Kitchen Mein Dhoop, Dil Mein Ghar

Arko ka jawab aur thanda tha. “Mujhe lagta hai aapko bas flat manage karna hai. Mujhse koi matlab nahi.”

Woh line thodi zyada hard lag gayi. Mrs. Dsouza ne ek second ke liye kuch nahi bola. Phir bas itna kaha, “Theek hai. Jab khana jal jaaye na, tab bhi gas band kar dena. Smell se society bhar nahi jaani chahiye.”

Aur woh gusse mein wapas chali gayin.

Arko ne ek lamba sa saans chhoda. Kitchen mein ab bhi woh smell thi, aur us smell ke saath ek aur cheez bhi—home ki yaad. Nani ki awaaz. Kolkata ke purane ghar ka chulha. Dadaji ka newspaper. Aur woh feeling ki koi aapke liye bina bole khana bana raha hai, bina question kiye plate mein extra de raha hai.

Yahan Mumbai mein woh sab cheezein kisi distant photo ki tarah thi.

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Shaam ko Ramesh bhai, society watchman, Arko ko gate pe dhoondh hi liya. “Arre Banerjee saab, aaj toh flat se smell aayi aur Mrs. Dsouza madam ka face dekh ke laga koi war ho gaya.”

Arko ne halka sa grimace kiya. “Bas cooking issue tha.”

Ramesh bhai hans diye. “Cooking issue? Mumbai mein toh har ghar mein cooking issue, traffic issue, aur emotion issue hota hai. Aap naya ho, isliye tension le rahe ho.”

Arko ne bina interest ke pucha, “Unko kya problem hai?”

Ramesh bhai ne shoulder udaya. “Problem? Unko problem nahi, control chahiye. Mrs. Dsouza madam strict hain, par akele bhi hain.”

Arko ne unki taraf dekha. “Akele?”

“Arre haan. Pata nahi tum notice karte ho ya nahi, par shaam ko woh corridor mein thodi der khadi rehti hain. Jaise koi aayega. Phir andar chali jaati hain.”

Arko ko laga jaise kisi ne uske chest pe halka sa thappad maara ho. Woh Mrs. Dsouza ko bas irritation samajh raha tha. Par akelepan? Woh toh usne kabhi socha hi nahi.

Ramesh bhai ne hansi mein baat khatam ki, “Aur tum bhi na, beta, kitchen mein aisi smell failaoge toh aunty ka alarm bajna hi tha. Unko fish se zyada loneliness se allergy hai, shayad.”

Arko ne pehli baar genuinely smile kiya.

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Raat ko jab woh flat mein wapas aaya, toh Mrs. Dsouza ka door thoda sa khula tha. Woh andar se kuch dhoondh rahi thi. Arko ne saans roki, phir dheere se bola, “Aunty.”

“Hmm?” unhone bina mudhe jawab diya.

“Kal jo hua… sorry. Smell zyada ho gayi thi.”

Mrs. Dsouza ne peeth se hi bola, “Haan, yeh toh tha.”

Arko ne ek chhota sa packet unki taraf badhaya. “Ye gur aur nariyal ka thoda extra hai. Nani ne bola tha, if first try fails, second try better hota hai.”

Mrs. Dsouza ne packet dekha, phir Arko ko. “Tumhari nani har cheez mein involved rehti hain kya?”

Arko ke face pe ek soft expression aa gaya. “Haan. Unka kaam hi hai.”

Mrs. Dsouza ne packet le liya. “Recipe kya hai?”

Arko ne kitchen light on ki. “Machher jhol jaisa kuch. Bengali style. Nani bol rahi thi, childhood wala taste hai.”

“Childhood wala taste?” Mrs. Dsouza ne dheere se repeat kiya.

Arko ne head nod kiya. “Kabhi-kabhi lagta hai na, bas ek smell ya ek taste se sab wapas aa jaata hai.”

Mrs. Dsouza ne kuch der uski taraf dekha. Phir, thoda unexpectedly, bol diya, “Mere husband ko bhi adrak wali chai pasand thi. Ek specific smell aati thi toh bolte the, ‘Daisy, lagta hai ghar mein shaam aa gayi.’”

Arko ne unhe first time as a person notice kiya, landlord nahi. Unke voice mein woh same sharpness thi, par uske neeche ek purani, carefully packed softness bhi thi.

Mrs. Dsouza ne throat clear kiya. “Chalo, dikhao kya bana rahe ho. Par ek condition—gas kam rakho.”

Arko almost chuckle kar gaya. “Deal.”

Dono kitchen mein aa gaye. Is baar tone mein ladai kam, instruction zyada thi. Mrs. Dsouza ne pyaz kaatne ka tareeka bataya, Arko ne gur kab daalna hai, yeh confirm kiya. Ek point pe unhone fish ko dekh ke kaha, “Isko itna mat ghuro, yeh zinda nahi hoga.”

Arko ne phir seriously poocha, “Aunty, aapko Bengali khaana pasand hai?”

“Pasand?” unhone spoon pakadte hue kaha. “School mein ek Bengali teacher thi. Unke haath ka payesh khaaya tha. Tab se standards kharab ho gaye.”

Arko ne hansi roki. “Toh aap taste karengi?”

“Bas thoda sa,” woh almost defensive tone mein boli. “Aur agar bekaar hua toh sach bolungi.”

“Sach hi boliyega.”

Woh meal perfect nahi tha. Fish thodi zyada soft ho gayi thi, aur masala mein gur ka balance bhi thoda off tha. Par jab Mrs. Dsouza ne ek chhota sa spoon taste kiya, toh unhone ek second ke liye kuch nahi bola. Bas slow blink kiya.

Arko ne tension mein pucha, “Kaisa hai?”

Mrs. Dsouza ne spoon bowl mein rakha. “Theek hai.”

“Bas theek?”

“Arre, theek ka matlab theek. Overacting karne ki zarurat nahi.” Phir thoda ruk kar unhone add kiya, “Par badhiya smell aa rahi hai ab. Pehle wali smell se better.”

Arko ne relief mein saans chhodi.

Mrs. Dsouza ne plate side mein rakhi aur dheere se boli, “Tumhari nani ko batao, recipe ka kuch hissa bach gaya. Next time, fish thoda kam fry karna.”

Arko ne unki taraf dekha. “Aapko kaise pata main next time bhi banaunga?”

Mrs. Dsouza ne aankh utha ke kaha, “Kyuki flat ka kitchen abhi tak khali nahi hua hai.”

Arko samajh gaya. Yeh unka version tha welcome ka. Unka version tha, “Main tumhe yahan tolerate nahi, thoda accept kar rahi hoon.”

Woh usse zyada precious lag raha tha.

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Agle kuch dino mein cheezein dramatic tareeke se badli nahi. Mrs. Dsouza ab bhi rent ke liye exact date yaad rakhti thi. Arko ab bhi kabhi-kabhi late ho jaata tha. Kitchen rules ab bhi the. Wet slippers ab bhi issue the. Par ab jab Mrs. Dsouza kuch kehti, toh Arko ko woh sirf complaint nahi lagta. Aur jab Arko late night chai banaata, toh woh ek cup zyada bana kar corridor mein rakh deta.