Skip to main content

दिल वाली गली


 कहानी: दिल वाली गली

शीर्षक: एक अनकही पहचान


हर शाम मैं उस पुरानी गली में चलता हूँ। लोग कहते हैं ये बस एक आम रास्ता है, लेकिन मेरे लिए ये एक जादुई दुनिया है।मैं राघव, एक अकेला लड़का जो खुद से बातें करता है और हर शाम अपनी डायरी में कुछ न कुछ लिखता है।

लेकिन उस दिन कुछ बदला...

मैं वहीं, उस मोड़ पर था, जब मैंने उसे पहली बार देखा। वो लड़की – सफेद दुपट्टा, कंधों पर किताबें, और आँखों में कोई भूली सी कहानी।वो हर दिन लगभग एक ही समय उस गली से गुजरती। धीरे-धीरे वो मेरी कल्पनाओं की रेखा बनती गई।

मैंने उसका नाम नहीं जाना, न कभी बात की। लेकिन उसके गुजरने के बाद, मेरे हाथ खुद-ब-खुद डायरी की ओर बढ़ते।

उसकी हर एक झलक मुझे एक नई कविता दे जाती —

"एक अजनबी सी, मगर अपने जैसी,

हर शाम मेरे लफ्ज़ों में उतर जाती है।"


कभी वो हँसती थी फोन पर, कभी चुपचाप चलते हुए आसमान को देखती।मुझे लगा, जैसे उसके पास भी कोई अनकहा किस्सा है, जैसे मेरे पास।

मेरी कहानियाँ, कविताएँ, डायरी — सब उसी के लिए होने लगीं।

मैंने उसकी आँखों में बारिश देखी, उसके चलने में संगीत सुना।


एक दिन मैंने अपनी कविता की अंतिम पंक्ति लिखी —

"अगर तू कहानी नहीं बन पाई, तो क्या हुआ... तू मेरा सबसे खूबसूरत ख्वाब बन गई।"


और उसके बाद वो फिर कभी उस गली में नहीं दिखी।


कभी-कभी सोचता हूँ, क्या वो बस मेरी कल्पना थी?


शायद वो एक कहानी की लड़की थी — जो बस गली से गुजरने आई थी, ताकि कोई उसकी खामोशी को कविता बना दे।


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

When the Wind Remembers

Part 1: The First Rainy 🌧️ Windhollow Town  Rainy days and a long time ago—it always begins like that. As if the sky remembers before he does. As if the clouds know the years that have passed and still return, heavy and slow, with the same wet whispers. The boy, who was now a man, stood near the river, the old boots on his feet soaking at the edges. He could still hear it—the sound of water tumbling over stones, the same way it did when he was a boy. The river hadn’t changed, but everything else had. There was sand at the edges of the path. Wet sand. It had a scent—one he hadn’t smelled in years. It was the smell of home, of monsoons, of running down alleys with soaked shirts and loud laughter. Of childhood summers and forgotten secrets buried under riverbanks. He looked up. The town of windhollow—small, wind-swept, half-asleep—was waking slowly with the rain. The shutters creaked open one by one. The street vendors, those who still remained, pulled plastic over their carts and fl...

Part 2: The Second Face

 The Second Face  > “A killer can hide behind a smile, and truth can rot behind silence.”The room was heavy. No one spoke. The words spoken by 84-year-old Gauri Devi echoed like thunder in a storm. > “The killer is someone none of you will suspect.”And then she said the name:“Neela.” The silence cracked like glass. Rajendra stared at his wife. Neela turned pale. The others looked stunned. Inspector Anjana Rawat didn’t blink. --- 🧩 Suspicion Turns “Me?” Neela whispered, her voice shaking. Gauri Devi looked at her coldly. “You were always hiding something. Your eyes never cried when you saw Sushant’s dead body.” Neela stammered, “I... I didn’t kill him! Yes, I had secrets. But I would never kill anyone!” Anjana stepped forward. “Then explain the letters, Neela. Letters from a man named Vivek, warning you about Sushant.” Neela dropped her head. Her hands trembled. --- 📜 The Hidden Past Neela finally spoke, “Vivek... was my ex-fiancé. Years ago, before I married Rajendra. ...

Echoes from the Broken Mirror

 Rainfall Room – The rain hadn’t stopped. Not even for a second. It clawed at the windows of the lodge like restless fingers trying to get in. The lodge—silent, still, and yet breathing—watched Arav like a trapped memory refusing to stay buried. The journal he found in Room Eleven still lay open on the bed, soaked slightly from his wet fingertips. The words were half-faded, some crossed out, others rewritten over and over again: “He returns when it rains.” Arav stood now, staring at the large mirror above the old wooden dresser. It was cracked at one corner, and if one looked long enough, it seemed the cracks moved ever so slightly, like veins pulsing in living skin. He didn’t remember this mirror. Not from childhood. Not from any visit. But it remembered him. He leaned forward. The air changed. The room grew colder, not from the rain outside, but from something that had crept in. 1: The Mirror's Game His breath fogged the glass. In that thin mist, a second reflection appeared besi...