Hostel Ke Paanch Saal

Maine kuch bolne hi wali thi ki usne dabba bed pe patak diya. Achar ka tel chammach se phisal kar bedsheet pe daag bana gaya.

“Yeh kya kar diya?” maine awaaz uthayi.

Uska face aur tight ho gaya. “Bas ho gaya. Ek achar ke liye itna mat kar.”

Mujhe pehli baar laga woh sirf irritating nahi, ugly bhi ho sakti hai. Uski aankhon mein woh moment mein kuch bahut raw tha—jaise kisi aur pe nikal raha ho. Woh uth ke corridor mein chali gayi aur door se ek roomie se zor se boli, “Haan, sabko meri hi cheezein free lagti hain!”

Main bed pe baithi reh gayi. Achar ka tel spread ho raha tha. Mujhe gussa bhi aaya, bura bhi laga. Raat ko woh wapas aayi toh usne bedsheet ko dekh ke bas itna bola, “Mereko pata hai over hua.”

“Pata tha toh kiya kyun?”

Woh aise hi khadi rahi, phir dheere se boli, “Aaj ghar se phone aaya tha.”

“Phir?”

“Phir wahi. Maa ne bola, ‘is baar bhi result first class laana, warna log kya kahenge.’” Usne hasne ki koshish ki, par awaaz nahi nikli. “Maine bola theek hai. Bas. Phir call cut.”

Main kuch keh nahi paayi.

Woh neeche baithi aur mere bedsheet ka daag rub karne lagi, jaise uske saath kuch aur bhi nikal jayega. “Mera mood kharab tha. Toh nikal gaya tumpe.”

“Samajh gayi.”

“Sorry.”

Woh uska sabse awkward sorry tha. Par genuine tha. Hostel mein wahi kaafi hota hai.

Asha

Asha Di ke saath meri real baat-cheet exam se pehle hui. Main mess mein plate ke saamne baithi thi aur khaana bas ghuma rahi thi.

“Tabiyat theek?” unhone poocha.

“Bas stress hai.”

“Stress mein khana chhod dogi toh aur stress hoga.”

“Padhai zyada hai,” maine dheere se kaha.

Unhone chair kheench ke baith gayin. “Kaun sa topic?”

Maine bata diya. Woh bina mock kiye samjhaane lagi. Unka style lecture jaisa nahi tha. Woh seedha bolti thi, kabhi kabhi beech mein ruk ke poochti, “Samjhi ya bas haan bol rahi?” Mujhe woh achha lagta tha kyunki woh samjhaane se pehle mujhe bewakoof treat nahi karti thi.

“Di, aap sab manage kaise kar leti ho?” maine poocha.

“Manage?” unhone hansi dabake bola. “Bas aise hi. Roz ka hai.”

Thodi der baad unhone poocha, “Ghar mein sab theek?”

Maine maa ka face yaad kiya. Phone pe hamesha same sawaal—“Khana kha rahi ho?” “Sardi toh nahi?” Aur main har baar “Haan” bolke kaam khatam kar deti thi.

“Miss karti hoon,” maine bola.

Asha Di ne meri plate mein extra sabzi daal di. “Strong dikhna zaroori nahi. Bas sambhal ke rehna.”

Unki awaaz mein softness thi, lekin us softness mein ek aisi authority bhi thi jo argue nahi ki ja sakti.

Ek raat meri tabiyat sach mein kharab ho gayi. Bukhar, body ache, aur period pain ka alag level. Room ka fan bhi mujhe ghoomta hua lag raha tha. Sonali class mein thi. Main bed pe curl ho ke padi thi.

Maa ka call aaya.

“Kaise ho beta?”

“Thoda theek nahi,” meri awaaz toot gayi.

“Sach bol,” unhone turant pakad liya.

Main chup ho gayi. Tab knock hua. Asha Di thi, haath mein ORS aur do tablets.

“Warden ko bol diya hai. Rest kar,” unhone kaha. “Aur maa ko jhoot mat bol.”

Maine call speaker pe kiya. Maa ki awaaz sunke ro padi. Bilkul stupid tarah. Maa bas kuch seconds chup rahi, phir boli, “Ro lo. Phir bolna.”

Asha Di bed ke paas baith gayin. “Weak feel karna crime nahi hai,” unhone dheere se bola.

Main ne unki taraf dekha. “Aap itni strong kaise ho?”

Woh thoda muskurayi. “Main strong nahi hoon. Bas aadat ho gayi hai.”

Us raat mujhe unke liye ajeeb sa respect mehsoos hua. Jaise woh hostel ki sirf senior nahi, uske andar ka hard-earned survival manual ho.

Warden

Warden ka naam sabko pata tha, par hostel mein woh sirf Warden thi. Saree hamesha tidy, bindi centered, aur awaaz mein finality. Unse sab darte the. Main bhi.

“Girls hostel mein discipline pehle,” woh assembly mein bolti. “7 baje ke baad unnecessary bahar mat ghumo. Boys se faltu baat nahi. Lights time pe off. Mess mein wastage nahi.”

Pura hall silent.

Sonali mere kaan ke paas whisper karti, “Inki personal life dekhne layak hogi. Itni sakhti without reason nahi aati.”

Maine hansi daba li. Par rule pressure real tha.

Ek baar raat ko Sonali late aa gayi. Gate band. Warden khud khadi thi.

“Name?” unhone poocha.

“Sonali, Di. Library ka kaam tha.”

“Library 9 baje band hoti hai.”

“Project...”

“Excuse register mein likh do.” Unhone pen aur register dono hold kiye hue the. “Entry karo.”

Sonali ne aankh maari, jaise yeh bhi game ho.

Mujhe pehle lagta tha Warden bas machine hain. Phir ek din unke room ke bahar form sign karwane gayi. Door thoda khula tha. Andar ek framed graduation photo thi—ek ladki ki. Shayad beti. Shayad koi aur apna. Warden ne mujhe dekh liya aur door turant band kar diya.

“Sign?” unhone poocha.

“Ji.”

Pen chalate hue unhone bina meri taraf dekhe bola, “Hostel rules se nahi chalta. Logon ko sambhalna padta hai. Rules uska cover hain.”

Unka tone same tha, par us din mujhe unki awaaz mein fatigue sunayi di.

Pooja

Rahul waise story ka central hero nahi tha. Bhala ho. Uska role zyada se zyada corridor ka tha. Fine arts department mein tha. Patla sa, thoda slow बोलने वाला, aur hamesha paint ya charcoal ka smell saath leke chalta.

Main usse pehli baar library ke bahar mili thi jab usne bina introduction ke bola, “Pooja na?”

Mujhe laga shayad koi aur hogi. “Haan.”

“Tumhari notes chahiye the. Kal ka class miss ho gaya tha.”

“Achha.”

Bas.

Uske baad kabhi kabhi milna hota. Kabhi cycle stand pe, kabhi canteen ke paas. Woh zyada baat nahi karta tha. Main bhi, uske saamne. Shayad isliye ki uski silence mein kisi aur ki tarah noise nahi hoti thi. Woh aadmi kam, mood zyada lagta tha.