Wrong Gear

Subah ke 8:47 baje the, aur Sameer already apni life se do kadam aage aur do nervous breakdowns peeche chal raha tha.

Connaught Place ke paas traffic jam tha, horn ka orchestra full volume pe tha, aur uske phone pe office ke messages aise blink kar rahe the jaise sabko sirf usi ki jaan leni ho. “Client call in 10 mins,” “Deck updated?” “Where are you?” — har notification ek chhota sa attack lag raha tha. Sameer ne ek haath se phone pakda hua tha, doosre se apna laptop bag seedha kiya, aur baar-baar watch dekh raha tha jaise time koi personal dushman ho.

“Arre bhaiya, jaldi chalo na,” usne auto wale ko pehle hi bola tha, jab woh Janpath ke corner pe chadha. “I’m getting late.”

Auto wala, Ramkaka, pachaas ke paar, safed baal, halka sa tilak, aur aankhon mein ajeeb si shaanti. Unka auto bhi unhi ki tarah lag raha tha—purana, thoda khadkhadata hua, par chalne mein yakeenan. Unhone mirror se Sameer ko dekha aur bas itna bole, “Late toh sab hote hain beta. Par koi traffic mein late hota hai, koi dimaag mein.”

Sameer ne response dene ke liye sirf ek “Hmm” nikala. Uska attention already phone par tha. Ek email open kiya, phir WhatsApp pe ek reply type kiya, phir delete kar diya, phir dobara type kiya. Uska thumb speed se chal raha tha, par chehra bilkul zyada hi tight tha. Jaise phone hi uska oxygen cylinder ho.

Ramkaka ne auto ko ek gap milte hi aage badhaya, phir casually bole, “Aaj kal log auto mein baithte hain ya body sirf seat pe rakhi hoti hai?”

Sameer ne bina dekhe bola, “Haan haan, bas traffic nikaaliye na uncle.”

“Uncle?” Ramkaka ne halki si hansi ke saath repeat kiya. “Theek hai beta, uncle hi sahi. Main toh 25 saal se auto chala raha hoon. Ab toh log mujhe GPS se zyada yaad rakhte hain.”

Sameer ko yeh joke sunne ka mann nahi tha. Usne ek aur message bheja aur phone ka volume mute kar diya. Uski forehead pe sweat ki halki layer thi, despite AC office jaane wali life mein uska apna AC wala auto nahi, phir bhi body pura emergency mode mein thi.

Ramkaka ne kuch der tak chupchaap drive kiya. Phir ekdum se bole, “Beta, aapka gala tight hai.”

Sameer ne head up kiya. “Kya?”

“Gala tight hai. Aur kandhe,” Ramkaka ne mirror mein dekhte hue kaha, “kandhe kaafi upar chadh gaye hain. Jaise aap kisi invisible bag ko dho rahe ho. Par bag haath mein nahi, dimaag mein hai.”

Sameer ko pehli baar laga ki kisi ne usko directly dekha hai. Sirf face nahi, state of mind. Woh thoda uncomfortable ho gaya. “Office ka pressure hai uncle. Important meeting hai.”

Ramkaka ne auto ko ek scooter ke side se carefully nikala. “Pressure toh tyre mein bhi hota hai. Par zyada ho jaaye toh phat jaata hai. Insaan ka bhi same funda hai.”

Sameer ne ek short laugh kiya, par usmein maza kam aur embarrassment zyada tha. “Aapko philosophy ka shauk hai kya?”

Ramkaka ne dheere se muskurate hue kaha, “Shauk nahi beta, mazboori hai. 25 saal se traffic mein logon ke chehre padh raha hoon. Road pe gaadiyan kam, tension zyada chalti hain. Aur aadmi ka face dekh ke pata chal jaata hai ki woh body mein baitha hai ya bas body ko ghaseet raha hai.”

Sameer ne finally phone side mein rakha. Yeh line thodi zyada hit kar gayi thi. Usne window se bahar dekha. Metro pillar ke neeche ek chai wala kulhad arrange kar raha tha, ek school kid apna bag bounce karte hue chal raha tha, aur ek office lady apni dupatta sambhalte hue signal ka wait kar rahi thi. Sab log kahin na kahin pohanchne ki jaldi mein the. Par unmein se koi bhi Sameer jaisa nahi lag raha tha—jaise uska andar ka engine pehle se hi overheat ho chuka ho.

Ramkaka ne uski silence ko pakad liya. “Aap marketing wale ho na?”

Sameer thoda chonk gaya. “Haan. Kaise pata?”

“Marketing wale logon ke haath phone ko aise pakadte hain jaise koi baby ho,” Ramkaka bole. “Aur aankhen hamesha agle call, agle mail, agle target pe hoti hain. Present mein baith ke bhi future ko chase karte rehte hain.”

Sameer ne hoth bheench liye. “Target hi toh kaam hai uncle. Agar target nahi hoga toh promotion kaise milega?”

Ramkaka ne ek red light pe auto roka. Unhone steering wheel pe dono haath rakhe aur Sameer ki taraf bina mudhe, bas mirror mein dekhkar bole, “Promotion mil jaaye toh kya milega?”

Sameer ne turant jawab diya, “Better role. Better package. Respect.”

“Achha,” Ramkaka ne calmly kaha. “Aur uske baad?”

Sameer ruk gaya. “Phir… aur growth.”

“Phir aur growth,” Ramkaka ne repeat kiya, jaise koi purana mantra ho. “Aur uske baad?”

Sameer irritate hone laga. “Uncle, aap yeh kaisi baatein kar rahe ho? Zindagi kaise chalti hai, aapko pata hai?”

Ramkaka ne pehli baar seedha uski taraf dekha. Aankhon mein na gussa tha, na bura maanna. Bas ek aisi thandak thi jo hot coffee ke baad milti hai.

“Beta,” woh dheere se bole, “25 saal se main Delhi ki sadkon pe logon ko le jaa raha hoon. Kisi ko hospital, kisi ko shaadi, kisi ko date pe, kisi ko office, kisi ko ghar. Ek cheez sabmein common hai—sab destination pe pahunchna chahte hain. Par koi raasta enjoy nahi karta. Aur phir jab destination aa jaata hai, toh ya toh phone hota hai, ya next destination.”

Unhone ek saans li aur phir bola, “Zindagi bhi aaj kal same auto ban gayi hai. Gear mein rakh ke bas bhaag rahe ho. Par gear sahi hai ya nahi, woh koi dekh hi nahi raha.”

Sameer ne unconsciously apni seat belt aur tight kar li. Uska phone silent tha, par ab uska dimaag loud ho gaya tha. Ramkaka bolte ja rahe the, aur har word aise lag raha tha jaise koi purani dust wali shelf se ek sach nikaal raha ho.