Influencer Ka Ghar

Morning Light

Bangalore ki subah mujhe hamesha achchi lagti thi.

Achchi bhi, aur thodi bewakoof bhi.

Bewakoof isliye kyunki woh har cheez ko narm bana deti thi. White curtains ke through aati roshni, kitchen ke slab par girti hui, aise lagti jaise ghar ke andar sab kuch settled ho. Jaise yeh house kisi ne carefully arrange kiya ho—oak-finish dining table, ceramic bowls, beige runner, monstera plant jo har reel mein ek silent co-star ki tarah khada rehta tha. Jaise is ghar mein thakaan ka koi scope hi nahi.

Par thakaan hoti thi.

Bas camera ke pehle achchi tarah chhup jaati thi.

Main tripod set kar rahi thi. Phone ka angle check. Kitchen counter ka clutter hide. Oats bowl ko thoda left, banana slices ko thoda fan jaisa, coffee cup ko thoda steam ke saath. Mere haath is sab mein itne trained ho gaye the ki kabhi-kabhi mujhe apna ghar nahi, ek shoot location lagta tha.

“Ritu,” Sameer ne softly bola, “mera charger dekha kya?”

Mainne screen ke through usko dekha. Woh coffee machine ke paas khada tha, shirt pe ek crease, baalon mein aadhi-neend ki uljhan, aur eyes ke neeche woh permanent grey shadow jo office ke baad bhi office se chipka rehta tha.

“Drawer mein hoga,” maine bola. “Abhi ek second.”

“Tumne kal raat bhi bola tha, ek second.”

Uski voice mein complaint kam tha, exhaustion zyada. Jaise uske paas argue karne ke liye bhi energy kam pad rahi ho.

Yuvan dining chair pe baitha tha, legs swing kar raha tha. School uniform pehna hua tha, par shirt ke top button abhi tak open tha. Uske baal side se thode se ulte-pulte the. Usne toast ka corner kaat ke kaha, “Mamma, aaj bhi photo?”

“Photo nahi, baby. Video,” maine automatically corrective tone mein bola, phir smile ki. “Bas breakfast share karenge.”

“Share karna kyun hota hai?” usne poocha.

Mujhe answer aate aate rukna pada. “Kyuki fun hota hai.”

Sameer ne under-breath murmur kiya, “Aur kyunki brand deal hoti hai.”

Maine uski taraf dekha. Woh mujhe dekh hi nahi raha tha. Par uski line sun li gayi thi.

Mainne camera on kiya. Soft voice, warm smile, practiced ease.

“Good morning, guys. Aaj humari simple Bangalore morning hai—”

“Par aaj school late ho jayega,” Yuvan ne beech mein bol diya.

Mainne laugh jaisa kuch nikala. “Nahi baby, time hai.”

“Par aapne abhi tak mera socks nahi dhoonda.”

Sameer ne coffee cup uthaya. “Khud dhoondh lo.”

Yuvan ne apne papa ko dekha. “Aap hamesha khud dhoondh lo bolte ho. Aapko bhi dhoondhna pasand hai kya?”

Sameer ke lips pe ek thakaan bhari si smile aayi. “Nahi. Pasand nahi hai.”

“Phir?”

“Phir karna padta hai.”

Woh line simple thi. Aur usmein kuch aisa tha jo mere throat mein atak gaya.

Mainne camera ke through un dono ko dekha. Ek thaka hua aadmi, ek jaldi samajh jaane wala baccha. Dono mere frame mein the, par dono mere saath nahi the.

“Okay guys,” maine thodi tezi se bola, “aaj ka breakfast healthy aur quick hai, because mornings need balance.”

Yuvan ne spoon ko plate pe rakh ke kaha, “Mamma, kal raat aap aur Papa kitchen mein phir dheere se bol rahe the.”

Mera haath freeze ho gaya.

Sameer ne bhi usko dekha. Mera stomach ek second ko hollow ho gaya, jaise kisi ne andar se floor nikaal diya ho.

“Dheere se?” maine hansi ki nakli koshish ke saath bola. “Hum bas baat kar rahe the.”

“Baat aise hoti hai?” Yuvan ne genuinely confuse hoke poocha. “Aapki awaaz low ho jaati hai. Papa chup ho jaate hain. Phir aap bolte ho camera ke baad.”

Usne “camera ke baad” aise bola jaise yeh ghar ka ek normal time ho. Jaise dinner ke baad, brush ke baad, camera ke baad.

Maine record stop kar diya.

Aur ek second ke liye Bangalore ki sunlight bhi mujhe thandi lagne lagi.

Filtered Life

Mera kaam simple tha—logon ko simple dikhana.

Aur yeh sabse complicated kaam hota hai.

Maya ka message screen pe pop hua: “Morning reel cute hai. But thoda less staged. Authenticity sells. Aaj ek quick story bhi daal do. Random, natural, warm.”

Mainne phone down rakh diya aur sink mein plates rakhne lagi. Water tap ka noise mujhe hamesha grounded feel karata tha. Jaise jab tak paani chal raha hai, tab tak main ek real insaan hoon.

Sameer living room mein laptop khol ke baith gaya tha. Office call on. Uski back straight thi, par shoulders aise uthe hue jaise kab se koi invisible bag uthaye baitha ho. Woh screen pe “yes” aur “sure” bol raha tha, par uski awaaz mein life kam, duty zyada thi.

Maya ko main sirf PR manager nahi bolti thi. Woh meri industry ki translator thi. She knew how to turn a tired mother into a warm narrative. How to turn a messy kitchen into “relatable content.” How to turn a private life into a brand language.

Pehli baar jab usne mujhe approach kiya tha, usne kaha tha, “Ritu, aapke andar ek comfort hai. Aap perfect nahi lagti. Aur wahi aapki strength hai.”

Mujhe woh compliment laga tha.

Phir woh strategy ban gaya.

“Ritu,” Maya ki voice WhatsApp pe aayi, “brand wants more husband visibility. Family angle. Apne audience ko lagna chahiye ki home is your real brand pillar.”

Mainne ek second ke liye aankhen band ki.

Home is your real brand pillar.

Sameer ne call mute karke meri taraf dekha. “Kis ka message hai?”

“Work.”

“Work ya image?”

Woh seedha sawal tha. Mainne jawab nahi diya.

Kitchen counter pe Yuvan ka socks ka pair pada tha—ek yellow, ek white. Mainne unhe utha kar dekha aur cupboard ke top shelf pe rakh diya, kyunki abhi us waqt mujhe bas koi cheez sahi jagah rakhni thi.

“Ritu,” Sameer ne thoda softer tone mein kaha, “aaj shoot cancel kar dete hain?”

“Kyoon?”

“Kyuki subah se tumhara face live nahi lag raha.”

Mujhe uska bolna bura laga. Aur sach bhi.

“Face live nahi lag raha?” maine repeat kiya. “Main kya dead dikhti hoon?”