Chalis. Maine ginti ki, do baar.
Aur teesri baar ginte hue mujhe woh baat samajh aayi jo shuru se saamne thi aur maine dekhi nahi thi.
In khaton par stamp nahi tha.
Ek bhi par nahi. Na envelope, na postmark, na kuch. Ye woh khat the jo maine likhe the aur kabhi bheje nahi the.
Matlab ye mere ghar mein hone chahiye the. Meri almari mein, ya us purane trunk mein jo chhat wale kamre mein pada hai.
Aur ye Aakash ke paas the.
Main pandrah minute tak yahi soch ke baithi rahi ki koi galti hai. Ki maine yaad galat kiya. Ki shayad maine kuch bheje the.
Phir maine 2014 wala padha.
“Aaj tumne mujhe library mein dekha aur dekh kar nazar hata li. Maine socha tha mujhe bura lagega. Bura nahi laga. Achha laga, kyunki iska matlab tum bhi wahi kar rahe ho jo main kar rahi hoon.”
Aur uske neeche, alag ink mein, alag handwriting mein — uski handwriting mein — teen shabd likhe the:
“Haan. Main tha.”
Maine page ko itni zor se pakda ki woh mud gaya.
Usne padhe the. Sab. Jo maine kabhi bheje nahi the, usne sab padh liye the, aur kisi waqt — kab, mujhe nahi pata — usne unpe jawab likh diye the.
Agle ek ghante mein main sab padh gayi.
Har khat par uska jawab tha. Kabhi ek line. Kabhi poora paragraph. Kabhi sirf ek nishaan — kisi line ke neeche pencil se ek chhoti si line, jaise kehna chahta ho yeh, yahi baat.
2013, jab maine likha tha ki mujhe dar lagta hai ki main apni family ko kabhi bata nahi paungi: “Mujhe bhi. Main bhi nahi bata paya. Isme tum akeli nahi thi.”
2015, jab maine likha tha ki main usse nafrat karti hoon kyunki usne koshish nahi ki: “Sahi ho. Maine nahi ki. Meri wajah thi, par woh tumhare liye wajah nahi banti.”
Aur sabse aakhri, 2015 ke December ka, jo maine rote hue likha tha aur jiski ink abhi bhi ek jagah phaili hui hai: “Main tumhe bhool jaungi. Dekhna.”
Uske neeche usne likha tha, aur ye dekh kar main sach mein toot gayi:
“Nahi bhooli. Main jaanta hoon kyunki main bhi nahi bhoola.”
Ab do sawaal the aur dono ka jawab mujhe nahi pata tha.
Pehla: ye khat uske paas gaye kaise? Maine kabhi nahi diye. Ye mere ghar mein the. Ghar mein sirf family thi.
Doosra, aur ye zyada bura tha: ab kyun?
Meri shaadi teen din baad hai. Card baate hue ek mahina ho gaya. Har rishtedar ko pata hai. Instagram pe humari photos hain.
Usne aaj bheja. Aaj wale din, na ek hafta pehle, na shaadi ke baad.
Aadmi aisa tab karta hai jab woh kuch rokna chahta ho.
Main neeche gayi. Decorator ja chuka tha. Mummy dining table pe baithi thi, mehmaano ki list mein se naam kaat rahi thi, chashma naak ke neeche.
Maine kursi kheenchi aur baith gayi.
Maine kaha, “Mummy, mera ek purana trunk tha. Chhat wale kamre mein.”
Unhone pen nahi rokha. “Hmm.”
“Usme meri school ki cheezein thi. Copies, khat, wagera.”
Ab unhone pen rok diya. Par upar nahi dekha.
Chaar second. Maine gine.
Phir unhone kaha, bina nazar uthaye, list ki taraf dekhte hue:
“Woh trunk bahut saal pehle hi khaali ho gaya tha, Meera.”