Riksha Wali

Maine palat kar dekha. Ramprasad khada tha—sukhda sa badan, safed baal, aur chehre par woh thakaan jo mazdooron ki aankhon mein aam hoti hai. Woh bhi riksha chalata tha. Bahut bolta nahi tha. Par jab bolta tha, to uski baat mein dhoop ki sachchai hoti thi.

Shombu ne use ghoora. “Tu bhi iske side mein hai?”

Ramprasad ne kandhe jhatke. “Side ki baat nahi, Shombu. Kaam ki baat hai.”

Shombu ne gusse mein thook nigli. “Tum log union ko majak samajh rahe ho.”

Ramprasad ne bilkul seedhe muh se kaha, “Majak to tu bana raha hai.”

Pehli baar kisi ne mere saamne usse aise bola tha. Main hairaan bhi thi, aur andar hi andar shukrguzaar bhi. Shombu ka chehra laal ho gaya. Par woh aur kuch bole, usse pehle ek bus ka horn baja, aur stand par bhagdad si mach gayi.

Ramprasad ne mujhe aankhon se ishara kiya. “Aao, didi. Do sawari mil gayi hain.”

Main uske paas chal padi. Woh dheere se bola, “Uski baat dil pe mat lo.”

“Dil pe nahi leti,” maine jhooth bola.

Ramprasad ne halki si hansi di. “Aur haan, permit ka masla woh itna bada nahi jitna woh dikhata hai. Tumhara kaam tum karo. Jo bolega, bole.”

“Par woh mera din kharab kar sakta hai.”

“Karne do,” usne kaha. “Par tumhara ghar mat kharab hone dena.”

Uski baat seedhi thi. Zyada badi nahi. Lekin mere andar ka jo darr tha, uske paas thoda sa jawab tha.

Ramprasad Ka Hath

Din dheere dheere khulne laga. Sawariyan aati gayin, jaati gayin. Kuch log mujhe dekh kar pehle ek baar rukte, phir chupchap baith jaate. Kuch ka chehra aisa hota jaise woh riksha mein baithe nahi, kisi ajeeb cheez ka tajurba kar rahe ho. Main unki aankhon ko ignore karna seekh rahi thi. Har nazar ka jawab dena mumkin nahi hota.

Ramprasad ne waqai meri madad ki. Jab ek aadmi ne kiraya kam dene ki koshish ki, woh beech mein bol pada, “Bhai, itna hi jana hai to paidal chalo. Didi ko kaam karne do.”

Ek aur baar usne mujhe bheed wale route par bheja jahan office se nikli hui do ladies ko jana tha. “Woh log tumse aaram se baat kar lenge,” usne kaha. “Aur nazar bhi kam daalenge.”

Main uski is baat par pehli baar hansi. “Tum itne seedhe kab se ho?”

Woh muskuraya nahi, bas kandha utha diya. “Seedha nahi hoon. Bas itna samajhta hoon ki duniya jab kisi ko dabati hai na, to side lena padta hai. Warna apni gardan bhi usi mein atak jaati hai.”

Maine uski taraf dekha. “Tumhein Shombu se darr nahi?”

“Darr hai,” usne sach bola. “Par usse zyada is baat ka darr hai ki hum sab uske jaise ho jaayein.”

Uski baat meri samajh mein bhi aayi aur nahi bhi. Par us din mujhe yeh zarur laga ki stand par har aadmi Shombu jaisa nahi hai. Kuch log bas dekhte rehte hain, aur kuch log thoda sa haath badha dete hain. Zindagi mein kabhi kabhi utna hi kaafi hota hai.

Dopehar ke baad jab dhoop sar par aayi, main ek ped ke neeche riksha rok kar baith gayi. Rini ki fees ka khayal phir se aaya. Main bag kholkar paise ginne lagi—aaj ke kiraye se ghar ka ration, kal ka bus pass, aur fees ka hisaab. Hisaab kamzor tha. Paise aur bhi kam.

Ramprasad paas aakar khada hua. “Kya soch rahi ho?”

“School fees.”

“Kitni hai?”

Maine bata diya.

Usne seedha muh bana liya. “Zyada hai.”

“Har cheez zyada hai,” maine thak kar kaha. “Daam bhi, dukh bhi.”

Woh chup raha, phir bola, “Aaj sham ko ek aur route milega. Bose saab aate hain na, Gariahat wale?”

“Woh kaun?”

“Ek customer,” Ramprasad ne kaha. “Seedhe hain. Beech mein natak nahi. Unko agar tum mili, to theek rahega. Woh lamba route lete hain. Kiraya bhi theek dete hain.”

Maine uski taraf shak se dekha. “Tum mujhe customer dilwa rahe ho?”

“Kaam dilwa raha hoon,” usne kaha. “Alag baat nahi hai.”

Uski aankh mein ek halka sa bharosa tha. Bahut din baad mujhe laga ki kaam maangna sharm ki baat nahi. Aurat jab ghar chalati hai na, toh uske haath mein sirf mehnat nahi hoti, ek poori duniya ka bojh hota hai.

Bose Ki Sadgi

Sham ko woh aadmi aaya. Saaf suthra kurta, haath mein ek chhota bag, aur chehre par woh thakaan jo office ki kursi aur bheed bhari sadkon ke beech phans kar aati hai. Usne idhar-udhar dekha, phir meri riksha ke paas ruk gaya.

“South Kolkata jaana hai,” usne kaha. “Aap chalengi?”

“Aa jaiye,” maine seedha jawab diya.

Woh baitha, aur mujhe surprise hua ki usne mujhe dekha bhi nahi aise jaise main koi ajeeb cheez hoon. Bas normal tarah se baitha. Jaise aur dinon mein bhi riksha chalane wali aurat hoti ho, aur ismein hairani ki koi baat na ho.

“Bose,” usne apna naam bataya. “Office se nikalne mein der ho gayi.”

“Khairun,” maine kaha. “Chaliye.”

Riksha chalne lagi. Kolkata ki sadak shaam mein alag hi rang badal leti hai. Tram ki pichhli aawaaz, auto ka horn, phoolon ki theli, machhli bazaar ki nam gili hawa, aur footpath par chalti zindagi—sab ek saath bolte hain. Main pedal marta rahi. Bose saab chup the. Phir kuch der baad unhone poocha, “Aap roz chalati hain?”

“Roz.”

“Akeli?”

Mainne ek nazar rear-view ki jagah jo chhota sa sheesha tha usmein unki taraf dekha. “Akeli hi to hoon.”

Unhone “oh” jaisa kuch kaha, par usmein pity nahi thi. Bas samajh thi. Yeh fark mujhe turant mehsoos hua.

“Kolkata mein rehna mushkil hai,” unhone kaha. “Rent, school, transport. Sab.”

“Ji,” maine kaha. “Aur aurat ho to log alag hi hisaab lagate hain.”

Bose saab ne hairani se nahi, bas samajh ke saath kaha, “Haan. Galat hisaab.”