Ghar Ka Route

Subah ka Ludhiana apni usual halchal ke saath uth chuka tha. Gali mein doodh wale ki cycle ki ghanti, kisi ghar se paranthe ki khushboo, aur door kahin gurudware se aati halki si shabad ki awaaz—sab milke ek aisa scene bana rahe the jo Arjun ko bachpan se familiar lagta tha. Unke ghar ke andar bhi routine bilkul set tha: Simran kitchen mein chai chadha rahi thi, Gurmeet Kaur dining table pe atta ghoondh kar side mein rakh rahi thi, aur dada ji Harbhajan Singh apni purani chair pe newspaper khol ke baith gaye the. Arjun, laptop khol ke, Germany ke joining mail ko baar-baar check kar raha tha, jaise message dubara padhne se uska meaning change ho jayega.

“Visa aa gaya, ticket confirm hai, aur joining Monday ko hai,” Simran ne practical tone mein bola, par uski awaaz mein woh tired si warmth thi jo working mother ke chehre pe aksar chipki rehti hai. “Bas packing theek se kar lo. Documents alag pouch mein rakhna. Aur haan, woollens mat bhoolna, Germany mein thand Ludhiana jaisi nahi hoti.”

“Mom, I know,” Arjun ne half-smile ke saath bola. “Main baby nahi hoon.”

Gurmeet Kaur ne turant uski taraf dekha. “Baby nahi ho, isliye toh aur bhi dhyaan rakhna painda hai, puttar.”

Dada ji ne newspaper ke upar se aankh uthayi. “Dhyaan rakhna achhi baat hai,” unhone calmly kaha, “par jaldi mein kaam mat karna. Ek ek cheez dekh ke pack karna. Life mein bhi aur suitcase mein bhi.”

Arjun ne “haan dada ji” bol diya, par uska dhyaan already us list pe tha jo Simran ne fridge pe chipka rakhi thi—passport, tickets, insurance, medicines, charger, converter, gifts. Har cheez numbered thi, jaise family ek mission pe ho. Aur shayad thi bhi. Germany shift hona koi chhoti baat nahi thi. Naya country, naya office, nayi language, naya routine. Arjun ko excitement thi, obviously thi. IT guy tha, opportunities ka matlab samajhta tha. Par us excitement ke neeche ek ajeeb sa guilt bhi tha, jo woh khud ko bhi clearly explain nahi kar pa raha tha.

Har subah, jab tak packing ka scene start nahi hua tha, Arjun dada ji ke saath cycle pe chhota sa round lagata tha. Dada ji ki cycle purani thi, par chalti bilkul theek thi—slightly creaky, but dependable. Woh cycle sirf cycle nahi thi; ghar ka ek moving memory box thi. Dada ji route yaad rakhte the bina map khole—kaunsi gali mein mithai wali shop hai, kis corner pe peepal ka ped hai, kahan se market ka shortcut nikalta hai, aur kis मोड़ pe ghar ka gate dikhna shuru hota hai.

“Yeh wali gali se jaayenge toh kulcha wala mil jayega,” dada ji aksar bolte. “Aur uske aage jo chhota sa turn hai na, wahan se school ka purana ground dikhta tha. Teri maa ko main wahan cycle pe le jaata tha kabhi kabhi.”

Arjun hanste hue bas “haan” bol deta. Uske liye yeh sab sweet nostalgia tha. Dada ji ke liye yeh routes zindagi ka map the. Unke dimaag mein roads sirf roads nahi the; unmein log, seasons, daant, khushi, bimaari, school bags, ration ke thailon, aur family ke chhote-bade moments ka record tha.

Phir woh din aa gaya jab Germany ka visa, ticket aur joining date final ho gayi. Ghar mein packing shuru hui. Drawing room ke corner mein suitcase khul gaya, aur uske andar kapde fold hoke rakhne lage. Simran documents ki ek file bana rahi thi. Gurmeet Kaur medicines ke strips alag kar rahi thi aur har strip pe marker se likh rahi thi kaunsi subah leni hai, kaunsi raat. Dada ji khamosh the, par unusually active bhi. Woh kabhi balcony mein chale jaate, kabhi cycle ke paas, kabhi kitchen ke door pe khade ho kar bas dekhte rehte.

Arjun ko laga dada ji theek hain. Too calm, maybe. Jaise unhone emotionally accept kar liya ho ki pote ko nikalna hi hai. Arjun bhi practical mode mein tha. “Dada ji, main kal extra bag bhi le aunga,” usne bola. “Aur aap tension mat lo, main sab manage kar lunga.”

Harbhajan Singh ne bas ek chhota sa nod diya. “Theek aa.”

Shaam ko jab Arjun apne jeans aur shirts fold kar raha tha, dada ji chupchaap bahar gaye. Thodi der baad woh apni cycle ko dhakka dete hue andar laaye. Cycle ka frame thoda dusty tha, chain purani thi, par har part pe unki careful care ka nishaan tha. Simran ne chhote se surprise mein unki taraf dekha. “Papa ji, cycle kyon nikaal li?”

Dada ji ne kuch nahi bola. Bas cycle ko verandah mein tikaya, ek soft cloth se uska handle aur seat wipe ki, aur phir andar chale gaye. Arjun ne notice kiya, par us waqt usne zyada socha nahi. Packing ka pressure already head mein tha.

Thodi der baad dada ji ek purani brown diary le aaye. Cover pe koi naam nahi, bas corners thode ghise hue the. Unhone diary Arjun ke haath mein rakhi.

“Yeh kya hai?” Arjun ne pucha.

“Khola kar dekh,” dada ji ne seedha jawab diya.

Arjun ne diary kholi. Pehle page pe Ludhiana ke ghar se railway station tak ka route likha tha. Next page pe bus stand, phir market, phir school, phir hospital. Har route ke saath chhoti chhoti notes. “Yahan left lena.” “Is gali mein amritsari kulcha milta hai.” “Yahan se ghar ki khushboo aati hai, samajh lena paas aa gaye.” Arjun ki eyebrows upar ho gayi.

“Dada ji, yeh sab…?” usne diary palat-te hue bola. “Main Germany ja raha hoon, local city tour pe nahi.”

Gurmeet Kaur ne kitchen se dekhte hue halki si smile dabayi. Simran bhi momentarily ruk gayi. Dada ji ne apni spectacles theek ki aur bole, “Beta, phone ka map kabhi delete ho jaata hai. Ghar ka route nahi hona chahiye.”