Last-Day Notes

Subah ke 6:40 baje the, aur South Delhi ka bus stop already ek chhota sa exam-war zone lag raha tha. Thandi hawa mein bhi logon ke chehre par woh same tension thi jo Class 12 ke last-day pe har saal Delhi-NCR ko ek alag hi mood mein le aati hai. Aanya Mehra apna backpack dono shoulders pe theek se settle karke khadi thi, haath mein ek folded timetable aur ek extra pen-case. Woh hamesha ki tarah overprepared thi, jaise agar uske paas sab kuch hoga toh panic uske paas aane se pehle hi ruk jayega.

Usne line mein khade logon ko notice kiya—koi apni bus ka route check kar raha tha, koi mummy ko call karke bol raha tha “haan bas pahunch gaya”, aur koi last minute formula dekh raha tha phone pe. Aanya ke side mein ek ladka khada tha, jo usually school mein itna loud hota tha ki corridor mein uski awaaz se pehle uska naam pahunch jaata tha. Kabir Sethi. Aaj woh unusually quiet tha, sirf apni hoodie ki pocket mein haath daale, Noida side wali bus ka wait kar raha tha.

“Tu bhi yahin?” Kabir ne aise bola jaise dono roz yahin milte hon.

Aanya ne halka sa nod kiya. “Kal exam hai.”

Kabir ne dramatic sa sigh diya. “Haan, wohi toh. Bas ek aur reason mil gaya family ko bolne ka ki beta 18 ka ho gaya hai, ab life serious hai.”

Aanya ko hansi aa gayi, chhoti si, almost invisible. Kabir ne notice kar liya aur turant bol pada, “Arre haan, smile bhi kar leti hai. Main soch raha tha system ke kisi bug ki wajah se tu aaj alive lag rahi hai.”

Usi waqt ek aur familiar face aaya—Simran Kaur, neatly tied braid, light blue dupatta, aur haath mein ek stack of papers jo dekhkar hi lag raha tha ki kisi ne usko “class topper” ka permanent certificate de diya hai. Woh Ghaziabad se aati thi, aur hamesha time se pehle pahunch jaati thi, jaise punctuality uska personal religion ho. Usne dono ko dekha aur politely smile ki.

“Good morning. Tum log bhi early ho.”

Kabir ne instant reply diya, “Simran, tu toh morning bhi manage kar leti hai. Hum log bas survive kar rahe hain.”

Simran ne thoda sa hansa, but uski aankhon mein woh usual calm nahi tha. Aanya ne notice kiya ki uski fingers papers ke corners ko baar-baar press kar rahi thi. Overprepared Aanya ko dusron ki chhoti-tin inconsistencies pakadne ki aadat thi. Aur aaj sab mein kuch na kuch crack tha.

Bus aayi, log dhakka-dhaki mein chadh gaye. Andar seats kam thi, anxiety zyada. Aanya khidki ke paas baith gayi, Kabir uske saamne wali seat par aur Simran aisle side pe. Noida-Ghaziabad-Delhi ka yeh morning commute ek ajeeb sa shared suffering ritual tha, jaise poora NCR ek hi exam center ke liye nikal pada ho.

“Kal paper kaisa lag raha hai?” Kabir ne poocha, lekin uske tone mein masti kam aur darr zyada tha.

Simran ne seedha answer diya, “Manage kar lungi.”

Kabir ne immediately haath jod diye. “Yeh line toh tujhe trademark karwa leni chahiye.”

Aanya window se bahar dekhte hue boli, “Manage kar lungi bolne wale log usually sabse zyada stressed hote hain.”

Simran ne uski taraf dekha. Ek second ke liye silence raha. Phir woh halka sa boli, “Aur sabko lagta hai wohi log sabse strong hote hain.”

Kabir ne beech mein hi bol diya, “Matlab hum sab fake strong hain. Wah. Great. Board exam ka motivational poster mil gaya.”

Bus mein teenon ki hasi ek saath nikli, aur us hasi mein pehli baar koi competition nahi tha. Sirf recognition tha—ki haan, darr sabko lag raha hai.

School ke bahar photocopy shop pe toh aur bhi chaos tha. Ek chhota sa stall, do old machines, ek aadmi jo har dus second mein bol raha tha “line mein raho, line mein!” Aur uske saamne students ka mini flood. “Important questions” ke printouts, formula sheets, sample answers, handwritten notes—sab ek currency ki tarah exchange ho rahe the.

Kabir sabse pehle counter pe chadh gaya. “Bhai, do copies iske, aur iske bhi, aur jo Physics wale formula hain na, woh bhi. Arre haan, aur yeh bro ko bhi de do.”

Aanya ne eyebrow raise ki. “Bro?”

Kabir ne full confidence ke saath bola, “Aaj se sab bro. Exam ke pehle caste, class, stream, attitude—sab cancel.”

Simran, jo normally kisi bhi chaos mein apni line maintain karti thi, ne apni stapled sheets nikaal ke quietly Aanya ki taraf badha di. “Yeh Economics ke important graphs hain. Aur yeh last chapter ke short notes.”

Aanya ne papers liye. “Tu har kisi ko de deti hai?”

Simran ne bahut normal tone mein kaha, “Haan. Notes hi toh hain.”

Par Aanya ne uske face par ek tiny hesitation catch kar li. Jaise woh “notes hi toh hain” bolkar kisi aur cheez ko cover kar rahi ho. Kabir ne usi beech photocopy wale uncle se bol diya, “Aur bhai, isko bhi de do, yeh wali topper hai, iske bina hum log ka academic structure collapse ho jayega.”

Simran ne aankh ghuma di, but uske lips par smile thi.

School ke bench par assembly ke baad teenon ek side mein baith gaye, canteen ke paas wali purani green bench jo students ke liye hamesha temporary confession booth jaisi hoti thi. Ground pe juniors ki awaazein, teachers ke steps, aur door se aati photocopy machine ki ghurr-ghurr—sab ek background noise ban gaya.

Kabir ne apne bag se ek crumpled snack packet nikala. “Mere ghar pe sab bol rahe hain, ‘Bas ek paper aur, phir life set.’ Jaise main bank loan hoon.”

Aanya ne bina dekhe kaha, “Mere ghar mein toh life se zyada marks set karne ki baat hoti hai.”

Kabir chup ho gaya. Simran ne apni water bottle twist ki aur dheere se boli, “Mere ghar pe bhi same. Bas wording different hoti hai. ‘Simran, tum toh kar hi logi.’”

Aanya ne uski taraf dekha. “Aur tu kar leti hai?”