Misty Signal

Shillong ki subah mein ek alag hi softness hoti hai. Ghar ki khidki se bahar dekho toh dhuan jaisi mist sadak par utar aati thi, aur neem thandi hawa chai ke cup ko aur bhi comforting bana deti thi. Sangeeta Rajbongshi ke liye yeh subah ka ritual almost sacred tha—ek steel mug mein chai, attendance sheet ka neat stack, aur laptop ke saamne remote class ka login. Government school ki English aur EVS teacher hone ke saath-saath woh remote learning coordinator bhi thi, isliye uska din sirf blackboard aur chalk tak limited nahi tha. Uski duniya screen ke chhote-chhote boxes mein bhi banti thi, aur un boxes mein ek face tha jo use sabse zyada yaad rehta tha—Pritam ka.

Pritam 13 saal ka tha, mountain village se online class join karta tha. Kabhi uska camera on hota, kabhi sirf half face dikhai deta, kabhi awaz itni crackle karti ki lagta koi radio purana sa gaana baja raha ho. But uski aankhen… uski aankhen hamesha focused rehti thi. Class mein woh kam bolta, almost shy sa, lekin Sangeeta ne notice kiya tha ki woh har question ke baad thoda sa aur seedha baith jaata, jaise andar hi andar khud se promise kar raha ho, “Nahi, mujhe yeh samajhna hai.” Sangeeta ko usmein ek aisa bachcha dikhta tha jo attention nahi, opportunity maang raha tha.

Us din bhi class normal chal rahi thi. “Okay children, open page number 24,” Sangeeta ne soft voice mein bola. Tabhi screen par Pritam ka video freeze hua, phir audio ek ajeeb se hiss mein badla, aur next second uska box blank ho gaya. Sangeeta ne pehle socha, usual network issue hoga. Shillong aur surrounding hills mein yeh koi uncommon baat nahi thi. Lekin class ke end tak jab Pritam wapas nahi aaya, uske inbox mein ek short message aaya—unknown number se, but village ka hi lag raha tha.

“Madam, Pritam ko ab school ka online padhai nahi karna. Kaam pe le jaa rahe hain. Time waste ho raha hai.”

Sangeeta ne message do baar padha. Phir teen baar. Uske haath mein chai thodi thandi ho gayi. Yeh sirf attendance ka issue nahi tha. Yeh ek bachche ki poori education pe brake lagne jaisa tha. Usne turant Pritam ke profile par click kiya, lekin obviously no response. Network ka yeh bhi ek ajeeb khel tha—hope dekar gayab ho jana, jaise koi door se awaaz lagaye aur phir jungle mein kho jaaye.

Sangeeta ne seedha call kiya. Pehle father ne uthaya nahi. Do baar ring gaya. Third time ek rough, tired voice aayi. “Haan?”

“Namaskar, main Pritam ki teacher bol rahi hoon, Sangeeta Rajbongshi. Aaj class se woh suddenly disconnect ho gaya tha. Sab theek hai na?”

Dusri side kuch seconds silence raha. Phir father, Bhaben, thoda hard tone mein bola, “Theek nahi hai, madam. Online class se kuch nahi hota. Din bhar kaam pada hai. Ghar ka madad chahiye. Yeh padhai-wadhai se pet nahi bharta.”

Sangeeta ne apni tone calm rakhi. “Main samajh sakti hoon, lekin Pritam ka kaafi potential hai. Woh regular rahe toh bahut aage ja sakta hai.”

Bhaben hansa nahi, bas thoda sa snort kiya. “Potential se ghar nahi chalta. Signal bhi toh nahi aata. Kabhi class, kabhi drop. Main usko aise hi baitha ke kya karun?”

Sangeeta ko us waqt gussa bhi aaya aur dukh bhi. Gussa is baat ka ki ek bright bachcha sirf system ki wajah se peechhe chhoot raha hai. Dukh is baat ka ki Bhaben ko villain banana easy hota, but sach kuch aur tha. Woh father tha, aur har father ki tarah uska pehla concern survival tha. He wasn’t heartless. He was scared.

“Sir, ek baar milke baat kar sakte hain?” Sangeeta ne poocha.

“Baat karne se kya hoga, madam?”

“Shayad solution nikle.”

Bhaben ne kuch socha, phir bola, “Aap log school waale log baat hi karte ho. Hum log kaam karte hain. Chhodiye.”

Call cut ho gayi. Sangeeta ne laptop band nahi kiya. Bas chair pe thodi der chup baithi rahi. Outside mist aur thick ho gayi thi. Office ke corridor se ek peon ki footsteps ki awaaz aa rahi thi. Usne apne aap se kaha, “Sirf attendance se kaam nahi chalega.”

Usne next morning headmistress Mrs. Dutta se milne ka decide kiya. Mrs. Dutta 50 ke aas-paas ki formal, cautious aur policy-driven admin thi. Unka style simple tha—pehle file, phir approval, phir action. Unhone Sangeeta ki baat dhyan se suni, lekin unke face par wahi familiar school-admin expression tha: concern bhi, caution bhi.

“Network issue toh common hai, Sangeeta,” unhone kaha. “Aur parents ko force bhi nahi kar sakte. School ki reputation ka bhi matter hai. Agar hum har case mein alag arrangement karenge toh process break ho jayega.”

Sangeeta ne softly reply kiya, “Ma’am, process important hai. But yahan process ke chakkar mein bachcha hi chhoot raha hai.”

Mrs. Dutta ne spectacles ke upar se dekha. “Tum emotional ho rahi ho.”

“Maybe,” Sangeeta ne accept kiya. “But Pritam lazy nahi hai. Uska problem access hai.”

Mrs. Dutta ne kuch nahi bola. Unka silence approval nahi tha, but dismissal bhi nahi. Bas typical administrative pause. Sangeeta samajh gayi—ab usse khud hi ground pe jaana padega.

Do din baad woh village ke liye nikli. Road winding thi, hills ke beech se guzarti, aur kabhi-kabhi aisa lagta tha jaise gaadi bhi network ki tarah decide kar rahi ho ki aage chale ya nahi. Village pahunchte-pahunchte uske shoes mein mitti lag gayi, aur usne pehli baar physically feel kiya ki “signal weak hai” ka matlab sirf ek technical line nahi hota. Woh ek real barrier hota hai—dooriyon ka, paison ka, time ka, aur fear ka.

Pritam ka ghar ek simple sa wooden structure tha. Bahar Bhaben khada tha, shoulder par ek bag aur haath mein rope. Usne Sangeeta ko dekh kar pehle surprise, phir suspicion se dekha.

“Aap yahan?” usne poocha.

“Pritam se milne aayi hoon,” Sangeeta ne kaha. “Aur aapse bhi.”