Maine Mummy se poocha.
Woh kitchen mein thi, dal chadha rahi thi, aur maine darwaze pe khade hokar kaha, “Mummy, Neha ka number kisne chalu rakha hai?”
Chamcha unke haath se nahi gira. Filmon mein aisa hota hai. Asal mein woh bas ruk gayin. Poori tarah, jaise kisi ne unhe pause kar diya ho. Do second. Shayad teen.
Phir unhone dal hilana shuru kar diya.
“Kya bol rahi hai tu.”
“Mummy.”
“Gas band karne de.”
Unhone gas band ki, haath pocha, aur mud kar mujhe dekha. Aur unki aankhon mein jo tha woh gussa nahi tha. Darr tha.
“Tujhe kaise pata chala?”
“Toh sach hai.” Meri awaaz kaanp gayi. “Aap karti ho recharge?”
“Nahi.” Ek shabd. Saaf.
“Phir kaun?”
Unhone kursi kheench kar baith gayin, aur pehli baar mujhe laga ki woh sath saal ki lagti hain. Woh painsath ki hain.
“Beta, baith ja.”
“Mummy—”
“Baith ja.”
Main baith gayi.
“Us raat ke baad,” unhone kaha, “jab hum hospital se aaye the. Do hafte baad. Mujhe uske number se ek message aaya tha.”
Meri saans ruk gayi.
“Maine socha koi galti hai. Maine jawab nahi diya. Phir ek hafte baad phir aaya.” Unhone apne haath dekhe. “Teen mahine tak aata raha. Har baar main jawab nahi deti thi. Phir band ho gaya.”
“Aapne mujhe bataya kyun nahi?”
“Kyunki tu us waqt so nahi rahi thi, khaana nahi kha rahi thi, aur main tujhe yeh kaise bolti.” Unki awaaz phatt gayi. “Main khud yakeen nahi kar paa rahi thi.”
“Aur ab?”
Unhone mujhe dekha.
“Ab tujhe aa rahe hain?”
Maine sar hilaya.
Mummy uthi, aur alamari ki taraf gayi — woh purani steel wali jo Papa ke time se hai — aur usme se ek chhota sa cardboard box nikala.
“Yeh us din ka saamaan hai. Hospital se jo mila tha.”
Unhone box mere aage rakh diya.
“Ismein uska phone nahi hai.”
Maine unki taraf dekha.
“Hospital wale ne list banayi thi. Purse, chaabi, ek dupatta, chashma.” Mummy ki awaaz bilkul sapaat thi. “Phone us list mein nahi tha. Maine tab poocha tha. Unhone kaha jo mila woh de diya.”
“Toh phone kahan gaya?”
Mummy ne mera haath pakda, aur unka haath thanda tha.
“Ek saal se yahi sawaal mujhe raat ko jagata hai.”