an encouraging nod, his smile genuine. "So, what song are you going to sing?" he asked.

I grinned back at him. "Let me think," I said, and began to strum the guitar strings softly. The chords came to life under my fingers, and I felt a familiar calm settle over me. I glanced at Yash, who was smirking at me with a mix of amusement and challenge. Ignoring his smirk, I focused on the audience in front of me.

As I began to sing "Kaun Tujhe," I could feel a shift in the atmosphere. The opening notes filled the air, and I poured every ounce of emotion I could muster into the song. The first few lines were met with a sudden silence, as if the entire crowd was holding its breath. Their eyes locked onto me, captivated by the unexpected performance.

"Tu aati hai sine mein jab jab saansein bharta hoon

Tere dil ki galiyon se main har roz guzarta hoon"

Yash's smirk faded, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. The crowd, once a sea of murmurs and shuffling, was now completely absorbed in the performance. Couples in the audience wrapped their arms around each other, swaying gently to the melody. Some people closed their eyes, lost in the emotion of the song. It was clear they'd never heard this song before—it was from 2016, a few years ahead of its time for this crowd.

"Hawa ke jaise chalta hai tu, main ret jaisa udta hoon

Kaun tujhe yu pyaar karega jaise main karta hoon"

The melody seemed to work like a spell, drawing everyone into its embrace. My voice, rich and melodious, floated through the garden with a soothing cadence that seemed to mesmerize the listeners. The song's haunting notes and heartfelt lyrics wove through the crowd like a gentle current, carrying them away from their everyday worries. Each note felt like a caress, soothing and enveloping them in a cocoon of emotion.

"Meri nazar ka safar tujh pe hi aake rukta hai

Kehne ko baaki hai kya, kehna tha jo keh chuka"

As I continued, the crowd's reactions grew more intense. Some audience members dabbed at their eyes, their faces reflecting the depth of their feelings. A few people were openly crying, their tears a testament to the emotional impact of the song. The song's poignant message resonated deeply, touching something personal and raw within each listener. The air seemed charged with a palpable sense of connection and empathy, as if the music was drawing out and amplifying their innermost emotions.

"Meri nigaahe hain teri nigahon ki

Tujhe khabar kya be-khabar

Main tujhse hi chhup chhup kar teri aankhein padhta hoon

Kaun tujhe yu pyaar karega jaise main karta hoon"

The crowd grew larger, drawn by the magnetic pull of the performance. People who had been strolling through the garden stopped in their tracks, their attention captivated by the spellbinding music. Phones began to light up, and soon, the air was filled with the gentle glow of their flashlights, swaying in time with the song. The garden, once a serene and peaceful place, transformed into a mesmerizing spectacle of light and sound.

"Tu jo mujhe na mila, sapne hue sirphire

Haathon mein aate nahi, udte hain lamhe mere

Meri hasi tujhse, meri khushi tujhse

Tujhe khabar kya be-kadar

Jis din tujhe na dekho, pagal pagal phirta hoon

Kaun tujhe yu pyaar karega jaise main karta hoon"

As I reached the climax of the song, I poured every bit of feeling into the final lines. The melody seemed to reach out, touching each person in the crowd as if to say something deeply personal and significant. The final notes lingered in the air, and for a moment, everything was still. It felt as if time had slowed, with the entire garden suspended in the song's delicate, hypnotic embrace.

(Word's Count:-3429)