Konkan Local

Usne pehli baar mujhe directly dekha. Smile chhoti thi, par usmein koi mazaak nahi tha. “Aur tum har baat ko test kyun bana deti ho?”

Mere paas turant jawab nahi tha.

Chai ki bhap thandi hawa mein ghul rahi thi. Platform par ek family bhaagti hui guzri. Kisi bachche ne rokar “Mumma” pukara. Announcement aayi, phir fade ho gayi.

Maine cup ko finally lips tak le jaake sip li. Bahut garam. Thodi kadwi. Bilkul meri mood jaisi.

“Tumne meri message ka reply late kiya,” maine kaha, kyunki mujhe kuch bolna tha.

Meera ne kandhe uchkaye. “Tumhara message tha—‘7 baje aa jaana.’ Maine 7:48 ka bola tha.”

“7 baje kaa matlab 7 baje.”

“Tumhare hisaab se.”

Main kuch kaha nahi. Suresh ne jaise beech mein hawa ko padha aur bina dekhe bola, “Aap log pehli baar saath travel kar rahi hain kya?”

Meera hans padi. Main ne jawab diya, “Nahi.”

Phir uske baad thodi der tak kuch nahi bola.

Kyunki agar main sach bolti, toh jawab hota: “Bahut saalon baad.”

Bahut saalon baad kisi aise insaan ke saath, jise main bachpan mein sabse zyada jaanti thi aur jawani mein sabse zyada samajh nahi paayi.

Train aane ka announcement hua. Log hilne lage. Chai ke cups uth gaye. Suresh ne apna bag uthaya. Meera ne packet mere haath mein thama.

“Ye tum rakho,” usne kaha.

“Kyoon?”

“Kyuki tumhara face aise hai jaise tum sab kuch carry kar lo.”

Main ne uski taraf dekha. “Aur tumhara face aisa hai jaise kuch carry hi na karna pade.”

Uske chehre par ek micro-expression aaya—muskurahat se pehle ka kuch, ya shayad uske baad ka kuch. “Galat.” Phir, itne dheere se ki sirf main sun saki: “Main bhi carry karti hoon. Bas dikhati nahi.”

Train ki speed platform ke shor se pehle aayi. Steel ka lamba badan, windows mein seated faces, aur ek aisi energy jaise koi coastal line ko pakad ke chal raha ho.

Main ne apna bag adjust kiya. Meera ne apna sling shoulder par set kiya. Suresh unke peeche khada tha, ek witness ki tarah—jise kahani mein bolna nahi hota, bas dekhna hota hai.

Train rukti bhi rukti nahi, bas achanak se accept kar leti hai ki ab usse yahin rehna hai.

Hum chadh gaye.

Konkan Ki Khidki

Seat side-by-side thi. Window wali seat Meera ko mil gayi, jaise universe ne uske favor mein ek chhota sa joke chala diya ho. Main aisle side par baith gayi, aur apne bag ko lap par rakh liya.

Train chali toh pehle city ka grey, phir suburbs ka clutter, phir open stretches. Jaise koi purana reel fast-forward mein chal raha ho. Aur phir—woh moment—jab sea pehli baar dikhta hai.

Maine window ki taraf dekha.

Grey-blue water. Kabhi flat, kabhi khurdura. Kabhi kisi badmash bachche ki tarah spark karta hua, kabhi bilkul chup. Sea ko dekhte hi mere andar kuch khul gaya, ya shayad aur tight ho gaya—samajh nahi aata.

Meera ne khidki se bahar dekhte hue kaha, “Ab toh khush ho?”

“Main khush kyun houngi?”

“Kyuki tumhe track ka status, time, aur scenery teenon mil gaye.”

Maine uski taraf dekha. “Tum mujhe aise kyun bolti ho jaise main koi machine hoon?”

“Kyuki tum aise behave karti ho jaise emotions bhi app se update hote hain.”

Maine hansna nahi chaha, phir bhi ek chhoti si breath mein has di. Woh meri hansi sun ke thoda sa soft hui. Bahut thoda.

Sea khidki ke saath saath chal raha tha, kabhi dikhai deta, kabhi trees ke peeche chhup jaata. Jaise koi chorus ho jo direct line mein gaana nahi ga raha, bas background mein saans le raha ho.

Mere bachpan ki Goa waali summers mujhe isi tarah yaad aati hain—fragmented, bright, aur hamesha wet. Aaji ka house, neem ke neeche nange paon, kachhe aam ka namak, aur Meera ka hamesha kahin na kahin se qatar mein aana. Woh tab bhi rules follow nahi karti thi. Main tab bhi schedule banati thi.

“Tumhe yaad hai,” Meera ne achanak kaha, “subah uth ke tum sabko line mein khada kar deti thi?”

Maine side glance diya. “Main line mein khada nahi karati thi.”

“Karati thi. ‘Pehle brush. Phir nahana. Phir breakfast.’”

“Routine hota tha.”

“Dictatorship thi.”

Main ne apna mouth press kiya. “Tum breakfast ke baad bhi seashells collect karne bhaag jaati thi.”

“Kyuki tum beach pe jaake bhi sand ko time pe dekhna chahti thi.”

“Rubbish.”

“Tumhe yaad nahi?” usne poocha.

Mujhe yaad tha. Sab yaad tha.

Ek baar barish mein hum dono Aaji ke verandah ke neeche khade the. Meera ne sea-facing parapet par chadhne ki koshish ki thi, main ne usse neeche utara tha. Woh phisli thi, ghutna lag gaya tha. Main ne usse daanta tha. Usne mujhe “police” bola tha. Fir usne ro diya tha. Main ne socha tha woh gusse mein royi hai, par shaayad pain mein thi. Ya shayad embarrassment mein.

Uske baad kuch aur hua tha. Koi family wali baat. Koi badi si line jo kisi ne kheench di thi. Kisi ne kisi ko blame kiya tha, kisi ne kisi ko defend nahi kiya tha, aur hum dono alag sides par khade reh gaye the. Tab se beach same tha, par hum nahi.

Main ne khidki se nazar hata li.

Sea ki awaaz train ki rhythm ke andar bhi aati thi—jaise paani apni language mein bol raha ho. Dheemi. Persistent.

Meera ne kuch der baad meri bag ki side ki zipper ko dekha. “Tumne medicines pack ki hain?”

“Ha.”

“Doctor ka note?”

“Ha.”

“Extra charger?”

“Ha.”

“Extra dupatta?”

“Ha.”

“Tumne meri pasand ka achaar pack kiya?”

Main ne usse ghura. “Nahi.”

“Shame.”

Main ne thoda sa saans chhoda. “Tumhara pasand ka achaar Goa mein bhi mil jaayega.”

“Tumhare paas sab ka answer hota hai?”

“Main try karti hoon.”

Usne window ki taraf dekhte hue, almost as if sea se baat kar rahi ho, bola, “Haan. Ye toh pata hai.”