Hostel Ke Paanch Saal

Pooja

BHU ka girls hostel pehli baar dekha toh mujhe laga tha jaise koi purana sadi ka dabba ho—bahar se faded, andar se full awaazein. Gate ke andar ghuste hi do suitcase, ek bedding roll, aur maa ka diya hua achar ka dabba mere haath se almost fisal gaya. Varanasi ki garmi chipak rahi thi. Corridor mein floor cleaner, geele kapde, talcum powder, maggi masala, aur kisi ke hair oil ka weird sa mix tha.

“Room?” peon ne bina uthke poocha.

“D-14,” main boli.

Usne mujhe upar se neeche dekha. “Nayi ho?”

Main bas sar hila diya.

Peechhe se ek awaz aayi, “Arre bhaiya, thoda dhyaan se. Bacchi hai.”

Maine mud ke dekha. White kurti, blue dupatta, braid itni tight jaise usne baalon se koi personal dushmani kar rakhi ho. Face pe woh confidence jo hostel ke corridor ko apna samajhta ho. Sonali.

Mujhe pehli nazar mein bas itna laga—yeh ya toh bahut helpful hai ya bahut problem.

“Main Sonali,” usne haath aage badhaya. “Tum?”

“Pooja.”

“Chalo. Warna pehle hi din gum ho jaogi aur ghar phone karke bologi ‘mujhse nahi hoga’.”

Main uske peechhe chal padi. Room mein do beds the, do almirah, beech mein hilta hua table. Window se campus ka tukda dikh raha tha—ped, cycle stand, do teen girls baithke gossip kar rahi thi, aur door kahin temple ki ghanti.

“Upper ya lower?” Sonali ne poocha.

“Lower.”

“Expected,” usne seedha bol diya.

“Mtlb?”

“Matlab tum safe type lag rahi ho.”

Main ne usko ghura. Woh has di.

Tab samjhi ki Sonali se pyaar karna aur irritate hona ek hi saans mein possible hai.

Woh meri roomie thi, par uska role sirf roomie ka nahi tha. Woh hostel ki local news channel thi, scandal detector thi, aur kabhi-kabhi meri problem bhi. Main uske saamne thodi slow, thodi careful, aur bahut zyada apni head mein rehne wali ladki thi. Woh loud thi, jaldi bolti thi, aur logon ki boundaries ko test karne mein use ajeeb maza aata tha.

Mera first week hi sidha nikal gaya. Orientation thi. Main subah jaldi uth ke ready ho gayi. Sonali abhi bed pe padi thi.

“Tum aa rahi ho?” maine poocha.

“Ha, jaungi,” usne aankh band karke bola. “Aur dupatta theek kar le. Idhar over-smart dikhne ka nuksaan hai.”

“Tum hamesha aise bolti ho?”

“Kaise?”

“Jaise sab already tumne dekh liya ho.”

“Kyuki dekh liya hai,” usne aankh khol ke bola. “Yahan pe pehle padhai hoti hai, baad mein ego ka ilaaj.”

Orientation hall mein main chair dhoondh rahi thi toh ek senior ne rok liya. “First year?”

“Ji.”

“Name?”

“Pooja.”

“Department?”

“Hindi.”

“Achha. Emotional log hote ho tum log.”

Main kuch samajh hi nahi paayi ki kya bolun. Tab Sonali aayi aur bina rukke bol diya, “Di, emotional nahi, bas mess ke baad weak.”

Do teen ladkiyan hans padi. Senior ne usko dekha. “Tu kaun hai?”

“Sonali. Hosteller. Survivor.”

Mujhe us din pehli baar laga ki Sonali sirf smart nahi, kaafi fearless bhi hai.

Phir aayi Asha Di.

Asli naam Asha tha, par hostel mein sab unhe Asha Di ya Senior Di bolte the. Third year ki thi. Unki chalne ki speed se hi lagta tha woh har scene mein pehle pahunch jaati hongi. Face hard nahi tha, bas composed. Jaise koi jo zyada bolta nahi, par jo bolta hai seedha point pe bolta hai.

Mera mess card kho gaya tha. Main corridor mein idhar-udhar dekh rahi thi, almost panic mode mein. Tab unhone mujhe dekh ke poocha, “Kya hua?”

“Card kho gaya.”

“Pehle din hi?” unhone dry tone mein bola.

Mujhe laga ab main aur chhoti ho gayi. Phir unka face thoda soft hua. “Aao.”

Woh mujhe warden office ke bahar le gayin, register bharwaya, form diya, aur boli, “Is hostel mein cheezein kho jaati hain. Card, slipper, kabhi kabhi dimag. Wapas bhi aa jaati hain. Chill.”

Maine unki taraf dekha. “Aapko sab kaise pata hota hai?”

“Pehle main bhi new thi.”

Bas itna bolke woh chali gayin, par main us line ko kaafi der tak carry karti rahi.

Sonali

Sonali aur mera equation seedha nahi tha. Din mein taana, raat mein maggi, aur beech-beech mein borrowed cheezein jo kabhi return hoti, kabhi nahi. Woh meri handwriting ko “doctor level kharab” bolti, main uski aadat ko “attitude ka overuse.” Par hostel mein dosti smooth nahi hoti. Wahan pe sharing aur irritation same shelf pe rakhe jaate hain.

Ek baar usne meri almirah se mera facewash uthaya aur casually use kar liya.

“Arre, mera hi toh hai,” usne bola jab main ghoor rahi thi.

“Pooch toh leti.”

“Poochti toh tum mana kar deti.”

“Ha.”

“Toh phir?”

Main usko dekh ke chup reh gayi. Woh has di.

Uske saath rehke mujhe samajh aaya ki Sonali kisi bhi room mein ghuste hi atmosphere change kar deti thi. Kabhi helpful, kabhi unbearable. Ek din woh mere notes arrange kar rahi thi, next day same notes ko “boring” bolke table pe patak deti.

Woh apne ghar ki baat bahut kam karti thi. Bas kabhi-kabhi raat ko jab corridor quiet hota, tab uski awaaz thodi neeche gir jaati.

“Tumhare ghar mein tumse kaun baat karta hai?” maine ek baar poocha.

Usne bina meri taraf dekhe bola, “Kaun nahi karta, woh important hai.”

Main samajh gayi ki uske andar bhi koi band darwaza hai. Bas usne us par shelf laga rakhi thi.

Ek din uska mood bahut kharab tha. Bahar se aakar seedha bed pe baith gayi, shoes bhi nahi utare. Main poora din notice kar rahi thi ki woh kisi se theek se baat nahi kar rahi.

“Sab okay?” maine poocha.

“Ha.”

“Ha mein itna gussa kyun hai?”

Woh palat ke boli, “Mujhe mat sikha.”

Maine chup kar liya. Thodi der baad usne mere dabbe se achaar nikala aur bina permission kha liya.

“Arre,” maine kaha, “yeh meri last bottle thi.”

“Phir pehle bolti.”

“Tumne poocha hi nahi.”

“Poocha hota toh bhi tum drama karti.”