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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…
Anaya Kapoor Part 1: Return in the Rain The plane touched down in Mumbai just as the first spell of the monsoon had begun to break across the city, the tarmac glistening with that familiar shimmer of water and oil mixing into tiny rainbow puddles. Aditi pressed her forehead against the cool oval window, watching the drizzle streak across the glass, and for a moment she was sixteen again, rushing home from school in a wet uniform, her shoes squelching, her mother scolding her to change quickly before she caught a cold. Ten years had passed since she had left…
Amara D’Souza The first real rain of the season unfurls like a forgotten banner over the city—trams sighing on wet rails, buses coughing mist, chai kettles whistling like small lighthouses—and I walk through it with a borrowed umbrella whose stubborn hinge clicks like a throat clearing before a confession, pale dots on the fabric sparking into constellations if I tilt it just so, and there he is again at the corner by the bookstall that always smells of glue and paper, the same man I have noticed three days running: once at the Park Circus stop where everyone stands in…
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…
Maya Dutta Episode 1 – The Missed Train The evening air of Kolkata carried the smell of coal-dust and roasted peanuts, that particular mixture that only Howrah Station seemed capable of holding together. The great iron ribs of the terminal arched above rows of restless passengers, each waiting for their escape or return. Ananya clutched the strap of her canvas bag tighter and quickened her pace, weaving between porters balancing luggage on their heads and families herding sleepy children. The announcement blared across the platform—her train had begun moving. By the time she reached the edge, breathless, the coaches were…
Elena Roy Episode 1 – The First Glance The rain had come down hard in the afternoon and left Park Street glistening like a polished mirror under the late sun. Rhea walked quickly, her sandals tapping against the damp pavement, the faint scent of wet earth and fried snacks from roadside stalls curling into the air. She had not planned to stop anywhere, but as she passed the corner café with its green awning dripping with raindrops, she slowed. She had been there a handful of times in her college years, when life was simpler and her evenings less scripted…
ঋতুপৰ্ণা বৰুৱা পৰ্ব ১ শহৰৰ সেউজীয়া ৰঙেৰে ঢাক খোৱা এটা সৰু কলেজ চহৰ, সাঁঝ নামিলে য’ত বাতি আৰু কোলাহলত ভৰি যায়। তেতিয়া কলেজৰ পেছৰ ফালে থকা কঁপা বাঁহজোপাৰ মাজেৰে একোখনি হ’লতকৈ বেছি শূন্য পথত হাঁটিছিল অদিতি। দীৰ্ঘ কেশত বতাহৰ কুঁদনি, সৰু সৰু বৃষ্টিৰ ফোঁটাৰে সপোনীয়া ৰূপ পাইছিল। তেওঁৰ মুখত চিন্তাৰ আভা আছিল যদিও চকুৰ কাষত লুকাই থকা আভাময় হাঁহি এখন ইঙ্গিত দিছিল–মনত কিবা নতুন গল্প পাতিছে তেওঁ। অদিতি এই চহৰৰ এক নামী কলেজৰ শেষ বৰ্ষৰ ছাত্ৰী। সাহিত্য বিভাগত অধ্যয়ন কৰিলে যদিও তেওঁৰ প্ৰকৃত প্ৰেম কবিতাত নহয়, সংগীতত আছিল। গীত গোৱা আৰু শুনাৰ মাজতেই তেওঁ নিজৰ মানসিক পৰিসৰ নিৰ্মাণ কৰিছিল। আজিও…
Rhea Kapoor Part 1 – The Meeting The rain had been falling since dawn, a steady curtain that blurred the tram lines and softened the edges of College Street’s crowded bookstalls. Water pooled in the cracks of the old pavements, making each step a careful negotiation between slipperiness and stubborn mud. Ayaan tightened the strap of his worn leather satchel and ducked under a bamboo-and-plastic canopy where secondhand books leaned against one another like old companions. His hair, damp and curling from the downpour, clung to his forehead, but his eyes held that restless brightness of someone always in search…
Karan Sehgal Part 1: The Smell of Olive Pits The rental car smelled faintly of olive pits and cold metal, like someone had bottled last summer and left it under the seat to ferment. It was a squat white Fiat Panda, dented on one door and stubborn in second gear, the kind of car that looks offended by hills. The clerk at the Florence airport, a woman with a swift smile and a tattoo of an anchovy on her wrist, handed me the keys and said, “She hates rain but loves radio.” When I asked what station the car preferred,…