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सुधांशु त्रिपाठी भाग 1 – पहली ठंडी सुबह नवंबर का महीना था। दिल्ली की सुबहें धीरे-धीरे धुंध के कपड़े ओढ़ने लगी थीं। पुरानी दिल्ली की सँकरी गलियाँ हों या नई दिल्ली की चौड़ी सड़कें, हर जगह ठंडी हवा का झोंका लोगों को अपनी ओढ़नी कसकर खींचने पर मजबूर कर देता। चौराहों पर, पार्क की बेंचों पर, यहाँ तक कि गली के नुक्कड़ों पर भी एक ही चीज़ की गंध तैर रही थी—उबलती हुई चाय की। आदित्य अपने किराए के छोटे से कमरे की खिड़की से बाहर झाँक रहा था। खिड़की के शीशे पर धुंध जम गई थी। उसने उँगली से…
Rajat Kapur Part 1 – The Arrival The train had been late by two hours, monsoon clouds pressing down against the old glass windows of Ernakulam Junction, making everything smell of wet earth and fried banana chips. Aarav Mehta stepped out with his suitcase in one hand, briefcase in the other, shirt collar sticking slightly to his neck from the humidity he had not yet learned to tolerate. Delhi had its own brutal weather, but this was different, a heavy curtain of air that carried salt, rain, and something he could not name. He scanned the crowded platform, searching for…
Saanvi Roy Episode 1 – The Photograph The city was still shaking off the heat of late afternoon when Maya pushed her way through the crowded lanes of Chandni Chowk. Dust hung in the air like an invisible veil, clinging to her hair and the white kurta she had foolishly chosen to wear that morning. She stopped at the familiar tea stall near the booksellers, a place where she often came after long days at the architecture firm. The stall was old, its tin roof dented, its wooden counter stained with years of spilled chai, but she liked the chaos…
आरव मेहता भाग 1 : मुलाक़ात की ख़ामोशी दिल्ली की भीगी दोपहर थी। बरसात का मौसम हमेशा ही लोगों को अपने भीतर छिपे हुए जज़्बातों से मिलाता है। मेट्रो स्टेशन के बाहर लोग अपने-अपने रास्ते भाग रहे थे, किसी के हाथ में छाता था, किसी के कंधे पर बैग। उसी भीड़ में खड़ी थी आर्या, नीली सलवार-सूट पहने, बालों से टपकते पानी की बूँदें जैसे उसकी आँखों में चमक को और गहरा बना रही थीं। वह लाइब्रेरी से लौट रही थी, हाथ में किताबों का ढेर था। अचानक किसी ने पीछे से पुकारा— “सुनिए… आपकी किताब गिर गई।” आर्या ने…
Rohan Banerjee Part 1: Viral Villain Raj Mehta believed in three things: breakfast before tweets, a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil on everything, and the sanctity of the last slice. The first two had kept him mostly sane. The third was about to ruin his life. It happened at a café in Lajpat Nagar that insisted on calling the waiter a “pizza sommelier.” Raj was reviewing their new menu for his channel, Raj On A Plate, which, if we’re honest, was a modest plate. Not fine china. More like a laminated thali. The café had one wood-fired Margherita left…
Maya Arora The rain had been falling since afternoon, coating the windows of the office with a restless sheen. Ananya sat at her desk staring at the spreadsheet that refused to balance itself, the numbers running like water in her mind, slippery and without form. Outside, the glass tower of Connaught Place glowed with rain-washed neon. She should have been heading home by now—her husband, Arindam, would already be waiting, the television on, dinner reheated by the house-help, a routine that had long solidified into something resembling safety, or perhaps imprisonment. But instead, she lingered, scrolling through meaningless columns, waiting…
Rima Chatterjee The First Chill The fog hung low over Delhi like a soft, worn shawl. The streets of Connaught Place were still waking up, the shops pulling up shutters slowly, as if in no hurry to face the cold. Anaya clutched her oversized wool scarf tighter, her gloved fingers tingling despite the warmth of her coffee cup. It was her second week in Delhi. The city had greeted her with shivers, smoky skies, and a strange sort of stillness. It wasn’t the kind of winter she had grown up with in Kolkata—this was quieter, grayer, full of mystery. And…