Jahan Main Khatam Nahi Hoti

Subah ka Kochi alag hi tarah se saans leta tha. Backwaters ki taraf se aati nam hawa, coconut trees ke beech se chhan kar girti dhoop, aur road par cycle ki halki si ghanti—sab milkar ek aisa rhythm banate the jise Latha ne saalon se apni routine mein piro rakha tha. Woh 46 ki thi, private school ki administrator, aur uske ghar mein sab kuch ek schedule ke hisaab se chalta tha. Chai 6:30 par, Ananya ka breakfast 7 baje se pehle, aur college ke liye uska “Maa bag nahi mil raha” wala daily drama almost fixed.

Ananya ab 19 ki ho chuki thi, first-year college student, hostel resident, aur us age mein thi jahan ek din mein teen baar apne aap ko samjhana padta hai ki “I’m fine” bolne ka matlab fine hona zaroori nahi hota. Woh soft-spoken thi, zyada bolti nahi thi, par jo feel karti thi, woh andar hi andar bohot gehra jaata tha. Latha ko lagta tha ki woh apni beti ko sabse achhe se samajhti hai—thoda strict, thoda quiet, but solid. Mother-daughter ka bond unke beech koi filmy hug wala nahi tha, par stable tha. Aisa jahan pyaar dikhaya nahi jaata, manage kiya jaata hai.

Har weekend Ananya ghar aati thi. Latha uske favorite dishes bana kar rakhti—avial, fish curry, sometimes payasam if mood soft ho. Ananya aate hi slippers ka pair darwaze ke paas chhodti, bag sofa par phenkti, aur bolti, “Maa, bas paanch minute letne do.” Latha bas usko dekh kar satisfy ho jaati. Uske liye yahi love tha—khana, fixed routine, clean bedsheet, aur ek beti jo ghar aati rahe.

Problem yeh thi ki dono same language mein pyaar nahi karte the.

Latha care ko rules mein bolti thi. “Khaana time pe khaana.” “Phone zyada mat use karna.” “Aaj raat jaldi so jana.” Ananya comfort ko softness mein samajhti thi. Usey bas itna chahiye tha ki koi usse puchhe, “Tum theek ho?” aur jawab sunne ke liye ruk bhi jaaye. Latha puchhti thi, lekin uske puchhne mein concern ke saath instructions bhi hoti thi. Ananya sun leti thi, par har baar khul nahi paati.

Phir hostel aaya.

College ke first month mein Ananya ka adjustment kaafi rough tha. Room shared tha, din bhar classes, library, assignments, aur har cheez mein “self manage” ka pressure. Upar se new city ka emotional weight alag. Wahan hi uski mulaqat Sara se hui. Sara 20 ki thi, same college, same hostel floor, aur bilkul waisi ladki jiske paas aap bina soche bol dete ho ki “bas thoda sa pagalpan hai ismein, but safe hai.”

Sara ne pehli baar notice kiya ki Ananya “I’m okay” bolte hue bhi okay nahi lag rahi thi. Usne bas ek extra chai cup rakha aur bola, “Pehle isko finish kar, phir bata kya scene hai.” Na interrogation, na pity. Bas space.

Ananya ke liye yeh naya tha. Bohot naya. Koi usse explain karne ke liye force nahi kar raha tha. Koi uske silence ko rude nahi maan raha tha. Sara uske saath mess mein baithti, notes share karti, kabhi kabhi uske room ke bahar ek packet chips chhod jaati aur bolti, “Bas, mood low lag raha tha tera.” Ananya ko samajh hi nahi aata tha ki bina kitne questions ke koi itna comfortable kaise ho sakta hai.

Dheere-dheere Sara uska safe space ban gayi.

Idhar ghar mein Latha ne kuch changes notice kiye. Ananya weekend aati, par pehle jaisi detail mein baat nahi karti. College ke stories short ho gayi thi. “Haan, class theek thi.” “No, kuch khaas nahi.” “Bas assignment hai.” Aur phone par ek naam baar-baar aane laga—Sara. Kabhi message, kabhi call, kabhi “Sara ne bola,” kabhi “Sara ke saath library gayi thi.”

Latha ne pehle ignore kiya. Phir observe kiya. Phir uske andar wahi purana darr jaag gaya jo woh kabhi openly admit nahi karti thi—ki kahin Ananya usse emotionally replace toh nahi kar rahi?

Ek shaam, jab Ananya balcony mein khadi phone par kisi se dheere-dheere baat kar rahi thi, Latha kitchen se guzar rahi thi. Uske kaan mein bas itna pada: “Haan, Sara ko sab samajh aa jata hai. Woh judge nahi karti.” Bas. Itna sa sentence. Lekin Latha ke andar jaise kuch crack ho gaya.

Usne us raat zyada kuch nahi bola. Par agle din se uska tone badal gaya. Chhoti-chhoti baaton mein sharpness aa gayi. “Hostel mein kya itna special mil gaya jo ghar mein nahi tha?” “Tum ab ghar aake bhi baatein chhupati ho.” “Main tumhari maa hoon, par lagta hai mujhe kuch pata hi nahi.”

Ananya pehle chup rahi. Phir defensive ho gayi. “Maa, aisa kuch nahi hai.” Latha ne almost bitter hoke kaha, “Toh phir Sara ka naam itna kyu aata hai?” Ananya ne thoda sa saans liya, jaise woh already tired ho. “Kyuki woh sun leti hai.”

Yeh line simple thi. Lekin Latha ko jaise thappad lagi ho. Sun leti hai? Toh kya main nahi sunti? Yahi uske dimaag mein ghoomta raha. Usko laga uski saalon ki mehnat, uski care, uski sacrifices sab ek side ho gaye aur ek hostel ki ladki ke do pyare se gestures ne uski jagah le li.

Weekend par family dinner tha. Pados ki ek buaa type relative bhi aayi hui thi—55 ki, har cheez pe comment karne wali, par “main toh bas concern kar rahi hoon” bolkar. Usne bhi baat ko aur badha diya. “Aajkal ke bacche na, bahar kisi aur se zyada attach ho jaate hain. Ghar ki value toh hoti hi nahi.” Latha ne kuch nahi bola, par uski aankhon mein wohi insecurity aur gehri ho gayi.

Dinner ke beech mein jab Ananya ne apne plate mein bas do bites liye aur phone check kiya, Latha se raha nahi gaya. “Tumhara Sara se hi ab sab ho raha hai kya?” Ananya ne phone neeche rakha. “Maa, please.” “Please kya? Main bas pooch rahi hoon. Ghar mein kya kami hai?” Ananya ka face tight ho gaya. “Mujhe bas koi chahiye tha jo mujhe judge na kare.”