City of Joy: Cute si Love Story

Chapter 1: Pehli Mulaqat - The Rainstorm

Main Riya, 25 saal ki, Siliguri se Kolkata aayi thi... sirf apne sapno ko rang dene. Graphic designer by profession, lekin dil se main ek artist thi. Mere paas hamesha ek canvas bag rehta tha - jismein meri sketches, mere khayal, meri duniya basi rehti thi.

March ka mahina tha. Kolkata ki garmi apna asar dikhane lagi thi, lekin aaj... aaj baarish ka asar tha. Main College Street se aayi thi, Art College ke paas se ek nayi sketchbook kharid kar. Mashi ka ghar Bhowanipore mein tha - Mashi, meri mausi, jiske yahan main rehti thi apne internship ke dauraan.

"Riya, jaldi aana, baarish aane waali hai!" Mashi ka phone aaya tha.

Lekin main... main toh bas tram ka intezaar kar rahi thi. Kolkata ki tram - kitni purani, kitni khoobsurat! Yeh modern duniya mein bhi apni jagah banaye hue thi. Main tram stop pe khadi thi, apne canvas bag ko sine se lagaaye, jab achanak...

Phat!

Aasmaan ne apna raag suna diya. Baarish... aur woh bhi aisi ki bas! Log bhaag rahe the, chaatein khul rahi thi, lekin main... main bas tram ka intezaar kar rahi thi, kyunki mujhe pata tha ki yeh baarish Kolkata ki shaan hai.

Tram aayi. Purani si, hari rang ki, jaise koi itihas ki kitaab ho. Main andar gayi, bheed thi, lekin ek seat mil gayi window ke paas. Maine apna bag zameen pe rakha, canvas ko apne paas hi rakha. Baarish ki boondein window pe takra rahi thi, aur main... main bas yeh sab dekh rahi thi.

Tabhi ek awaaz aayi.

"Excuse me, yeh seat khaali hai?"

Maine upar dekha. Saamne ek ladka khada tha. White kurta, jeans, baalo mein thodi gel - seedha sa, simple sa, lekin aankhon mein kuch alag sa tha. Woh aankhein... jaise Rabindranath ki kavita padhti hain.

"Ha... haan, baithiye," maine kaha.

Usne baithte waqt muskuraya. "Baarish dekh ke aap bhaagi nahi?"

"Nahi," maine kaha, apne canvas bag ko aur paas kheenchte hue. "Main toh bas... yeh sab dekhna chahti thi."

"Kolkata ki baarish alag hi hoti hai," usne kaha, window ki taraf dekhte hue. "Jaise koi purana geet ho, yaadein le aati hai."

Maine usse dekha. Kaun tha yeh? Itna poetic? "Aap...?"

"Oh, sorry! Main Joy. Joy Banerjee. School teacher hoon - South Point mein History padhata hoon."

"Riya," maine kaha. "Riya Sharma. Graphic designer. Siliguri se."

"Siliguri?" Usne eyebrows uthaye. "Wahan se Kolkata? Culture shock nahi hua?"

"Thoda... lekin acha lag raha hai. Yeh city... purani hai, jaise koi painting ho."

Tabhi... Phat! Phat! Phat!

Baarish aur tez ho gayi. Tram ke khidki se paani andar aa raha tha. Maine jaldi se apna canvas bag uthaya, lekin... ek badi boond sidha mere sketchbook pe gir gayi.

"Oh no!" main cheekhi.

Main jaldi se tissue nikaalne lagi, lekin Joy ne pehle hi apna rumal nikaal diya - ek purana sa, dhula hua, lekin saaf rumal.

"Ruko, ruko!" usne kaha, aur mere canvas ko apne paas kheench liya. "Yeh geele ho jaayenge!"

Usne apne haathon se mere sketches ko cover karne ki koshish ki. Tram hil rahi thi, aur hum dono... kaise pata nahi, ek doosre ke kaafi kareeb aa gaye. Uske haath mere canvas pe the, aur mere haath uske haaton ke upar... hum dono paani ko rokne ki koshish kar rahe the.

"Yeh... yeh mere kaam hain," maine kaha, awaaz thodi kamzor thi. "Mere bachpan se..."

"Main samajhta hoon," usne kaha, mujhe dekhe bina. "Art... art kisi ki jaan hoti hai."

Humne milkar canvas ko ek plastic cover se dhak diya - jo mere bag mein tha. Lekin tab tak... hum dono thode geele ho chuke the. Uske kurte ke kone pe paani ke cheetein, aur mere dupatte pe bhi.

"Sorry," usne kaha, pehli baar mujhe aankhon mein dekhte hue. "Aap geele ho gayi..."

"Nahi, nahi, it's okay," maine kaha. "Aapne toh meri... meri jaan bachayi."

Woh muskuraya. Woh muskaan... jaise koi purana ghar ho, garam chai ho, aur baarish ho.

"Waise, aap kahan ja rahi hain?" usne pucha.

"Bhowanipore. Mashi ke ghar."

"Oh! Main bhi usi taraf. Tollygunge. Dida ke saath rehta hoon - meri daadi."

"Dida?" maine pucha.

"Bengali mein daadi ko Dida kehte hain," usne samjhaya. "Woh... woh meri duniya hain. Unhone hi mujhe Rabindranath ki kavitaayein padhai hain."

Maine kuch feel kiya... kuch ajeeb sa. Yeh ladka... alag tha. Aaj kal ke ladkon jaise nahi. Usmein koi rawaayat thi, koi tehzeeb.

Tram chal rahi thi, baarish bahar ho rahi thi, aur hum dono... baatein kar rahe the.

"Aapko trams pasand hain?" usne pucha.

"Bahut," maine kaha. "Siliguri mein bhi hain, lekin yahan... yahan alag hai. Yeh... yeh jaise time machine ho."

"Exactly!" usne kaha, excited ho kar. "Dekhiye na, yeh wires upar, yeh purani seats... yeh sab toh British time ki hai. Lekin phir bhi... zinda hai."

"Jaane kyun, mujhe lagta hai ki yeh sab dekh ke main acha design kar paati hoon," maine kaha. "Purani cheezon mein kuch baat hoti hai."

"Purani cheezon mein jaan hoti hai," usne kaha, aur phir apni pocket se ek chota sa notebook nikaala. "Dekhiye, main bhi... shayari likhta hoon. Kabhi kabhi."

Mujhe dekhne diya. Uske haath mein ek purana sa notebook tha, aur usmein... usmein kavitaayein thi. Bengali mein, Hindi mein, English mein.

"Yeh... yeh aapne likha?" maine hairani se pucha.

"Ha. Bas... dil mein aaya toh likh diya. Dida kehti hain ki shabd garam hote hain, unhe thanda nahi hone dena chahiye."

Kya baat thi! Main toh bas dekhti hi reh gayi. Yeh ladka... teacher tha, poet tha, aur kuch aur bhi... kuch jo main samajh nahi pa rahi thi.

"Waise, aap kya sketch karti hain?" usne pucha.

"Bas... jo dikhta hai. Log, sadkein, baarish..." maine kaha, aur phir sharma kar, "Aur trams."

"Trams?" usne muskuraya. "Kal ko main aapke sketch mein aa jaun toh?"

"Kyun nahi?" maine kaha, aur hum dono... hum dono hans diye.

Tram ruki. Bhowanipore aa gaya tha.

"Yeh mera stop hai," maine kaha.

"Oh," usne kaha, thoda sa disappointed lag raha tha. "Toh... phir kabhi?"

"Kabhi bhi," maine kaha, utarte hue. "Aur... thank you. Mere canvas ke liye."

"Riya ji," usne kaha, jaise koi purana film ka dialogue ho, "baarish mein bachaya hua canvas... yeh toh kismat ki baat hai."

Main tram se utri, baarish ab thodi kam ho gayi thi. Maine peeche mud kar dekha. Joy window se haath hila raha tha. Maine bhi haath uthaya.

Aur woh... woh pal tha. Mujhe pata nahi tha ki yeh shuruaat thi... kuch khoobsurat ki.

---

Chapter 2: Mashi aur Unki Kahaniyaan

"Eto deri holo keno, Riya?" Mashi ne darwaza khola. Unhone apron pehna hua tha, haath mein chammach thi. Ghar mein khane ki khushboo aa rahi thi - shayad ilish maach ya kuch Bengali special.

"Sorry, Mashi," maine kaha, apne geele canvas ko saaf karne ki koshish karte hue. "Tram mein thodi der ho gayi."

"Tram? Abar tram?" Mashi ne eyebrows uthaye. "Tumi modern mey, phir bhi purano jinish bhalobasho. Ami toh bhablam bus e jabe."

"Mashi, tram mein alag hi maza hai," maine kaha, apne kamre mein jaa kar apne sketches nikaalne lagi. "Aur aaj toh... kuch khaas hua."

"Khaas?" Mashi aayi meri paas. "Ke holo?"

Mashi ko maine sab bataya. The rain, the tram, the boy who saved my canvas... everything.

"Ke? Ekta chhele?" Mashi muskurayi. "Bhalo dekhte?"

"Mashi!" maine sharmate hue kaha. "Bas... acha tha. Bahut hi... gentleman."

"Gentleman?" Mashi ne sar hilaaya. "Ei shobde toh aar keu bhalobashe na. Tumi thik thak bolcho, Riya. Kolkata te ekhon o ache achha chele."

Us raat main so nahi paayi. Baarish ki awaaz sunte hue, main bas... uski baatein yaad kar rahi thi. Uske haath mere canvas pe... uski aankhein... uska "Riya ji."

Subah jab main uthi, toh Mashi ne chai banayi thi - strong, adrak wali, jaise meri mummy banati thi.

"Aaj ki korbe?" Mashi ne pucha.

"College Street jaana hai, Mashi. Kuch aur supplies leni hain," maine kaha.

"Thik ache. Kintu ekta kotha - oi tram e aar beshi ghurona. Ebar theke auto niyo."

Lekin main... main toh tram se hi jaana chahti thi. Kyunki... kyunki kuch umeed thi. Paagal thi main, lekin dil kuch aur hi keh raha tha.

---

Chapter 3: Doosra Milan - Art College ke Paas

Do din baad, main phir College Street gayi. Is baar tram mein woh nahi tha. Main thodi disappointed thi, lekin phir socha - itni bhi kya jaldi hai?

Main Art College ke bahar khadi thi, ek nayi brush set dekh rahi thi, jab...

"Riya ji?"

Maine mud kar dekha. Woh tha! Joy! White shirt, black pants, haath mein books.

"Joy!" maine kaha, aur phir apne aap ko rok liya. Itni excitement... thoda zyada tha.

"Aap yahan?" usne pucha, paas aate hue.

"Supplies lene aayi thi. Aap?"

"Main... actually, yahan se guzar raha tha. Dida ne kaha ki College Street ki chaat khaana hai," usne muskuraya. "Aur... aur main socha, shayad... shayad aap mil jaayen."

Mera dil tez dhadak raha tha. "Shayad?"

"Woh... woh baarish waali din," usne kaha, haath se apne baal theek karte hue, "maine aapka naam toh pucha tha, lekin... lekin contact nahi liya. Aaj kal ke zamane mein... strange lag raha tha."

"Strange acha hota hai," maine kaha.

"Toh... coffee?" usne pucha. "Indian Coffee House? Woh toh yahan paas mein hi hai. Purana hai, lekin..."

"Purana acha hai," maine kaha.

Indian Coffee House... kya jagah thi! Upar se neeche tak books, artists, students... aur woh purani coffee ki khushboo. Humne ek corner table liya.

"Aapko kaisa laga Kolkata ab tak?" usne pucha.

"Ghar jaisa," maine kaha. "Mashi hain, toh acha lag raha hai. Lekin... kuch missing tha. Ab pata chala kya."

"Kya?"

"Yeh sab. Trams, coffee house, baarish... aur... aur aapki tarah ke log."

Joy ne coffee peete hue mujhe dekha. "Meri tarah?"

"Jo... jo purani cheezon ko value karte hain. Aaj kal sab fast hai, digital hai. Lekin aap... aap alag ho."

"Main traditional hoon," usne kaha. "Mummy-Papa America mein hain, lekin main... main Dida ke saath rehta hoon. Unki tabiyat theek nahi rehti, aur main... main unhe chhod kar nahi jaa sakta."

Kya baat thi. Main toh bas dekhti reh gayi. Yeh ladka... itna caring, itna rooted.

"Dida ke baare mein batao," maine kaha.

"Dida..." uski aankhein chamak gayi. "Woh meri first teacher hain. Unhone mujhe history sikhayi, Rabindranath sikhaya, aur... aur zindagi jeena sikhaya. Ab woh 80 saal ki hain, lekin dimaag... ufff! Tez hai bilkul."

"Aur poetry? Woh aapko sikhati hain?"

"Woh kehti hain ki kavita dil se aati hai," Joy ne kaha. "Aur jab dil kisi ko chune ki koshish kare... toh woh kavita ban jaati hai."

Maine usse dekha. Kya yeh... kya yeh indirectly...?

"Waise, aapke sketches?" usne topic change kiya. "Kya kya banati hain aap?"

Maine apna phone nikaala. Maine apni kuch digital sketches dikhayi - trams, howrah bridge, street dogs, aur ek... ek baarish mein tram ki.

"Yeh... yeh wohi din hai," usne kaha, screen pe zoom kar ke.

"Ha. Maine ghar jaake banaya tha," maine kaha. "Woh moment... bohot special tha."

"Riya," usne kaha, pehli baar mera naam bina "ji" ke, "kya... kya main yeh print karwa sakta hoon? Dida ko dikhana hai. Woh... woh aapki art pasand karengi, mujhe pata hai."

"Zaroor," maine kaha. "Main... main aapko high-res bhej deti hoon."

Humne numbers exchange kiye. Itna natural tha, jaise hum pehle se jaante ho.

"By the way," usne kaha, coffee khatam karte hue, "mera ek dost hai, Sayan. Woh bhi teacher hai. Kal uski shaadi ki baat chal rahi hai ghar pe. Dida ne kaha ki main bhi... bhi apni..."

Usne sentence adhura chhod diya.

"Apni?" maine pucha.

"Kuch nahi," usne muskuraya. "Bas... Dida ko mere liye chinta hai. Traditional ladki chahiye unhe mere liye. Jo family values jaane."

Main chup ho gayi. Kya main... kya main waisi thi? Siliguri se, modern job, independent...

"Lekin," usne kaha, "maine unse kaha ki pyaar... pyaar koi resume nahi hota. Woh bas... woh bas ho jaata hai."

Maine uski aankhon mein dekha. Kuch tha wahan. Kuch jo hum dono feel kar rahe the, lekin keh nahi pa rahe the.

---

Chapter 4: Dida ka Aashirwad

Ek hafte baad, Joy ne message kiya: "Dida aapko milna chahti hain. Kya aap aa sakti hain? Mere ghar? Sunday ko?"

Mera dil dhadak raha tha. Dida? Uski daadi? Mujhe kyun milna chahti thi?

Maine Mashi se pucha. Mashi ne muskurate hue kaha, "Eto shiggiri? Thik ache, ja. Kintu ekta kapor pore ja. Amader traditional dress."

Maine ek simple white saree with light blue border pehni. Mashi ne kaha, "Eto shundor lagcho. Joy er Dida toh bhalobesei jabe."

Joy ka ghar ek purana Bengali house tha - Tollygunge mein. Red oxide ka floor, aangan mein tulsi ka podha, aur... aur woh smell. Garam masala, ittar, aur puraane lakdi ki furniture ki smell.

Joy ne darwaza khola. Usne kurta pajama pehna tha - blue colour ka. "Aap... aap bahut sundar lag rahi hain," usne kaha, sharmate hue.

"Thanks," maine kaha, nervous hokar.

Andar... andar Dida baithi thi. White saree, chashma, aur haath mein jaap ki maala. Unki aankhein... kitni tez thi! Jaise sab kuch dekh leti hain.

"Eso, meye, eso," unhone kaha. "Boso."

Maine pranam kiya - Mashi ne sikhaya tha.

"Joy bolchilo tomake niye," Dida ne kaha. "Aar tor canvas er golpo. Ekta meye jara art bhalobashe, tar mane bhalo meye."

Main sharma gayi. "Thank you, Dida."

"Joy, tor bondhu Sayan aaschhe," Dida ne kaha. "Oke bolo coffee banate."

Sayan aaya - ek energetic ladka, thoda mota sa, aur bahut hi friendly.

"Arre, Joy ki Riya!" usne kaha. "Finally mil li! Joy toh roz tera naam leta hai yaar!"

"Sayan!" Joy ne usse elbow se maara.

"Kya? Sach bol raha hoon!" Sayan muskuraya. "Chal, main coffee banata hoon, tum dono baat karo."

Hum aangan mein baithe. Baarish ka mausam tha, halki halki boond gir rahi thi.

"Woh... woh jo sketch bheja tha," Joy ne kaha, "maine Dida ko dikhaya. Unhe... unhe bahut pasand aaya."

"Sacchi?" maine kaha.

"Haan. Aur..." Joy ne apna notebook nikaala. "Maine... maine uspe ek kavita likhi hai. Aapke baare mein. Aapki art ke baare mein."

Mera dil ruk gaya. "Mere... mere baare mein?"

"Can I... can I read it?" usne pucha.

Maine haan mein sir hilaaya.

Usne saans liya, aur padhna shuru kiya:

"Siliguri ki woh ladki, Canvas le kar aayi, Kolkata ki galiyon mein, Rang apne bikhraayi.

Baarish ki boondon mein, Tram ki purani seeti mein, Usne dekha mujhe, Aur main... main toh bas... Usi pal jeet gaya."

Woh ruka. Mera dil tez dhadak raha tha. Aankhon mein aansu aa gaye.

"Aage... aage hai," usne kaha, khud bhi emotional ho kar.

"Uske haathon mein woh brush, Jaise jaadu ka jadoo, Main teacher hoon, padhata hoon itihaas, Lekin usmein... usmein mera future hai, Mera sukoon."

Dida humein dekh rahi thi. Unki aankhein bhi num thi.

"Joy..." main kuch keh nahi paayi.

"Riya," usne kaha, apni kavita band kar ke, "main jaanta hoon ki hum jaante nahi hain zyada. Lekin... lekin jab se aapko dekha hai, main... main alag feel karta hoon. Aapki simplicity, aapki art... aur aapka woh Siliguri se aake bhi Kolkata ko apnane ka tareeka..."

Dida ne kaha, "Bas, bas. Aar koto shonabo? Ami toh aashirbad kore dilam."

Hum dono Dida ki taraf dekhe.

"Joy, ei meyeke amar bhalo legeche," Dida ne kaha. "Tor maa baba America te, kintu ami toh ekhane. Aar ami boli, ei meyei tor jonno thik."

"Maa..." Joy sharmaya.

"Ki maa? Ami bujhi na?" Dida muskurayi. "Eto dine ekta meyeke anecho bari te. Aar oke dekhlei bujhlam. Tor chokh e aladha aloo."

Main... main rone lagi. Khushi se. Itni jaldi? Itni asaani se? Yeh Dida... kitni samajhdaar thi!

Sayan bahar se aaya. "Arre, kya hua? Rona kyun?"

"Khushi se, bozo," Dida ne kaha. "Ekhon tumra dujone boshe khao. Ami mishti enechi - rosogolla. Joy er favourite."

Humne milkar rosogolla khaye. Joy ne mere haath pakda - pehli baar. Uska haath garam tha, strong tha, aur... aur perfect fit tha mere haath mein.

"Thank you," usne kaha, sirf mujhe sunai dene ke liye.

"Kis liye?" maine pucha.

"Meri zindagi mein aane ke liye."

---

Chapter 5: Sayan ki Shaadi aur Nazdeekiyaan

Agle do mahine... woh sabse khoobsurat time tha. Joy aur main... hum roz milte. Tram mein, Coffee House mein, Dida ke ghar pe. Mashi ko bhi pata chal gaya tha, aur woh bhi khush thi.

Sayan ki shaadi thi - December mein. Joy ka best friend, toh obviously mujhe bhi jaana tha.

"Riya, tum aa rahi ho na?" Sayan ne phone pe pucha. "Meri bibi se milna hai tumhe!"

"Zaroor aaungi," maine kaha.

Shaadi ek traditional Bengali wedding thi. Joy ne dhoti kurta pehna tha - white with red border. Main ek light pink saree mein thi.

Jab main pahunchi, toh Joy ne mujhe dekha aur... aur woh bol nahi paaya. Bas dekhta hi raha.

"Kya... kya hua?" maine pucha, sharmate hue.

"Kuch nahi," usne kaha. "Bas... aap bahut... bahut sundar lag rahi hain."

Sayan ki shaadi mein, humne saath dance kiya - Rabindra Sangeet pe. "Amaro porano jaha chay" - yeh gaana baja. Joy ne mujhe haath pakda, aur... aur humne saath mein dance kiya. Itna close, itna comfortable.

Raat ko, jab sab thak ke baithe, Joy ne mujhe terrace pe le gayi.

"Riya," usne kaha, "maine aapko kuch dikhana hai."

Kya tha? Usne apna phone nikaala. Ek video tha.

"Yeh... yeh maine kyun banaya?" maine pucha.

"Kyunki," usne kaha, "yeh hum hain. Aap aur main. Tram mein, baarish mein, Dida ke ghar pe... maine sab record kiya. Apni yaadon mein."

Video mein... hum the. Main hass rahi thi, woh muskura raha tha. Tram ke window se baarish, coffee house ki chai, Dida ki muskaan...

"Joy..." main emotional ho gayi.

"Riya," usne kaha, mere haathon ko apne haathon mein pakad kar, "main aapko kuch kehna chahta hoon. Pehli baar... pehli baar jab aapko dekha tha tram mein, toh maine socha tha ki yeh ladki... yeh ladgi alag hai. Lekin ab... ab main jaanta hoon ki yeh alag nahi, yeh meri hai."

"Meri?" maine pucha, awaaz kamzor thi.

"Meri duniya," usne kaha. "Meri subah, meri shaam. Mera itihaas, mera future. Riya... I love you."

Pehli baar. Usne kaha. Aur main... main rone lagi.

"Kya... kya hua?" usne ghabra kar pucha. "Maine kuch galat...?"

"Nahi!" maine kaha, hast hue. "Main... main bahut khush hoon. Main bhi... main bhi aapko..."

"Kya?"

"I love you too, Joy. Bahut."

Usne mujhe gale lagaya. Pehli baar. Uski baahon mein... jaise ghar mil gaya ho. Jaise Siliguri aur Kolkata... sab ek ho gaye ho.

"Riya," usne kaha, mere kaan mein, "Dida chahti hain ki... ki hum..."

"Kya?"

"Engaged ho jaaye. Officially. Unhe aap bahut pasand hain. Aur mujhe... mujhe toh aap meri zindagi ho."

Maine usse alag hokar dekha. "Engaged? Itni jaldi?"

"Jaldi?" usne muskuraya. "Riya, hum pehle din se... jaane kyun jaante hain. Kuch cheezein time nahi maangti. Bas... bas dil maangta hai."

Maine socha. Mashi... Mashi kya kahengi? Lekin phir maine dekha - Mashi khadi thi darwaze pe, muskura rahi thi.

"Mashi!" main chillaayi.

"Ami shunechi," unhone kaha. "Aar ami khushi. Joy er moto chele paowa kothin. Riya, tumi raji thakle, ami bhi raji."

Woh raat... woh raat sabse khoobsurat thi. Sayan aur uski nayi bride ne humein bless kiya. Dida ne phone pe kaha, "Ebar mishti khete hobe. Aar beshi deri nai. Joy ke bolo jokhon ichche, tokhoni biye koruk."

---

Chapter 6: Ghar, Parivaar, aur Sapne

Agle hafte, main Dida ke ghar gayi - officially, as Joy's... well, Dida ne kaha "bou-ma" (bahu), lekin hum officially engaged nahi the. Lekin Bengali families mein... kuch baatein dil se hoti hain.

Dida ne darwaza khola. Unhone new white saree pehni thi, aur haath mein... haath mein thaal thi. Mishti se bhari.

"Eso, eso amar bou-ma," unhone kaha.

"Maa, abhi officially..." Joy ne kaha.

"Ki official?" Dida ne kaha. "Ami bolchi toh official. Ebar theke Riya amar granddaughter. Aar tor... tor biwi hobe. Etei kotha sesh."

Unhone mujhe gale lagaya. Itna pyaar... jaise main hamesha se unki family mein thi.

"Mishti khao," unhone kaha. "Rosogolla aar sandesh. Joy er baba pathiyeche America theke. Bollo je tor jonno special mishti enechilo."

Maine dekha - Joy ki aankhein num thi. Uske parents... unhone yeh maan liya tha. Meri wajah se.

"Thank you, Dida," maine kaha.

"Na, na. Ami Dida. Joy er bou-ma bolle Dida bolo," unhone muskuraya. "Aar ekta kotha - tomra dujone ekhane thakbe. Amar ei purano bari te. America jete hobe na."

Joy ne mujhe dekha. "Riya? Aap... aap thod der ke liye yahan...?"

"Main... main sochungi," maine kaha. "Mashi se baat karungi. Lekin... lekin mujhe yeh ghar bahut pasand hai."

Shaam ko, hum teeno - Dida, Joy, aur main - aangan mein baithe. Dida ne harmonium nikaala. Unhone "Jokhoni naam dhoni" gaana shuru kiya - Rabindranath ka.

Joy ne mujhse kaha, "Dida kehti hain ki shaadi ke baad hum yahin rahenge. Yeh ghar... yeh ghar 100 saal purana hai. Mera bachpan yahin beeta hai."

"Aur mera future?" maine pucha.

"Yahin," usne kaha, mera haath pakad kar. "Aapka studio yahin hoga - upar wala kamra. Main neeche padhaunga. Aur shaam ko... shaam ko hum tram mein ghoomne jaayenge. Purani yaadein taaza karne."

Dida ne gaana band kiya. "Ebar tomra dujone ghuire aao. Ami aram korbo."

Hum bahar nikle. Kolkata ki raat... kitni khoobsurat thi! Tram ki patri pe light gir rahi thi, aur Joy ne mera haath pakda.

"Riya," usne kaha, "main aapko kuch dikhana chahta hoon."

"Kya?"

Usne apna wallet nikaala. Usmein... usmein ek choti si sketch thi. Meri sketch. Woh tram waali.

"Yeh... yeh maine print karwaya tha," usne kaha. "Hamesha mere paas rehta hai. Kyunki yeh din... yeh din meri zindagi ka sabse important din tha."

Maine usse dekha. Yeh ladka... itna pyaar karta tha mujhse. Itna genuinely, itna deeply.

"Joy," maine kaha, "main bhi... main bhi kuch chahti hoon."

"Kya?"

Maine apni baahon mein usse bhar liya. Pehli baar... maine pehli baar kiss kiya. Forehead pe. Soft, sweet, aur full of promise.

"Yeh," maine kaha. "Aur... aur ek future. Aapke saath. Dida ke saath. Kolkata mein. Trams mein. Baarish mein. Har jagah."

Usne mujhe gale lagaya. Tight. "Riya... meri Riya."

---

Epilogue: Ek Nayi Subah

6 mahine baad...

Main apne new studio mein thi - upar wala kamra, jaise Joy ne kaha tha. Meri sketches everywhere - trams, Howrah Bridge, Dida ka harmonium, aur... aur Joy. Uske padhate hue, uske likhte hue, uske mujhe dekhte hue.

Aaj humari engagement thi. Simple si - Dida ne kaha tha ki zyada show-off nahi. Sirf family. Mashi aayi thi Siliguri se, Sayan aur uski biwi aaye the, aur... aur Joy ke parents. America se aaye the. Pehli baar mujhse milne.

"Riya," Joy ki mummy ne kaha, "tumne mere bete ko khush rakha. Yeh hi kaafi hai."

"Aur Dida ko bhi," Joy ke papa ne kaha. "Woh toh tumse bahut pyaar karti hain."

Shaam ko, hum sabne saath mein khana khaya - kosha mangsho, bhaat, dal. Pure Bengali style mein.

Dida ne mere haath mein kuch rakha. Ek choti si sketchbook.

"Eta tomar jonno," unhone kaha. "Amar shob chhobi. Joy er bachbelar. Aar ekhon... ekhon tomar."

Maine khola. Dida ki sketches thi! Unhone bhi kabhi...!

"Ami o ekdin artist chhilam," unhone muskuraya. "Kintu paribar er jonno chhere dilam. Ebar tomra... tomra dujone ekta notun shuru korbe. Aar art ke o jaiga dabe."

Main rone lagi. Khushi se. Joy ne mujhe pakda.

"Thank you, Dida," maine kaha.

"Na," unhone kaha, mere gaal ko chute hue. "Thank you tomke. Amar Joy ke khushi dewar jonno."

Raat ko, jab sab chale gaye, Joy aur main aangan mein baithe. Baarish hone waali thi - monsoon aa gaya tha.

"Riya," Joy ne kaha, "ek saal pehle... ek saal pehle main soch bhi nahi sakta tha ki aap meri zindagi mein hongi."

"Aur ab?" maine pucha.

"Ab?" usne muskuraya, aur apna notebook nikaala. "Ab main ek aur kavita likh raha hoon."

"Kis baare mein?"

"Hamari shaadi ke baare mein. Hone waali shaadi. Aur... aur hamari zindagi ke baare mein. Trams, baarish, art, aur pyaar."

Maine uska haath pakda. Upar, baadlon mein pehli boond gir rahi thi.

"Joy," maine kaha, "main soch rahi thi..."

"Kya?"

"Hamari shaadi... tram mein honi chahiye. Purani si tram. Baarish mein. Jaise hum mile the."

Usne mujhe dekha. Woh aankhein... woh wahi aankhein thi. Jaise pehle din.

"Riya," usne kaha, "aap sach mein... sach mein meri soul mate hain."

"Nahi," maine kaha, muskura kar. "Main aapki tram-mate hoon. Kyunki yeh safar... yeh safar shuru hua tha ek tram mein. Aur yeh chalta rahega. Hamesha."

Usne mujhe gale lagaya. Aur is baar... is baar humne kiss kiya. Real wala. Soft, sweet, full of love. Kolkata ki baarish mein, purani tram ki patri ke paas, aur ek naye sapne ke saath.

Khatam nahi... bas shuruaat hai.

Yeh thi Riya aur Joy ki kahani. Kolkata Tram Ke Rang.

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~ The End ~