Ali aik aam se school ka talib-e-ilm tha, lekin uska dil hamesha kisi khaas cheez ki talaash mein rehta tha. Doston ke saath khelna, school jana, ghar aana, sab uski roz marra ki routine thi, lekin phir bhi uske dil mein aik khala tha jo kabhi bhar nahi paata tha. Wo apne walid ki kami ko hamesha mehsoos karta tha. Uske walid jab Ali chhota tha, duniya se chalay gaye thay. Bachpan mein wo aksar raaton ko chupke se ro leta tha. Uski walida kabhi kabhi uske kandhe par haath rakhti aur bas itna kehti, “Zindagi ki kuch cheezen waqt ke sath samajh aati hain beta.”
Aik din garmi ki chhuttiyon mein Ali ne socha ke ghar ke purane store room ki safai ki jaye. Jab wo saman hata raha tha to ek purani, dhool se bhari lakri ki sandook uski nazar mein aayi. Jab usne sandook khola to usmein ek diary mili, jis par saaf likha tha:
"Mujhe mat kholna."
Ali ki fitrat thi ke jis cheez se mana kiya jaye, usmein hi sabse zyada dilchaspi hoti thi. Usne foran diary khol li. Pehla safha kaafi purana aur zard ho chuka tha. Safhe par likha tha:
"Yeh mere dil ke raaz hain. Inhein sirf woh samajh sakta hai jo khud apne dil se waaqif ho."
Ali diary ki agle safhat par chala gaya. Har safhe par mukhtalif kahaniyan thi. Aik kahani thi ek chhote larkay ki jo har shaam apne walid ka intezaar karta tha. Usse lagta tha ke uska walid door kisi shehar mein sirf uske liye kaam kar raha hai aur aik din lazmi wapas aayega. Magar wo kabhi nahi aaya. Ali yeh kahani parh kar hairan tha ke yeh uski apni zindagi ki misaal thi.
Agle safhe par likha tha:
"Main akela hoon, lekin main likh kar apna dard kam kar leta hoon."
Ali ne ghoor se diary ka har lafz parhna shuru kar diya. Diary ki kahaniyan kabhi khushi mein lipti hoti thi aur kabhi udaasi mein bheegti thi. Kabhi likha hota:
"Aaj mujhe apni maa ki muskurahat sabse zyada pasand aayi, lekin jab maine apne walid ki tasveer dekhi to meri aankhon mein aansu aa gaye."
Ali ki aankhon mein pani bhar gaya. Usne socha yeh kiski diary hai jo bilkul uski zindagi ki tarah hai?
Usne apni walida se poocha, “Ammi, yeh diary kiski hai? Yeh toh bilkul meri zindagi ki kahani hai.”
Uski walida ne halki muskurahat ke sath kaha, “Beta, tumne chhoti umr mein yeh diary khud likhi thi. Jab tum chhote thay aur udaasi se bhag nahi sakte thay, tab tum apne jazbaat likhte thay.”
Ali ne hairan ho kar kaha, “Mujhe kuch yaad nahi.”
Walida ne uska haath pakar kar kaha, “Tumhara dard itna gehra tha ke tum usse bhoolna chahte thay. Tumne apne dil ki sari baatein iss diary mein daal di thi. Humne yeh diary sambhal kar rakhi thi ke kabhi na kabhi tum isse dobara padh sako.”
Ali diary ko sina se laga kar ro diya. Usse mehsoos hua ke wo hamesha apne dard se bhaagna chahta tha lekin wo dard uski apni pehchaan ka hissa tha.
Aakhri safha mein likha tha:
"Jab kabhi tumhara dil udaas ho, mujhe padhna. Main tum hi ho. Tumhara woh chhota sa Ali jo apni tasveer banata tha, jo asmaan mein tare gin kar sochta tha ke walid kab wapas aayenge. Main tumhara woh hisa hoon jise tum kabhi kabhi bhool jaate ho."
Ali ne us din ke baad likhna phir se shuru kar diya. Wo roz apne jazbaat likhta. Ab wo apne aap se door nahi bhagta tha. Usne seekh liya tha ke kabhi kabhi zindagi mein sabse zaroori baat yeh hoti hai ke hum apne dard ko samjhein, usse qabool karein aur phir usse apni taqat bana lein.
Ali ki zindagi ab phir se roshan ho gayi thi. Ab wo sirf apni diary nahi likhta tha, balki doosron ki kahaniyan bhi sunta aur unke dukh bant-ta tha.
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