Let's Catch Up... Sometime

 

There are four words I've started to dislike.

"Let's catch up sometime."

Not because they're offensive. Quite the opposite. They're warm. Friendly. Polite.

They're also, more often than not, completely meaningless.

Whenever someone says it to me, my instinctive response is always the same.

"Sure. When?"

And that's usually where the conversation dies.

"I'll let you know."

"We'll plan something."

"Things are hectic."

Even an open invitation—"You tell me the day and time, I'll make myself free."—is often met with silence. Or one of the usual excuses.

Which makes me wonder...

If you don't actually want to meet, why say it?

It's perfectly okay to enjoy a conversation and leave it at that. Not every interaction needs to end with a promise neither person intends to keep.

Because here's what I've slowly realised.

We don't find time.

We make time.

For the people we love.

For the things we enjoy.

For the hobbies we're excited about.

For the events we don't want to miss.

Somehow, those always find a place in our calendars.

Friendships, though, seem to have slipped lower and lower down the list.

Everyone is busy. I get that.

Work.

Home.

Kids.

Travel.

Life.

They're all genuine responsibilities.

But when months become years, and every invitation is answered with another reason why this week doesn't work, eventually the excuse stops mattering.

The answer is simply no.

I've watched groups of friends who once met every couple of months slowly become people who now only interact on WhatsApp. Meeting in person is reserved for special occasions, and even those seem to become fewer with every passing year.

I've seen family gatherings shrink from thirty-five people squeezed into a tiny house to struggling to gather a handful of relatives despite everyone living in bigger homes than ever before.

Distance used to be measured in kilometres.

Now it's measured in willingness.

Someone will happily drive an hour for something that matters to them, yet five minutes can suddenly become impossible when the destination is a person.

And that's okay.

Not everything has to be a priority.

I just wish we were more honest about it.

I've also learned that friendships often exist only within the environment that created them.

Some are workplace friendships.

Some are convenience friendships.

Some survive only as long as there's a project, an office, free food, free drinks, or some mutual benefit.

When those disappear, so do the people.

Others only seem interested when they think you can help their career.

Or when your career can help theirs.

Then there are the people you think will be lifelong friends.

Those hurt the most.

Not because they leave.

But because they stop trying.

I've tried making new friends too.

Joined classes.

Accepted invitations.

Lunch instead of dinner.

Weekdays instead of weekends.

Made it as easy as possible.

Some people showed up.

Most didn't.

And after a while, you stop asking.

Not out of anger.

Out of exhaustion.

These days, I have a simple rule.

I'll suggest meeting twice.

If life genuinely gets in the way, I completely understand.

But after two attempts met only with excuses and no effort to suggest another date, I quietly stop trying.

Not because I don't care.

Because I've finally accepted that relationships require effort from both sides.

The strange thing is that I'm not someone who enjoys being alone.

I'm someone who feeds off people.

Conversations.

Laughter.

A spontaneous drink.

A long dinner.

Watching a match together.

Meeting people has always been how I reset my mind.

It takes me away from my own problems.

It reminds me there's a world outside my own head.

Maybe that's why this bothers me more than it bothers others.

Or maybe this is simply what adulthood looks like.

Maybe people haven't become less caring.

Maybe they've just become more selective.

Maybe friendships naturally become less frequent as responsibilities grow.

Or maybe we've become so obsessed with being productive that we've forgotten the value of simply spending time with another human being without a purpose.

I honestly don't know.

Maybe that's just adulthood.

Maybe I'm expecting friendships to look the way they did twenty years ago while everyone else quietly accepted that this is simply how life unfolds.

What I do know is this.

One day, we'll all stand beside someone's photograph or their grave and say,

"We should have met more often."

By then, it'll be true.

And it'll also be too late.

Maybe I'm the one who's stuck in the past.

Maybe everyone else has simply moved on.

I honestly don't know.

But one thing I've realised is this:

The people who genuinely want to see you don't end a conversation with,

"Let's catch up sometime."

They end it with,

"Are you free next Friday?"

Because people don't find time.

They make it.

Hello 2026… Let’s Really Go

Here’s to the year of 2026,
’Cause 2025 felt stuck, it needed a fix.
It moved so slow, but that’s alright,
We close that chapter—out of sight.

Not to say that ’25 was bad,
There were steady days and moments glad.
No big wins, no loud display,
Just solid ground that held its way.

Some things stalled, refused to move,
Teaching patience I didn’t choose.
Letting go of what pulled me down,
Clearing space to turn around.

So let the new year bring fresh cheer,
Clearer roads and better steer.
Good thoughts first—let that be the call,
One right step can change it all.

May travel return in ways unseen,
With fuller days and spaces in between.
May work rise up to newer heights,
And life feel lighter—fewer fights.

Health stay strong, spirits free,
And peace find its way naturally.
Here’s to growth, momentum, and flow—
Hello 2026… now let’s really go.

Rhyme on the Rocks - Poem

 

Don't forget to check out the previous poem:

Celebrate Your Freedom Today

Celebrate Your Freedom Today - Poem

 

Check out the previous poem:

I Don't Want To Live In This World

I Don't Want To Live In This World - Poem

 

Check out the previous poem:

Stranger

Prada Stole Our Chappals. But Did We Even Want Them?

A luxury brand copying an iconic Indian design should spark anger. But it should also spark introspection.

Recently, Prada released a sandal that looked suspiciously like the humble, hand-crafted Kolhapuri chappal. Priced at over ₹1.2 lakh, it featured the same structure, same silhouette—and not a whisper of where the design came from. Only after public outrage did Prada quietly update the product description to mention India’s contribution (source)

The plagiarism is obvious. But what’s worse is the pattern it reflects: India often needs foreign validation to notice what’s right under its nose.

The Kolhapuri That Wasn’t Cool Enough—Until Now

The Kolhapuri chappal, made by artisans in Maharashtra for over 800 years, is part of India’s rich craft legacy. And yet, before the Prada scandal, when was the last time you saw them on an Indian fashion runway or magazine cover?

Indians themselves had stopped valuing these crafts—until they saw it tagged as “luxury” in Milan. We mocked it as old-fashioned, not runway-worthy, much like Khadi, which for decades was considered boring or 'netagiri fashion', until international designers began weaving it into sustainable chic. Now it’s cool, because Vogue says so.

We don’t need colonizers anymore—we’ve outsourced validation to the West.

It’s Not Just Fashion. It’s a Pattern.

This isn’t about a pair of chappals. It’s about a mindset.

When someone in Brooklyn drinks haldi doodh, it’s a wellness ritual.

Here, we call it “grandma’s cure” and roll our eyes.

When yoga studios abroad chant Sanskrit shlokas, it’s spiritual.

When it happens at home, it’s either political or passé.

Even our history is subject to this collective neglect—or worse, deliberate erasure.

Just this year, Aurangzeb’s tomb in Maharashtra had to be barricaded and guarded round-the-clock after threats to deface or destroy it due to political anger (source).

Instead of preserving monuments to educate and reflect, we’re trying to erase chapters of history we dislike.

So, Why Don’t We Care First?

India is rich in design, craft, textiles, and monuments. But we only seem to appreciate them when someone else sells it back to us with better marketing and a dollar tag.

If Prada hadn’t copied Kolhapuris, would we even be talking about them right now?

Prada’s appropriation isn’t the only scandal here. The bigger one is that India didn’t care first.

Until we learn to value our own stories—whether it’s what we wear, eat, or stand on—we’ll keep watching the world profit off a heritage we barely protect.

Let’s not just demand credit from Prada.

Let’s give some to ourselves. While we still can.

Stranger - Poem

 

Do check out my earlier poems too:

A cycle of heartache