Gujju Love

# Pehli Mulaqat - Woh Cafe Waala Din

March ki shaam thi...

Mujhe ab bhi yaad hai woh pehla din. Ahmedabad ki gali mein se guzar raha tha main, apne sketchbook ko gale se lagaaye hue. Rajkot se aaya tha main apne papa ke business ke silsile mein — Mr. Vyas, mere papa, ek respectable businessman hain, aur unhone mujhe yahan kuch important documents deliver karne bheja tha. Lekin main? Main toh bas apna kaam dhundh raha tha. Inspiration.

Old City ke Pols... kya bataun aapko? Woh narrow galiyan, woh centuries-old architecture, woh haveliyan jo jaise kahaniyan sunaati hain apni deewaron se. Main ek heritage cafe mein ghusa — "The Pol House" — naam suna tha cousin Hardik se. "Bhai, wahan ja, tujhe achha lagega," kaha tha usne.

Cafe purana tha, lekin itna welcoming. Wooden furniture, exposed brick walls, aur har taraf local artists ke kaam. Maine ek corner table pakdi, apna sketchbook khola, aur apni pencil se woh beautiful jharokha banane laga jo samne tha — intricate carvings, jaise time ne apna signature chhoda ho wahan.

"Excuse me, yeh seat khali hai?"

Maine upar dekha. Andhera saaya tha pehle, phir woh side mein hat gayi aur roshni mein aayi. Light blue kurta, denim jeans, baalon mein ek simple clip, aur aankhein... yaar, woh aankhein! Itni zinda, itni curious. Jaise koi bachchi ki tarah excited ho, lekin itni confident ki bas dekh ke pata chal jaye ki yeh koi ordinary ladki nahi hai.

"Ha... haan, baith jao," maine kaha, thoda awkwardly.

"Thanks! Main Pooja," usne muskurate hue haath badhaya.

"Dev," maine kaha, aur jab humara haath mila na... I don't know, kuch tha. Koi current sa mehsoos hua. Shayad static electricity thi, ya phir... pata nahi.

Woh baith gayi, apna bag khola, aur ek notebook nikaali. "Tum artist lagte ho," usne kaha, meri taraf dekh ke.

"Graphic artist, Rajkot se. Tum?"

"Content writer, yahin Ahmedabad ki. Aur history buff," woh hasi. "Yeh Pols meri jaan hai. Har ek gali mein koi kahani chhupi hai."

Hum dono apna apna kaam karne lage. Main sketching mein busy, woh apne laptop pe kuch type kar rahi thi. Shayad ek ghanta beet gaya. Phir achanak...

"Oh no!" uski awaaz aayi.

Maine upar dekha. Woh apni bag mein kuch dhoondh rahi thi, pareshaan si.

"Kya hua?"

"Mera sketchbook... kahin gaya! Main yahan aayi thi drawing karne, aur ab..."

Maine apne paas dekha. Ek similar looking notebook thi. Maine use uthaya, aur usmein khol ke dekha — beautiful watercolor sketches, heritage buildings, street scenes, aur kuch notes likhe hue.

"Yeh... yeh tumhara hai?" maine poocha.

Woh bhaagi mere paas. "Haan! Yeh toh mera hai! Par yeh tumhare paas kaise..."

Tab hum dono ne ek saath dekha — table pe do sketchbooks rakhe hue. Ek mera, ek uska. Same size, same color cover. Hum dono ne ek doosre ko dekha, aur phir...

Hassi. Woh contagious wali hasi. Cafe mein logon ne dekha, lekin humein fark nahi pada.

"Oh my God, humne swap kar liya!" woh has rahi thi. "I'm so sorry, maine bina dekhe utha liya."

"Nahi nahi, meri galti bhi hai. Maine bhi check nahi kiya."

Humne apne apne sketchbooks exchange kiye. Lekin tab tak, kuch ho chuka tha. Woh jo pehle connection mehsoos hua tha na, woh aur strong ho gaya tha.

"Dev, tum bahut talented ho," usne mere sketches dekhte hue kaha. "Yeh perspective, yeh detailing..."

"Tumhare bhi kaafi achhe hain," maine kaha, uske watercolors dekh ke. "Tumne yeh Manek Chowk waali night scene banayi hai?"

"Ha! Wahan ki lights aur woh hustle... mujhe bahut pasand hai woh jagah."

"Chalo, ab toh introduction ho hi gaya," maine kaha, thoda confident ho ke. "Coffee peete hain? My treat?"

Woh muskurayi. "Only if next time main treat karun."

---

# Dusri Mulaqat - Sketchbook Se Dosti

Ek hafte baad...

Hardik ne mujhe bahut tease kiya tha. "Bhai, Ahmedabad mein koi mil gayi? Pehli din se hi itna khush kyun hai?" Lekin maine kuch nahi bataya. Bas woh sketchbook swap ki baat yaad thi, aur Pooja ki aankhein.

Humne text karna shuru kiya tha. Pehle sirf "Hey, tumhara sketchbook safe hai na?" types messages. Phir slowly, baatein badhti gayi. Uske baare mein jaana maine — woh content writer thi, ek travel blog ke liye kaam karti thi. History mein uska Masters tha. Aur woh apna khud ka blog start karna chahti thi, "Pol Stories" naam se — Ahmedabad ke Old City ki untold stories.

"Mujhe ek achha logo chahiye," usne ek din kaha. "Koi trustworthy artist jo samajh sake ki heritage kya hai."

Maine kuch nahi kaha tab. Lekin mann mein ek plan ban gaya.

Dusri mulaqat hui wahi cafe mein. Is baar, humne plan kiya tha. "Chalo, tum mujhe apne favourite Pols dikhate ho," maine kaha. "Main tumhare liye sketch karunga."

Woh excited ho gayi. "Sach? Dev, tum sach mein chaloge mere saath?"

"Obviously. Tum guide, main artist. Deal?"

"Deal!"

Woh din yaad hai mujhe. Hum pehle gye Kaumudi Pol — wahan ki architecture dekh ke main toh behosh ho gaya. Intricate jaalis, carved pillars, aur woh old-world charm. Pooja har jagah ruk rahi thi, mujhe history bata rahi thi.

"Yeh dekho, yeh haveli 200 saal purani hai. Yahan pehle traders rehte the."

"Amazing," maine kaha, pencil se outline banate hue. "Tum itna kaise jaanti ho?"

"Papa ne yahan business kiya tha pehle. Bachpan se yeh galiyan meri playground thi. Mummy — Sarita mummy — mujhe yahan ghumati thi, har ek gali ki kahani sunaati thi."

Woh bolte bolte ruk gayi. "Sorry, I got carried away."

"Nahi, nahi, it's beautiful. Tumhari passion... it's infectious."

Woh mujhe dekhti rahi. Kuch seconds ke liye, bas hum dono ek doosre ko dekhte rahe. Phir woh sharma gayi, aur aage badh gayi.

Shaam ko hum Manek Chowk gaye. Woh famous night food market. Pooja ne mujhe authentic Gujarati street food khilaya — dabeli, fafda-jalebi, aur woh famous Ahmedabad ka khana.

"Tum Rajkot se ho, toh tumhe pata hi hoga," woh hasi. "Lekin Ahmedabad ka taste alag hai."

"Bilkul alag," maine kaha, uski aankhon mein dekhte hue. "Bahut alag."

Woh samajh gayi. Woh hamesha samajh jaati thi.

---

# Teesri Mulaqat - Gehra Connection

Do hafte baad...

Ab hum roz milne lage the. Kabhi cafe mein, kabhi kisi Pol mein. Mera Rajkot se aana, Ahmedabad mein rehna, sab temporary lagne laga. Kyunki har roz, woh mera reason ban gayi tha yahan rehne ka.

Ek din, baarish ho rahi thi. Hum "The Pol House" mein baithe the, dono ek hi table pe — ab toh woh "hamari table" ban gayi thi. Window pe baarish ki boondein gir rahi thi, aur andar coffee ki fragrance.

"Dev, tum apne papa ke baare mein kabhi bataate nahi ho," Pooja ne poocha, apni coffee peente hue.

Maine kuch der socha. Papa — Mr. Vyas — strict hain, lekin fair. Unhone hamesha mujhe support kiya, lekin unka apna dukh tha. Mummy ki death ke baad, woh aur zyada quiet ho gaye the.

"Papa... woh businessman hain. Practical. Lekin jab mummy thi..." maine ruka. "Jab mummy thi, toh ghar mein zyada warmth tha. Ab sab formal sa lagta hai."

Pooja ne apna haath mere haath pe rakha. Pehli baar. Itna natural laga, jaise hamesha se woh wahan tha.

"I'm sorry, Dev. Mujhe nahi pata tha."

"Nahi, it's okay. Woh 5 saal pehle ki baat hai. Cancer tha. Lekin kabhi kabhi..."

"Kabhi kabhi kya?"

"Kabhi kabhi lagta hai ki agar woh hoti, toh shayad main aur zyada openly baat kar paata. Papa se relationship thoda... distant hai."

Pooja ne squeeze kiya mera haath. "Tumhare papa tumse pyar karte hain, Dev. Bas shayad express nahi kar paate. Business world mein reh ke woh bhool gaye honge emotions express karna."

"Tum itni samajhdaar kaise ho?" maine muskurate hue poocha.

"Mummy ne sikhaya. Sarita mummy... woh emotional intelligence ki master hain. Unhone hamesha kaha, 'Pooja, har insaan ki ek kahani hoti hai. Usse suno, samjho, phir judge karo.'"

"Smart mummy hai tumhari."

"Best hai," woh proud smile di. "Aur tumhare papa bhi best honge. Bas thoda time do unhe."

Us din, humne bahut kuch share kiya. Apne bachpan, apne dreams, apni insecurities. Pooja ne bataya ki uske papa ki death jaldi ho gayi thi — woh bhi 10 saal pehle. Tab se mummy ne hi uska palan poshan kiya, aur uski education.

"Mummy ne kabhi nahi roka mujhe. Chahe main history padhna chaahti thi — 'log kya kahenge' types — lekin mummy ne kaha, 'Jo tera passion hai, woh kar. Paisa aata jaata hai, satisfaction nahi.'"

"She sounds amazing," maine kaha.

"Woh hai. Aur mujhe pata hai, woh tumhe bhi pasand karengi."

Maine uski taraf dekha. Woh bhi. Aur phir... woh moment tha. Woh perfect moment jisme kiss ho sakti thi. Lekin maine apna haath uske haath mein liya, aur bas usse pakda raha.

"Thank you, Pooja," maine kaha. "Yahan aake... tum mil gayi. Shayad yahi reason tha ki main yahan aaya."

Woh aankhein badi badi ho gayi. "Dev..."

"Sorry, too cheesy?"

"Nahi," woh hasi. "Perfect tha. Bahut perfect."

---

# Hardik Ka Teasing Aur Papa Ki Approval

Ek mahina beet gaya...

Hardik — mera cousin, jo Ahmedabad mein hi rehta tha — ab mujhse roz poochhta tha. "Bhai, kya chal raha hai? Koi Ahmedabad ki ladki ne dil chheen liya kya?"

Ek din, maine usse sach bata diya. Hardik ne mujhe zor se jhappi di. "Finally! Maine socha tha tu toh bachelor hi marega!"

"Chup kar, yaar."

"Nahi, seriously. Main Pooja ko jaanta hoon. Acchi family hai. Unka blog bahut famous ho raha hai. Aur tu... tu toh artist hai. Perfect jodi!"

"Lekin Papa..."

"Papa ko main sambhalunga. Tu tension mat le. Woh strict hain, lekan unfair nahi."

Woh sahi tha. Jab maine Papa — Mr. Vyas — ko Pooja ke baare mein bataya, toh unhone pehle toh kuch nahi kaha. Bas suna. Phir ek din, unhone kaha:

"Rajkot aa jao, Dev. Mujhe dekhna hai yeh ladki kaisi hai."

Main darr gaya. Lekin Pooja confident thi. "Chalo na, main bhi aaungi. Unse milna chahti hoon."

Papa ke office mein, jab Pooja ne unse haath milaya, toh unki aankhon mein kuch tha. Respect. Pooja ne unse unke business ke baare mein poocha, unke interests ke baare mein. Aur phir, usne unhe apne blog ke baare mein bataya — "Pol Stories."

"Sir, aapke bete ne mere liye ek logo design kiya hai. Woh dekhna chahenge?"

Maine woh logo nikaala. Woh jo maine chhupake banaya tha — Pooja ke blog ke liye. Heritage style mein, "Pol Stories" likha hua, ek beautiful jharokha ke saath.

Papa ne dekha. Kuch der tak dekha. Phir unhone kaha: "Bahut khoobsurat hai. Professional quality."

"Thank you, sir," Pooja ne kaha, proud se.

"Nahi, thank you nahi. Yeh toh mera beta banata hai aise kaam. Lekin tumne usse inspire kiya. Main Dev ko pehli baar itna passionate dekhta hoon kisi project mein."

Woh din, Papa ne mujhe gale lagaya. Pehli baar mummy ke baad. Aur Pooja ke saath dinner pe gaye. Unhone Pooja ki mummy — Sarita aunty — se baat bhi ki phone pe.

"Achhi family hai," Papa ne kaha raat ko. "Tum khush ho, toh main khush hoon."

---

# Surprise Gift Aur Woh Special Shaam

April ki shaam...

Pooja ka birthday aa raha tha. Main kuch special karna chahta tha. Logo toh maine already banaya tha, lekin kuch aur... kuch personal.

Maine ek week tak kaam kiya. Uske blog ke liye ek complete brand identity — logo, color palette, business cards, social media templates. Aur saath mein, ek sketchbook filled with sketches of her — woh cafe mein baithi hui, woh Pols mein ghoomti hui, woh has rahi hai, woh serious hai.

Us din, maine use "hamare cafe" mein bulaya. Woh aayi, aur maine blindfold kiya uski aankhon pe.

"Dev! Yeh kya kar rahe ho?"

"Surprise hai. Trust me?"

"Hamesha."

Maine use table pe baithaya. Phir blindfold hataya.

Uske saamne, ek beautiful gift box tha. Aur saath mein, woh sketchbook — lekin ab woh uska nahi tha. Woh uske liye tha.

"Kya hai yeh?" usne poocha, excited.

"Khol ke dekho."

Usne box khola. Pehle woh brand identity kit dekhi — logo, colors, everything. Uski aankhein bhar aayi.

"Dev... yeh tumne...?"

"Tumhare blog ke liye. 'Pol Stories' deserves the best. Aur tum deserve kuch special."

Phir maine sketchbook diya. Jab usne woh khola, aur apni sketches dekhi — woh cafe waali din se lekar har moment...

"Yeh... yeh main hoon?" uski awaaz kam ho gayi.

"Tumhari kahani," maine kaha. "Hamari kahani. Abhi tak ki."

Woh rone lagi. Happy tears. Aur phir usne mujhe gale lagaya. Tight wala hug. Woh warmth, woh feeling... main bata nahi sakta.

"Thank you, Dev. Thank you so much," woh mere kaan mein bol rahi thi.

Maine uska chehra apne haathon mein liya. "Happy birthday, Pooja."

Aur phir... woh pehli kiss thi. Soft, sweet, perfect. Cafe mein log the, lekin humein fark nahi pada. Kyunki woh moment sirf humara tha.

---

# Sarita Mummy Aur Unki Approval

Ek hafte baad...

Pooja ne mujhe apne ghar bulaya. Pehli baar. Mujhe nervousness ho rahi thi. Sarita aunty se milna — woh lady jisne Pooja ko itna achha banaya tha.

Unka ghar ek beautiful old haveli thi — renovated, lekin heritage intact. Jaise Pooja ki tarah — modern lekin rooted.

"Dev, aao beta," Sarita aunty ne kaha, garam garam thepla aur chutney ke saath.

"Thank you, aunty," maine kaha, respect se.

Hum baith ke baat karne lage. Unhone mujhse mere papa ke baare mein poocha, mere kaam ke baare mein, mere dreams ke baare mein.

"Dev, maine Pooja se tumhare baare mein bahut suna hai," unhone kaha. "Lekin ek maa hoon. Mujhe yeh jaanna hai — tum Pooja ka khayal rakhoge?"

"Aunty," maine kaha, sincere se, "main sirf khayal nahi rakhunga. Main uske sapno mein uska saathi banunga. Uska blog, uska passion for history, sab kuch. Main artist hoon, lekin woh mujhe writer bhi bana rahi hai. Hum saath mein grow karna chahte hain."

Sarita aunty ne smile kiya. Woh Pooja jaisi hi thi — wohi warmth, wohi intelligence.

"Aur yeh batao," unhone poocha, "tumne Pooja ke liye itna time kyun diya? Woh logo, woh sketches... itna effort kyun?"

Maine kuch der socha. Phir kaha: "Kyunki jab main usse milta hoon, toh lagta hai ki main apna best version de raha hoon. Woh mujhe better artist banaati hai, better insaan banaati hai. Uska dedication, uska passion for heritage... woh mujhe inspire karti hai. Main sirf uske liye nahi kar raha tha. Main humare liye kar raha tha. Kyunki jab woh khush hoti hai, toh mujhe lagta hai ki main sahi direction mein hoon."

Sarita aunty ki aankhein bhar aayi. Woh uthi, aur mere sir pe haath rakha. Aashirwad diya.

"Dev, tum bahut special ho. Aur tum dono saath mein... bahut achhe lagte ho. Main khush hoon."

Woh din, maine Pooja ke saath terrace pe baitha. Ahmedabad ki purani haveliyan neeche, aur upar stars.

"Mummy ne kya kaha?" Pooja ne poocha.

"Unhone humein blessing di," maine kaha, uska haath pakad ke.

"Dev, ek baat bataun?"

"Hmm?"

"Jab main pehli baar cafe mein tumhe dekha tha, tum sketch kar rahe the. Aur maine socha tha... 'Yeh ladka kitna focused hai. Kitna passion hai ismein.' Aur aaj, jab tum mere liye itna karte ho, toh lagta hai ki woh pehli impression sahi thi."

"Pehli impression toh meri bhi achhi thi," maine kaha. "Woh 'Excuse me, yeh seat khali hai?' wali ladki... usne mera dil chheen liya."

Woh hasi. "Cheesy!"

"Tumhari favourite kind," maine kaha, aur usse aur paas kheencha.

---

# Hardik Ki Shaadi Aur Humara Future

Do mahine baad...

Hardik ki shaadi thi. Ahmedabad mein, traditional Gujarati style mein. Papa ne pura arrange kiya — Mr. Vyas ki style mein, grand lekin classy.

Pooja aur main saath mein the. Us din, woh pink lehenge mein thi. Main usse dekh ke bhool gaya ki main kahan tha. Itni beautiful.

"Dev, saans lo," Hardik ne kaha, mere kaan mein. "Abhi shaadi baki hai, bhai. Itna fida mat ho."

"Tu chup kar," maine kaha, lekin has raha tha.

Shaadi mein, jab dance hua, toh maine Pooja ke saath dance kiya. Woh traditional Gujarati garba, aur phir slow dance. Usne apna sar mere shoulder pe rakha.

"Dev, main soch rahi thi," usne kaha.

"Kya?"

"Mera blog launch hone wala hai. 'Pol Stories.' Tumhare design ke saath. Aur main chahti hoon... ki tum officially co-founder bano."

Maine ruka. "Kya?"

"Haan. Tumhara artistic vision, mera content. Saath mein. Partners — professionally and..."

"And personally?" maine poocha.

"Personally toh tum already ho," woh sharmayi.

Maine uska haath pakda. "Pooja, main tumhare saath kuch bhi karunga. Lekin ek baat bataun?"

"Hmm?"

"Maine Papa se baat ki hai. Aur Sarita aunty se bhi. Main Ahmedabad shift hona chahta hoon. Permanently."

Woh mujhe dekhti rahi. "Sach?"

"Rajkot se commute kar sakta hoon. Lekin yahan rehna chahta hoon. Tumhare saath. Yeh Pols, yeh heritage, yeh cafe... yeh sab. Aur tum."

"Dev..." uski awaaz kam ho gayi.

"I love you, Pooja. Pehle din se. Shayad pehli nazar se."

Woh rone lagi. Phir hasne lagi. Phir mujhe gale lagaya, shaadi ke bheed mein hi.

"I love you too, Dev. Bahut zyada."

---

# Aaj - Woh Sapna

Abhi, aaj...

Baith ke yeh likh raha hoon main, "The Pol House" cafe mein. Hamari table pe. Pooja mere saath hai, apna laptop pe "Pol Stories" ka next article type kar rahi hai.

Blog launch ho gaya hai. Successful hai. Log humein "heritage couple" kehte hain. Main uske saath har Pol explore karta hoon, sketch karta hoon. Woh likhti hai, main design karta hoon.

Papa — Mr. Vyas — ab regular aane lage hain Ahmedabad. Unhone yahan ek chhota sa office khol liya hai, "to be close to my son." Unka aur Sarita aunty ka bhi bond ban gaya hai. Dono families mil ke dinners karti hain, festivals celebrate karti hain.

Hardik toh ab humara biggest supporter hai. "Maine hi toh introduce karaya tha," woh hamesha kehta hai.

Lekin sabse important baat — woh connection jo pehle din mehsoos hua tha, woh aur gehra ho gaya hai. Har roz, kuch naya seekhte hain ek doosre se. Pooja mujhe history sikhaati hai, main usse art. Hum dono saath mein grow karte hain.

Abhi, jab main yeh likh raha hoon, Pooja ne upar dekha. "Kya likh rahe ho?"

"Humari kahani," maine kaha.

Woh muskurayi. Woh wali smile. Woh cafe waali, pehli din waali.

"Dev, ek baat bataun?"

"Hmm?"

"Mummy ne kal kaha tha. Ki tum mein woh quality hai jo har maa apni beti ke partner mein dhoondhti hai — dedication. Tum jo bhi karte ho, dil se karte ho. Mere liye, mere sapnon ke liye."

Maine uska haath pakda. "Tum mere sapne ho, Pooja. Tumhara saath, yeh life... yeh sab ek beautiful canvas hai. Aur main har roz kuch naya paint karna chahta hoon ismein. Tumhare saath."

Woh paas aayi. Aur hamare beech, woh perfect silence tha. Woh samajhne waala silence. Jismein kuch kehne ki zarurat nahi hoti.

Cafe ke bahar, Ahmedabad ki purani galiyan apni kahaniyan suna rahi thi. Aur hum, hamari kahani likh rahe the.

Pol ke cafe mein mulaqat hui thi. Ek swapped sketchbook se. Aur aaj, yeh mulaqat zindagi bhar ki ban gayi hai.

Main sapna dekhta hoon... ek chhota sa studio, yahin Old City mein. Pooja ka desk ek taraf, mera doosri taraf. Saath mein kaam karna, saath mein ghar jaana. Shaayad ek din, ek chhota sa ghar bhi — wohi heritage style mein. Jismein har deewar pe hamari kahani ho.

Lekin abhi? Abhi bas yeh pal hai. Yeh coffee, yeh cafe, yeh baarish ki boondein window pe, aur yeh ladki mere saath.

Meri Pooja. Meri inspiration. Meri kahani.

Aur yeh kahani abhi jaari hai...

---

~ The End ~

(Lekin asli kahani toh abhi shuru hui hai)