đź’Ś Gulbahar Ke Naam Ek Khat
(A Romance from the Silent Lanes of Old Lahore)
By Faraz Parvez
Professor Dr. (Retired) Arshad Afzal
Retired Faculty Member, Umm Al-Qura University, Makkah, KSA
(Pseudonym of Professor Dr. Arshad Afzal)
“Kya tumhe yaad hai woh pehla baarish ka din, jab tumne mujhe naam se bulaya tha?”
— from the first letter, never posted.
In the faded quarters of Bhatti Gate, where time moves slower than light and heartbreak hides behind every closed jharoka, lived Fazal Din, a government clerk known for his punctual reports and lonely evenings. His world revolved around files, fan noise, and the distant echo of qawwals from the nearby Data Darbar.
Then came Gulbahar—not a name, but a monsoon.
A kathak dancer in a local kotha, Gulbahar had eyes that sang forgotten ragas and lips that spoke like poetry dipped in rain. Fazal would walk past the kotha every day, pretending not to notice her as she stood by the carved window, draped in a dupatta that smelled of motiya and melancholy.
They never spoke.
He wrote her 45 letters in 3 years. None were ever delivered. He hid them inside an old Ghalib diwan that rested under his pillow like a sacred relic.
In those letters, he confessed to falling in love—not with her body or smile, but with her pauses, with the way she would look at the pigeons on the rooftop or fix her ankle bells after each performance.
When Fazal was transferred to Peshawar, he wrapped all the letters, tied them in a silk scarf, and left them at her doorstep—just before Fajr.
No one ever heard from Gulbahar again. Some say she left for Bombay. Others say she became a recluse. But one night, years later, a new kathak dancer was introduced in the same kotha—“She sings only one line,” the manager had said. “From a letter, perhaps.”
“Kya tumhe yaad hai woh pehla baarish ka din…?”
🌹 Postlude: A Love Never Spoken, A Letter Never Sent
In this time of instant messages and scrolling hearts, some stories still hide behind silence—like Fazal’s, like Gulbahar’s. We at our blog believe in bringing back the lost art of feeling deeply, of slowing down, and remembering the quiet lovers of a forgotten time.
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