Hostel Ke Paanch Saal

Ek baar baarish mein main mess se laut rahi thi. Umbrella chhota tha. Gate pe bheed thi. Rahul cycle le ke aaya.

“Chalo,” usne bola.

“No, main manage kar lungi.”

“Tumhara dupatta already wet hai.”

Maine dekha. Tha.

Usne cycle se utar ke side mein khada ho gaya. “Bas hostel gate tak baith jao. Itna hi.”

“Warden dekh legi.”

“Main murder thodi kar raha hoon.”

Maine hans ke cycle pe baith liya. Hostel gate ke andar pahunchte hi mujhe laga jaise ek chhota sa secret ho gaya ho.

Uske baad Sonali ko kaise pata chala, ye mystery nahi thi. Sonali ko hostel mein sab pata chal jata tha ya woh sab nikaal leti thi.

“Cycle ride?” usne poocha, aankhon mein woh irritating grin.

“Tumhe kaise pata?”

“Pooja, tumhari face pe likha hota hai.”

“Chup.”

“Ha ha. Almost-crush.”

“Almost?”

“Rahul type log almost hi hote hain,” usne shoulder utha ke bola. “Kuch hota nahi, bas hawa ka drama.”

Mujhe uska bolna chubha. Kyunki sach mein, Rahul ke saath bhi kuch seedha nahi hua. Woh kabhi kabhi note maang leta, kabhi seminar ke baare mein pooch leta, phir disappear.

Aur phir ek din usne woh kar diya jo mujhe pehle notice karwana chahiye tha—usne mujhe ignore karna shuru kar diya, aur uska reason bhi hostel mein gossip ban gaya: uski department mein ek ladki, Meenal, jo uske project partner thi, uske saath zyada time bitane lagi thi. Sonali ne mujhe ek raat bataya.

“Woh toh Meenal ke saath full busy hai ab,” usne bina kisi delicacy ke bola.

Mujhe pehle laga, achha. Then weirdly, khali sa.

Rahul ne mujhe ek din canteen ke paas dekha aur bas “hi” bolke nikal gaya. Uske baad maine usko consciously dekhna kam kar diya. Hostel mein kisi ko dekhna aur dekhna band kar dena dono ek hi jagah se start hote hain—same corridor, same canteen, same library corner.

Mere liye woh chapter khatam nahi hua, bas dheere se mute ho gaya.

Mess

Monthly audit se ek din pehle mess mein ajeeb si garmi thi, jaise kitchen ne pehle hi samajh liya ho ki aaj ka din lamba hone wala hai. Din mein hi do baar rice khatam bola gaya, phir “aaj supply late hai” bola gaya, phir “adjust kar lo” bola gaya. Junior girls ne roti ke saath chawal ka bhi calculation karna shuru kar diya tha.

Dinner ke time pe table aur zyada bhari thi. Nandini, jo first year thi aur hamesha apni plate ko aise dekhti thi jaise usmein se kabhi kuch bhi kam nikal sakta hai, usne pehla bite liya aur seedha chehra bana liya.

“Dal mein bas rang hai,” usne itni dheemi awaaz mein bola ki shayad khud se bhi.

Uski friend ne turant elbow maara. “Chup kar.”

“Roti dekh,” Nandini ne almost whisper kiya. “Beech se kacchi hai.”

“Chhodo yaar.”

Lekin chhodna easy tab hota jab stomach mein kuch aur hota. Usne plate side mein ki, aankhen bhar aayin.

Main us table ke paas thi. Sonali opposite side pe. Asha Di bhi corridor mein kisi file ke saath aa rahi thi. Nandini ke aansu dekh ke mujhe ek second ko apni first week yaad aa gaya—mess card, roti, darr, sab. Bas is baar koi card nahi kho gaya tha, bas khana hi bekaar tha.

Main kitchen ki taraf gayi.

Mess aunty, jo hum sabko “Aunty” bolte the but jo asal mein ration aur taano ka combo thi, gas ke paas khadi thi. “Kya hai?”

“Dal itni patli kyun hai?”

“Bachha, aaj sabko mil rahi hai.”

“Roti kacchi hai.”

“Tum log har cheez mein nuks nikalte ho.”

Maine deep saans li. “Nuks nahi. Fact.”

Woh thoda aage aayi. “Kaun fact? Tumne kitni baar yahan kaam kiya hai?”

“Kaam karna zaroori hai kya sach bolne ke liye?”

Tab peechhe se Sonali ki awaaz aayi, “Aunty, drama mat karo. Nandini ko dekh lo, ro rahi hai.”

Aunty ne aise dekha jaise Sonali ne uske ghar ka address public kar diya ho. “Tumhari roomie ko sambhalo.”

“Roomie nahi, hostel ko sambhal rahi hai,” Sonali ne turant bola.

Uska tone sharp tha, par uski aankhon mein kuch aur bhi tha—ek purani ghabrahat jise woh gusse mein chhupa rahi thi. Kitchen ke andar 2-3 aur girls aa gayin, unhone bhi complaint karni shuru ki. Ek boli uski roti mein kaala sa soot tha. Dusri ne kaha dal mein namak nahi. Nandini ke aansu ruk nahi rahe the.

Maine apni pocket se chhota notebook nikala. Do hafton se main servings note kar rahi thi—kitni roti, kitna chawal, kitni dal. Sonali ko pehle hasi aayi thi, phir usne khud kuch dates dekh ke bol diya tha, “Isko sambhal ke rakhna.”

Asha Di kitchen door pe aa chuki thi. Unke face pe woh expression tha jo tab aata tha jab woh scene ko pehle se samajh jaati thi.

“Pooja,” unhone bas itna bola, “bolo.”

Maine notebook unke saamne kholi. “Quantity kam hai. Do hafte se. Aaj bhi.”

Mess aunty ne kaha, “Yeh bachchi kya bol rahi hai?”

“Bachchi nahi hoon,” maine is baar thoda zyada loudly bola. “Aur yeh ‘adjust’ wali line ab nahi chalegi.”

Aunty ka face tight ho gaya. “Tumhe kaun sikha raha hai?”

“Numbers,” maine kaha.

Sonali ne ek step aage aake notebook se kuch pages palte. “Yeh dekh lo. Roti count. Rice. Servings. Har din same cut.”

“Tum dono milke nautanki kar rahi ho,” aunty boli.

Tab warden ki chappal corridor mein sunayi di. Sab ek second ke liye chup.

Warden aayin. Unhone pehle mess aunty ko dekha, phir notebook, phir Nandini ki geeli aankhen, phir mujhe.

“Pooja,” unhone bahut dheere se bola, “yeh tum kar rahi ho?”

“Ha.”

“Kaafi himmat lagti hai.”

“Zarurat bhi thi.”

Sonali ne meri taraf dekha. Shayad use laga ab main ruk jaungi, ya aur bolungi. Main ruk nahi payi.

“Di, bill mein quantity aur kitchen mein quantity same nahi hai. Agar galat hoon toh check kar lo. Agar sahi hoon toh phir koi na koi yahan se nikaal raha hai.”