City of Joy: Cute si Love Story

"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.

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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.

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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...