Sunday Ka Emotional Download

Sunday evening ka Dimapur thoda alag hi feel deta tha. Shaam ko hawa mein ek soft si thandak hoti thi, jaise koi invisible blanket shoulders pe rakh diya ho. Alisa Dkhar apne room ke window ke paas khadi thi, ek haath mein chai ka mug, dusre haath mein phone. Laptop band ho chuka tha, HR dashboard ke numbers dimag mein abhi bhi float kar rahe the, but uska asli wait kisi aur cheez ka tha.

“Call karegi na?” usne khud se murmur kiya.

Aur exactly 7:30 pe, Mona ka video call aa gaya.

“Finally,” Alisa ne call pick karte hi bola. “Mujhe laga Bangalore ki queen aaj apne fans ko bhool gayi.”

Screen pe Mona ka face aaya—bed pe half-lying, hair bun loosely tied, ek oversized T-shirt pehni hui, aur background mein room ka usual Bangalore chaos: ek side pe coffee mug, dusri side pe laundry ka pile, aur corner mein fairy lights jo kabhi romantic lagti thi aur kabhi bas rent wale apartment ki compensation.

“Queen nahi, overworked marketing slave,” Mona ne dramatic sigh diya. “Aur please, fans mat bolo. Main already emotionally exhausted hoon.”

Alisa smirk karte hue chair pe baith gayi. “Same. Chalo routine shuru karein. Pehle office gossip.”

“Office gossip boring hai,” Mona ne bola. “Par theek hai. Mere manager ne aaj bola, ‘Mona, can you think out of the box?’ Maine mann mein socha, sir, box ke andar hi salary hai, bahar jaake kya karun?”

Alisa hansi rok nahi paayi. “Typical.”

“Tum bolo,” Mona ne screen pe aankhen narrow karke kaha. “Dimapur HR queen, koi employee ne phir se resignation drama kiya?”

“Ek ne toh notice period mein bhi casual leave maang li,” Alisa ne deadpan tone mein bola. “Maine socha, this is not employee, this is a philosophy.”

Dono hansi. Ye unka Sunday ritual tha—office se start, food pe aake thoda aur soft, aur phir family updates mein seedha emotional turbulence. Jaise koi fixed playlist ho jisme pehle light songs, phir breakup tracks, aur last mein “why is life like this” wala sad instrumental.

“Food update?” Mona ne poocha.

“Mom ne thukpa banaya tha. Proper comfort food. Tum?”

“Bangalore mein order kiya tha. Cold noodles. It tasted like regret.”

“Wow, very poetic.”

“Main hoon hi poet,” Mona ne hair flip jaisa kuch karte hue bola, phir screen pe closer aayi. “Ab family update. Kya scene hai?”

Alisa ne ek second ke liye chai ka mug tight pakad liya. “Scene? Family ne phir se bomb phod diya.”

Mona straight up baith gayi. “Kya hua?”

“Subah mom ka call aaya tha. Bas casually nahi, full emotional background score ke saath. Boli, ‘Beta, ek ladka ka profile aaya hai. Achha family hai, settled hai, age bhi theek hai.’”

Mona ki aankhen aur badi ho gayi. “Casually? Mom ne ‘profile’ word use kiya? That means serious level pressure.”

“Wahi toh. Phir shaam ko WhatsApp pe relatives ka barrage,” Alisa ne phone uthake messages dikhane shuru kiye. “Ek auntie: ‘Alisa pehle shaadi kar lo, phir Mona ka number bhi dekh lenge.’ Ek uncle: ‘Ab age ho gayi, career set hai, ab rishta dekh lo.’ Aur ek cousin—”

“Let me guess,” Mona interrupted. “Usne bola hoga, ‘It’s about time.’”

Alisa gave a tired nod. “Worse. ‘Tum dono itni pretty aur educated ho, ab bas settle ho jao.’”

Mona made a face. “Settle. I hate this word.”

“Same,” Alisa said quietly.

For a moment, dono silent ho gayi. Call ke background mein sirf fan ki halki awaaz aur street se aati distant bike ki sound thi. Usually their Sunday calls mein silence bhi comfortable hota tha, but aaj silence mein ek alag weight tha. Jaise unke beech koi invisible third person khada ho—society, relatives, expectations, sab ek hi shape mein.

Mona ne pehle break kiya. “Mujhe bhi subah message aaya tha. Same script, different sender. Aunties ka group active tha. One of them literally wrote, ‘Mona ke liye bhi dekh rahe hain, but pehle Alisa ka kar do.’”

Alisa blinked. “What?”

“Exactly my reaction,” Mona said. “Am I some backup plan in a family project? Like, ‘Pehle elder sister ka task complete karo, phir younger sister ka.’”

Alisa’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Maybe they just mean—”

“Arre nahi,” Mona cut in, her usual sass sharpened now. “They mean exactly what they mean. Shaadi ko they’ve turned into a queue system.”

Alisa exhaled slowly. “Mona, chill. Tum sabko itna seriously mat lo. Bas ignore kar do.”

Mona laughed, but it was not a real laugh. “Wow. That’s rich coming from you.”

Alisa frowned. “Kya matlab?”

“Matlab,” Mona said, voice getting tighter, “tum hamesha sabko understand karti ho. Mom ko, relatives ko, office ko, even random people who don’t deserve it. Tum aise bol rahi ho jaise pressure koi joke ho. For you maybe it’s easy to act mature because you’ve already become the ‘settled one’ in everyone’s eyes.”

Alisa’s jaw tightened. “And for you everything is joke, right? Meme, sarcasm, one-liners. Tum serious kab hoti ho?”

Mona sat up properly now. “Excuse me?”

“Seriously,” Alisa said, her controlled tone now slipping. “Tum itna casually sab ignore karti ho, jaise koi effect hi nahi ho raha. Family ko lagta hai tumhe farak hi nahi padta. Then they keep pushing. Mujhe hi handle karna padta hai.”

Mona stared at her. “Oh, so now I’m the irresponsible one?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Par imply toh kar diya na.”

Their video call, which had always felt like home, suddenly felt like a tight room. Alisa could hear her own breathing. Mona’s face, usually so animated, had gone still in that dangerous way when she was hurt but pretending not to be.

“Tumhe easy hai, Mona,” Alisa said, and even she heard the tiredness in her own voice. “You’re in Bangalore, independent, free. You can joke your way out. Here everyone looks at me like I’m the family manager. Main hi sab sambhalungi, main hi calm rahungi, main hi mature rahungi. But kab tak?”

Mona’s eyes flickered. “And you think I’m free?”

Alisa didn’t answer.