Kotha 404

Arrival

Manipal mein pehla din tha jab hostel ki lane mein meri cab ruki.

Rainy season ka aakhri phase chal raha tha—hawa mein damp mitti, wet cement aur chai ki smell ghuli hui thi. Girls’ hostel ka building bahar se bilkul waise hi dikha jaise har college brochure mein hota hai: off-white walls, blue grills, aur entrance pe ek faded board jisme hostel ka naam aadha dhoop mein aur aadha moss mein chhupa hua tha.

Mere dono suitcases neeche utarte hi ek aunty-type peon ne bina meri taraf dekhe bola, “Name?”

“Rhea.”

Usne register khola, finger se lines trace ki, phir bola, “404.”

Mujhe pehle laga woh room number nahi, error bol raha hai.

“Sorry?”

“Room 404,” usne is baar thoda zyada clearly bola, jaise main deaf hoon ya stupid.

Main hansi. “Achha. Top floor?”

Usne mujhe ek aise look se dekha jaise maine usse uski maa ka naam pooch liya ho. “Third floor. End corridor.”

End corridor? Maine hostel ke entrance se hi jo staircase dekha tha, uske hisaab se layout simple tha—left wing, right wing, central common area. Third floor pe rooms 301 se 310 tak jaate dikh rahe the. 404 ka kya matlab?

Main apna bag kheenchti hui andar ghusi. Reception ke paas ek notice board tha—rules, timings, fines, aur ek handwritten line: No outside food after 10 pm. All lights out by 11.30 pm.

“Excuse me,” maine peon se kaha, “404 kis side hai?”

“Idhar hi,” usne short answer diya.

“Matlab?”

Usne bas itna kaha, “Madam se baat kar lo.”

Aur phir woh mere suitcase ko aise chhod gaya jaise uske saath bhi koi personal problem ho.

Third floor tak pahunchte-pahunchte meri saans phool gayi thi. Corridor narrow tha, dono taraf identical doors—white paint, metal numbers, aur un doors ke beech mein woh typical hostel smell: deo, damp towels, instant noodles, aur kisi purane fan ki jali hui dust.

Lekin numbering odd thi.

301, 302, 303… phir ek jagah 405? Main ruk gayi. 303 ke baad 405 kaise?

Maine dobara dekha. 303 ke opposite side pe 304, 305, 306 chal rahe the, but room numbers corridor ke flow se match nahi kar rahe the. Jaise kisi ne numbering ke beech mein kuch pages nikaal diye ho.

End corridor pe ek door tha, baaki sab se thoda alag. Uske pehle wall pe paint slightly darker tha, aur door ke upar jo metal plate honi chahiye thi, woh khali thi. Neeche floor pe ek chhota sa number strip loose pada tha—4 aur uske saath ek aur 0 ki half chipki hui.

Main wahi khadi thi jab door khula.

“Tum Rhea ho?” ek ladki ne poocha.

Uski awaaz soft thi, par usme ek tension thi jo turant feel ho gayi. Woh meri hi age ki lag rahi thi—19 ya 20—skin pale, baal loosely tied, aur aankhon ke neeche thodi si darkness, jaise neend se zyada darr ka stain ho.

“Yeah,” maine kaha. “Tum Trisha?”

Usne sir hilaaya, par smile nahi ki.

Room chhota tha. Two single beds, ek study table, ek almirah, aur window jiske bahar banyan tree ka hissa dikh raha tha. Ceiling fan slowly ghoom raha tha, jaise bhi thaka hua ho. Trisha ka bed already neat tha, mera wala khali.

Maine apna bag uthaya aur bed ke paas rakha. “So… 404 hai?”

Trisha ne meri taraf dekha. Uska face ek second ke liye aur tight ho gaya. “Haan.”

“Strange name for a room,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Hostel mein numbering thodi messed up lag rahi hai.”

“Hmm.”

Bas itna.

Main kuch aur bolne hi wali thi ki corridor se ek girl hansi. Then silence. Phir kisi door ke band hone ki awaaz.

Trisha ne apni bottle uthayi aur window ke paas chali gayi. Usne mujhe dekhne ki bhi zarurat nahi samjhi.

Main curious thi, obviously. Kuch bhi off ho toh mera dimaag usko seedha poke karne lagta tha. Aur room 404 off nahi, off-the-charts off tha.

“Tu pehle se yahan hai?” maine poocha.

“Kal se,” usne bina mudhe kaha.

“Achha. Toh tu bhi room number dekh ke confused hui hogi?”

Is baar usne jawab dene mein thoda time liya. “Main confuse nahi hui thi.”

“Phir?”

Woh finally palti. “Main bas… jaldi mein thi.”

Uski aankhon mein koi warning thi, par mujhe us waqt laga woh introvert hoga. Ya homesick. Ya hostel ke first day ka normal stress.

Maine apne suitcase se pillow nikaala. “Okay. Chill. Main bas pooch rahi thi.”

Trisha ne “hmm” bola. Phir ek aur silence.

Main notice kar rahi thi ki room ke andar ek weird chill hai. AC on nahi tha, window band thi, phir bhi left corner se thandi hawa aa rahi thi. Maine apna haath us taraf le jaaya—normal temperature se kaafi kam.

“Yahan draft hai kya?” maine poocha.

Trisha ne dekha bhi nahi. “Pata nahi.”

Maine uski tone ignore ki. Mere liye hostel ka first rule simple tha: room ka atmosphere tum logon se banta hai. Trisha already kisi invisible cheez se baat kar rahi thi, ya usse bach rahi thi. Dono mein se kuch bhi ho, mujhe jaan’na tha.

Usi time room ke bahar se ek woman ki heels ki tik-tik hui.

Trisha ka poora body ek second ke liye stiff ho gaya.

“Madam aa rahi hain?” main boli.

Usne sirf itna kaha, “Haan.”

Door pe knock hua—ekdum formal, three taps.

“Come in,” maine automatic bol diya.

Door khula aur ek tall woman andar aayi. Sari crisp thi, bindi perfectly centered, aur face pe woh expression jo teachers tab le aate hain jab unka patience already half khatam ho chuka ho.

“Rhea?” usne poocha.

“Ji.”

“Main Warden Madam hoon. Aapka allotment complete hua?”

“Ji… par ek cheez hai.”

Uski eyebrows ek millimeter upar gayin. “Kya cheez?”

“Room number 404. Thoda—”

“404?” Madam ne meri baat kaat di. “Kisne bola?”

“Register mein.”

Usne mujhse register nahi, mere face ko dekha. “Hostel mein 404 room nahi hai.”

Main hansi, because woh joke lag raha tha. Par Madam nahi hansi.