Hostel Room No. 214: Do Log, Ek Fan, Aur Bohot Saara Pressure

Ahmedabad ka hostel room no. 214 koi luxury suite nahi tha. Do single beds, ek chipped sa study table, ek almirah jiska lock kabhi seedha nahi lagta tha, aur beech mein ek ceiling fan jo full speed pe bhi bas zyada se zyada “theek-thaak” thandi hawa deta tha. Par us room mein ek hi din mein do log shift hue the—Dev aur Diya—aur unke saath aaya tha unka poora family drama, society ka pressure, aur ek aisa sibling attitude jo dekhne mein comedy lagta tha, par andar se emotional bomb nikla.

Dev 21 ka tha, first-year student, practical type, thoda sarcastic, aur har second yeh prove karne mein laga rehta tha ki “main sab manage kar lunga.” Diya 19 ki thi, sharp, emotional, over-cautious, aur uska face dekh ke hi lagta tha ki woh pehle se teen possible problems ka backup plan banake baithi hai. Dono alag alag colleges mein the, but hostel ne unhein same room de diya, jaise universe ko koi personal entertainment chahiye ho.

“Tumhara side udhar, mera side idhar,” Diya ne pehli hi minute mein bol diya, apna suitcase kholte hue.

Dev ne apni bag ko bed ke neeche dhakka diya aur bola, “Waah, thank you for the grand welcome. Main toh soch raha tha tu champagne laayegi.”

Diya ne usko aise dekha jaise samne khaali chai ka cup ho. “Aur main soch rahi thi tum thoda mature ho gaye hoge. My bad.”

Dev hansa nahi, bas ek half-smirk diya. “Mature? Main? Hostel room mein? Diya, tu expectations bahut high rakhti hai.”

Aur bas, us din se unka daily ritual start ho gaya. Diya subah sabse pehle uthti, apni bed sheet seedhi karti, almirah ka ek side perfectly arrange karti, aur phir Dev ke side pe pade kapdon ko dekh ke sigh karti, jaise koi personal insult mil gaya ho. Dev late uthta, alarm snooze pe snooze karta, aur finally aankh kholke bolta, “Bas 5 minute.” Woh 5 minute kabhi 5 nahi hote the.

“Dev, tumhara charger mere table pe kya kar raha hai?” Diya ek din boli.

Dev ne aankh malte hue jawab diya, “Mere charger ko bhi pyaar chahiye, Diya. Har cheez ko itna possessive mat bana.”

“Possessive? Yeh mera study table hai.”

“Study table? Ispe toh tumne stress ka museum khol rakha hai.”

Hostel ke corridor mein log apne apne kaam mein busy hote, par room 214 mein har cheez ek mini debate ban jati. Towel kaun use karega, light kaun band karega, window kaun kholega, aur dinner ke liye kaun kis time jayega—sab pe discussion hota. Mrs. Mehta, hostel warden, door se hi unki room pe nazar rakhti thi, jaise us room mein do students nahi, do pending complaints rehti hon.

“Dev aur Diya, right?” Mrs. Mehta ne pehle din hi aankh sikod ke poocha tha. “Aap log sibling ho ya daily soap ka new season?”

Dev ne innocently bola tha, “Madam, hum log bas adjust kar rahe hain.”

Mrs. Mehta ne bina smile ke kaha, “Haan, mujhe bhi laga tha adjust karoge. Par aap dono ka tone sunke lag raha hai hostel mein war chal raha hai.”

Diya ne us waqt kuch nahi bola tha, bas mentally decide kar liya tha ki Dev se zyada useful to woh tea kettle hai jo kam se kam kaam toh aata hai.

Phir ek shaam aayi jo sab kuch hila gayi. Diya ka phone baj raha tha aur screen pe family ka naam dekhte hi uska face tight ho gaya. Woh balcony ke paas chali gayi, par hostel walls patli hoti hain, aur tension ki awaaz toh waise bhi hawa se tez hoti hai.

“Kaun tha?” Dev ne casually poocha, laptop band karte hue.

Diya ne ek second ke liye kuch nahi bola. Phir uski voice thodi stiff ho gayi. “Ghar se.”

“Obviously,” Dev ne kaha. “Itna serious face bana ke kaun call karta hai, EMI agent?”

Diya ka mood already off tha. “Haan, very funny.”

Dev ne shoulder shrug kiya. “Toh kya hua?”

Diya ne ek deep breath li. “Wahi. Kaun milne aaya, kahan gayi, kis ke saath thi, boys se baat kyun ki, kab ghar aaungi, log kya bolenge, image ka kya hoga… full interrogation. Jaise main hostel mein nahi, kisi CCTV-mixed shaadi house mein reh rahi hoon.”

Dev ne pehle joke maarne ka socha, phir uski face dekh ke ruk gaya. Par uska default mode tha sarcasm, toh bola, “Pressure toh sab pe hota hai. Tu itna seriously kyun leti hai?”

Diya turant palti. “Seriously kyun leti hoon? Because main ladki hoon, Dev. Mere liye ‘normal’ cheez bhi scandal ban sakti hai. Tumhe bas ek call ka answer dena hota hai. Mujhe har cheez ka explanation dena padta hai.”

Dev ka jaw tight ho gaya. “Haan, aur mujhe kya? Main chill kar raha hoon? Main bhi pressure mein hoon, bas show nahi karta.”

Diya ki aankhon mein gussa aur thakaan ek saath chamak gayi. “Tumhara pressure? Tumhara pressure matlab kya? Late uthna, assignment bhoolna, aur sab pe joke maarna?”

Dev ne bhi zyada sochna nahi kiya. “Aur tumhara pressure matlab har cheez pe panic? Har cheez ko disaster bana dena?”

Silence room mein gir gaya. Fan ki awaaz suddenly zyada loud lagne lagi. Dono ne ek dusre ko dekha, aur phir wahi chhoti si cheez jo hostel life mein normal hoti hai—charger, towel, study table—weapon ban gayi.

Diya ne Dev ka charger uthaya aur uski taraf dekh ke boli, “Yeh bhi le jao. Waise bhi tumhara kaam sirf cheezein idhar-udhar karna hai.”

Dev ne uska towel bed pe fenk diya. “Aur tumhara kaam? Sabko prove karna ki tum sabse zyada stressed ho?”

“Bas kar na, Dev!”

“Tu samajh hi nahi rahi!”

“Kyuki tu samajhna hi nahi chahta!”

Aur phir dono apne-apne side pe chup ho gaye. Room ka temperature aur gir gaya. Mrs. Mehta ne corridor se aate hue bas ek baar unka door dekha aur murmur kiya, “Problem siblings.” Par uske tone mein irritation se zyada resignation thi. Shayad usne bhi hostel mein aise scenes bahut dekhe the.