Main bahut der tak kuch nahi boli.
“Neelu,” maine aakhir kaha, “woh paise… Rajesh bhejta tha. Theek hai. Par Rajesh ko gaye do saal ho gaye.”
“Haan.”
“Toh phir abhi tak har mahine paanch hazaar kaun bhej raha hai?”
Neelu ne sar uthaya. “Kya matlab?”
“Mere account mein.” Maine phone uthaya, messages khole, aur usko dikhaya. Ek ke baad ek. Chaubees mahine. “Paanch tareekh. Har mahine. Gyarah baje ke aas-paas.”
Usne phone liya. Scroll kiya. Uska haath kaanp raha tha.
“Bhabhi…”
“Woh wapas bhej raha hai,” maine kaha, aur yeh bolte hue meri awaaz ajeeb lagi. “Wahi rakam. Ulti taraf.”
Hum dono kitchen mein baithe rahe. Bahar Aarav apni cycle ki ghanti baja raha tha, baar baar, jaise bachche karte hain.
“Bhabhi, aapko usse milna chahiye.”
“Main nahi jaanti usko.”
“Aap jaanti ho.” Neelu ki aankhon se aansu gir rahe the aur usne pochhe bhi nahi. “Aapne uske paise do saal se liye hain. Aapne Aarav ki fees usse bhari hai.”
Maine woh number khola.
Maine likha: “Mujhe sab pata chal gaya hai. Shankar ji ke bete ho aap?”
Is baar jawab turant aaya.
“Haan.”
Maine kaafi der kuch nahi likha. Phir maine likha:
“Aap paise kyun bhej rahe hain? Aap par koi karz nahi hai.”
Typing. Rukhna. Typing.
“Aapke pati bees saal se bhej rahe the. Ek mahina bhi nahi chhoda. Meri behen ki shaadi unke paison se hui.”
Phir:
“Jab woh gaye, maine socha ab main bhejunga. Bas itna hi hai. Isme koi kahani nahi hai.”
Maine likha: “Mujhe milna hai aapse.”
Bahut der tak kuch nahi aaya.
Phir: “Main Pune mein hun. Kal Sunday hai.”