Feel Milta Hai Poem by Sumita Jetley

A Bombay Ballad where Swag meets Softness

They called him Jaggu — the galli ka king,
Two bullet scars, but still standing.
Ran a garage near Mahim Dargah lane,
Fixed scooters, hearts, and monsoon rain.

Referee to fights, chai with toast,
Loved by kids, by elders, utmost.
A man of instinct, not of plan,
Till love arrived in a paint-stained hand.

Saira, the girl with monsoon eyes,
Wore chaos like calm, and dreams in disguise.
Big glasses, stray cats, colors on her cheek,
She didn't speak loud — her silence would speak.

The first time? A nod. The second? A wave.
The third, a line only lovers crave:
'Need help with that? These cats need swag.'
She smirked, 'You look like trouble in a rag.'

And Jaggu laughed — a rare, soft sound,
The kind that turns rough hearts around.
For biddu, when feel milta hai,
Even Jaggu Dada gives love a try.

Then one day — a twist so bold,
Three cats gone, like secrets untold.
She ran barefoot, calling their names,
While Bombay just watched, playing its games.

Enter Golu, the gully's spy,
'One slipper, full info, ' his battle cry.
And like a scene from a street ballet,
The whole chawl searched that day.

Jaggu found Sultan — the Nawab on a bike,
Licking his paw, posing just right.
Handed him back with a wink and a line,
'Shortcut toh Dada ke paas hi hota hai, fine? '

And she smiled. The whole world paused.
Even Bombay gave its wild applause.
Because biddu, feel milta hai,
And even paint-stained hearts comply.

But love's never simple in this filmi town,
Next day, a car — smooth and brown.
Out stepped Ayaan, ex of the year,
Linen shirt, but vibes unclear.

He searched for Saira, suave and sly,
Like love was a deal, not a why.
Jaggu stepped back, no hero stance,
Just silence — his ultimate romance.

Later that night, she sat down near,
No paint, no cats, just truth sincere.
'He asked me to leave… I said no.'
And something in Jaggu began to glow.

'Achha kiya, ' he softly said,
'Love's repairable — if the parts are well-bred.'
She laughed, 'I'm not a Vespa, my friend.'
'Nahi, ' he smiled, 'You're a classic. No end.'

And so they sat — under broken light,
Talking of dreams, and Bombay nights.
Because sometimes, love doesn't need to shout,
It just needs one moment… to figure it out.

So biddu, yaad rakhna yeh baat zara:
Feel milta hai toh — Bombay bhi mehka deta hai saara.