Maine kaha, “Mummy, dekhiye meri taraf.”
Unhone dekha. Aur unki aankhon mein jo tha, woh surprise nahi tha.
Woh woh cheez thi jo insaan ke chehre pe tab aati hai jab ek baat jo woh saalon se pakde baithe ho, aakhir mein saamne aa jaati hai. Thakan jaisi. Halka sa relief bhi.
Unhone list side mein rakh di. Chashma utara. Aur kaha, “Baith ja.”
Main pehle se baithi thi.
“Teen saal pehle saaf kiya tha,” unhone kaha. “Diwali ke waqt. Poora chhat wala kamra.”
“Aur mere khat?”
“Maine padhe.”
Bas. Na safai, na ‘sorry beta’. Ek line, seedhi.
Mere andar kuch garam ho gaya. “Aapne mere khat padhe.”
“Haan.”
“Mummy, woh—”
“Meera.” Unki awaaz nahi uthi. Mummy ki awaaz kabhi nahi uthti; yahi unki sabse bhaari cheez hai. “Tu mujhse ladna chahti hai ya sunna chahti hai? Dono nahi ho sakta aur tere paas teen din hain.”
Toh maine suna.
2013 mein, jab main seventeen ki thi, unko pata chal gaya tha. Kaise — woh abhi bhi nahi batati. Mera khayal hai unhone mera phone dekha tha, par unhone kabhi maana nahi.
Unhone mujhse kuch nahi kaha. Unhone Aakash se baat ki.
Yeh sun kar mere haath tak thande ho gaye. Gyarah saal mein maine socha tha ki usne khud chhoda. Ki woh kamzor tha. Ki usne ladne ki koshish hi nahi ki.
“Aap usse mile?”
“College ke gate ke bahar. Do baar.”
“Aur kya kaha?”
Mummy ne kuch der kuch nahi kaha. Phir bola, “Maine kaha ki tere papa ki tabiyat theek nahi hai. Ki ghar mein paise ka issue hai. Ki agar abhi is ghar mein ek aur cheez aayi to sab bikhar jayega.” Rukin. “Maine kaha ki agar woh sach mein tujhse pyaar karta hai, to woh tujhe thodi der ke liye chhod dega. Sirf thodi der. Jab tak ghar sambhal jaye.”
“Aur woh maan gaya.”
“Woh maan gaya.”
Main hans padi, bina kisi khushi ke. “Kyunki aapne usko emotional blackmail kiya.”
“Haan,” unhone kaha. “Kiya.”
Yeh sabse mushkil hissa hai aur main ise chhoti nahi karungi.
Mummy jhooth nahi bol rahi thi. Papa ki tabiyat us saal sach mein kharab thi — mujhe yaad hai, hospital, teen mahine, mummy ka wajan kam hona. Paise ka issue bhi sach tha; humne us saal gaadi bech di thi aur mujhe bataya tha ki “maintenance zyada tha.”
Unhone jo kaha woh sach tha.
Unhone jo nahi kaha, woh yeh tha ki “thodi der” ka koi ant nahi rakha gaya. Koi tareekh nahi. Koi ‘phir baat karenge’ nahi.
Aur seventeen saal ka ladka, jisko ek maa gate ke bahar rok kar kehti hai ki tum is ghar ko todh doge — woh ‘kab tak’ nahi poochta. Woh bas peeche hat jaata hai.
“Aur khat?” maine poocha. “Aapne khat usko kyun diye?”
Aur yahan Mummy ki awaaz pehli baar tuti.
“Maine nahi diye,” unhone kaha. “Maine phenk diye the.”
“Toh phir—”
“Maine kachre mein daale the. Teen saal pehle. Aur teen din baad woh wapas mere kamre mein the, mere bistar pe, rubber band ke saath.”
Main samajh nahi paayi. “Kisne—”
“Tera bhai,” unhone kaha. “Rohit ne.”
Mera bhai. Jo us waqt unnees saal ka tha. Jisne aaj subah teen baar DJ ke advance ke baare mein poocha tha.
“Usne kya kaha?”
Mummy ne mez ki taraf dekha. “Usne kaha, ‘Yeh aapke nahi hain, Mummy.’”
Kuch der hum dono kuch nahi bole. Kitchen se halwai ki awaaz aa rahi thi. Bahar koi tent wala kuch thonk raha tha.
Phir maine poocha, “Toh aaj kisne bheja? Aap ne?”
Aur mummy ne mujhe seedha dekha aur kaha:
“Meera, mere paas woh khat teen saal se nahi hain.”