Born and raised in BARC Colony, Mumbai, where life itself was like a science experiment. Ninety five percent of the kids went for Science, four percent landed in Commerce because Science didn’t take them, and the remaining one percent like me were left stranded in Arts. High school put me in that 4%, college shoved me into that 1%. I was the boy who always said, “Chhod na, baad mein serious ho jaaunga.” But life has its own ways of making your scene serious. My heroes were not scientists or toppers; my inspiration came from Mumbai gangs, one-on-one fights, the adrenaline rush of proving yourself. A misfit in and out, never sure where I belonged.
Football, volleyball. I had talent there but my real “gift” was gang fights. A strange medal to wear, but I wore it with pride. Everything seemed fine until suddenly the 12th board exams loomed. While others buried themselves in books, I was distributing and collecting “interesting videos” that kept boys like me intact and entertained. What we didn’t know was that such distractions come with a heavy price.
The Breakup Bomb
Right in the middle of all this chaos, my closest friend dropped a bomb: “Teri (my) girlfriend wants a breakup”.
Yes, the same friend with whom I had bunked class and gone to watch Ziddi. And now, just like a damaged film reel, my life was breaking scene by scene. In my head, Pehla Nasha, Pehla Khumaar kept playing on loop, but in reality, the love story ended more like Satya, dark, bloody, and abrupt.
The worst part? That friend was her mu bola bhai. But he was also my partner in crime, my drinking buddy. Mere paise se piya tha bhai, and I was the kind of person who never played both sides. If I stood with you, I stood only with you. No two boats. No double game.
So one day, I asked him straight:
“Choose me or her. Because of your mu boli behen, my whole life’s screwed.”
And he looked at me and said, “Behen ko kaise chhod du, samajh ke le.”
That was the last day I trusted him. That moment felt like betrayal stamped on my forehead.
After that, I was shattered. Lost all focus. Honestly, I stopped trying altogether. See, there are two kinds of students who already know their board results before the answer sheets are even checked:
The toppers, who study so hard they know they’ll pass.
The hopeless ones, who don’t write anything.
I was proudly in the second category.
When the results came, I didn’t even flinch—I had already rehearsed the failure in my mind. And of course, I blamed the girl. Easiest scapegoat.
But yes, my ex-friend cleared his exams. Maybe bhai and behen sat together and studied seriously. In a strange way, I even admired that at least he treated her sincerely like a sister. I can commend that.
But one thing is clear: if you are not with me, then you are not part of me. Simple.
At the same time, my father retired, and our family had to shift to a new place. A new chapter and a new beginning…
The story continues…
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