Surili

Ghar

Mera gaana aksar kitchen se shuru hota tha.

Ma ke haath mein belan hota, gas pe dudh chadh raha hota, aur main steel ki peeli plate ko ulta karke uske kinare pe ungli pherti-phirti koi purana sur pakad leti. Kolkata ki subah mein jab tram ki ghanti door se aati, aur pados ke terrace se kapde jhatke jaate, tab meri awaaz sabse zyada saaf lagti thi. Jaise sheher ke shor ke neeche mere gale mein ek chhoti si nadi beh rahi ho.

“Eto dheere?” Ma bina meri taraf dekhe bolti. “Aur kholke gaa. Ghar mein kaun darra hai?”

Main muskura deti. Ghar mein darane wala koi nahi tha. Ghar mein bas mere dar ka permanent address tha.

Ma ko meri awaaz pasand thi, par meri khamoshi usse nahi. Jab main chhoti thi, tab school function mein ek line bolne se pehle bhi main ro deti thi. Ma pehle gussa hoti, phir mujhe daantti, phir justify karti—“Loki aar ki bolbe? Jodi gaite pare, tobe stage e giyeo gaite hobe.” Log kya kahenge? Agar gaana aata hai to stage pe bhi gaana hoga.

Maine kabhi nahi kaha ki stage se mujhe sirf dar nahi lagta. Stage mujhe ek khaali mooh lagta tha—saamne andhera, neeche itne log ki unki aankhen koi seedhiyan ban jaati hain, aur mere pair unpar chadhte hi kaanpte rehte. Awaaz mere gale mein hoti, par body kahin aur chali jaati. Jaise main khud se thodi si alag ho jaati.

Ma ye baat samajhna hi nahi chahti thi.

Uska mobile, jiski screen pe cracks the, har dusre din kisi na kisi competition ka poster dikhata. “Dekho, Nandini Academy mein audition. Dekho, college fest. Dekho, radio contest.” Wo posters mere liye sapne kam, notices zyada the.

“Ma, ami jabo na,” main ek din seedhe bol hi di. Nahi jaungi.

Wo gas band karke meri taraf mud gayi. “Keno?”

“Dar lage.”

“Dar sabke lage.”

“Amar beshi lage.”

Wo kuch pal mujhe dekhti rahi. Phir bas itna boli, “Theek hai. Par dar ke saath hi kaam karna padta hai.”

Main ne kuch nahi bola. Ma ka chehra us waqt zyada sakht nahi lag raha tha, bas thaka hua. Kabhi kabhi wo mujhe is tarah dekhte hue pakad leti thi jaise kuch bolna chahti ho aur bol nahi pa rahi ho.

Us din shaam ko main terrace pe chali gayi. Niche Burrabazar ki taraf se traffic ka shor, upar cyan aasman mein halki garmi, aur balcony mein padosi aunty ke radio pe old songs. Main akeli thi to gaaya. Dheere pehle, phir khul ke. “Tumi robe nirobe…” meri awaaz hawa mein gayi aur kisi ne roka nahi. Kisi ne dekha nahi. Ghar ke andar main ek alag hi insaan thi. Wahan main ga sakti thi. Wahan meri saans meri banti thi.

Bas stage pe nahi.

Ma

Audition se do din pehle Ma ne mera bag khola aur bina poochhe ek extra dupatta rakh diya.

“Ye kyun?” maine poocha.

“Stage pe pasina aata hai.”

“Stage pe pasina aake kya karega dupatta?”

“Stage pe aur kya karega? Cover karega.” Wo seedhi si baat bolke meri taraf dekhti bhi nahi thi. “Aur ye extra pin bhi rakh. Tumhara dupatta phisalta hai.”

Main ne uske haath se pin li. Uski ungliyon mein chhote chhote cuts the, shayad kitchen se. Ya office file ke edge se. Ya zindagi se. Ma ka chehra us waqt zyada sakht nahi lag raha tha, bas thaka hua. Kabhi kabhi wo mujhe is tarah dekhte hue pakad leti thi jaise kuch bolna chahti ho aur bol nahi pa rahi ho.

“Ma,” main dheere boli, “tum itna kyun chahti ho ki main stage pe jaaun?”

Usne bag ka zipper khinchte hue jawab diya, “Kyunki main chahti hoon tu chup na rahe.”

Main chup ho gayi.

Wo bas bag band karke side mein rakhne lagi. “Tere papa hote toh shayad aur bolte. Main bolti nahi thi, wo bol deta tha. Ab ghar mein main hi bolti hoon, aur tu bhi kam hi bolti hai.”

Uski awaaz mein complaint kam, ek purani kami zyada thi.

Maine poocha, “Papa ka zikr aaj kyun?”

Wo ek second ke liye ruki. “Kyunki kal tu stage pe jayegi aur mujhe yaad aaya ki main bhi kabhi ek gaana sunke royi thi.”

Maine aankhen uthayi. Ye naya tha. Ma aur rona—dono ek hi line mein ajeeb lagte the.

“Kaunsa gaana?”

“Purano ek ta…” usne haath se hawa mein line kheechte hue kaha. “College function mein. Main stage ke paas khadi thi. Tere papa ne gaaya tha. Main pehli baar kisi aadmi ko itna khulke gaate dekh rahi thi. Mere ghar mein koi gaata nahi tha. Sab bas kaam karte the. Uss din mujhe laga tha, ‘oh, isko dekh ke bhi koi itna zinda ho sakta hai?’”

Main usko dekh rahi thi. Ma ke chehre pe us pal ek alag roshni thi. Na sirf yaad ki, na sirf dard ki—kisi aisi cheez ki jo kabhi poori nahi hui.

“Phir?” maine poocha.

“Phir life.” Wo halki si hansi hansi. “Shaadi, paisa, duty, tension. Sab aa gaya. Gaana reh gaya.”

Mujhe pehli baar samajh aaya ki Ma mujhe stage pe sirf isliye nahi bhejna chahti thi kyunki main achha gaati hoon. Wo mujhe us jagah bhejna chahti thi jahan wo khud kabhi nahi pahunch paayi. Shayad isliye uska pressure kabhi kabhi pyaar se zyada lagta tha. Shayad isliye mujhe gussa aata tha. Kyunki uska adhoora hissa mere gale mein utar aata tha.

Ma ne meri taraf ek chhota sa tiffin box badhaya. “Audition ke din ye kha lena. Khali pet mat jaana.”

“Ma, main stage pe khana kha ke nahi jaungi.”

“Bakwas mat kar.” Phir usne thoda soft hoke bola, “Aur ek baat. Agar bhool bhi jaaye na gaana, toh bhaagna mat. Khade rehna.”

Maine uski taraf dekha. “Tum kaise jaanti ho ki main bhaag jaungi?”

“Tu jab ghabrati hai, aankhen bahut seedhi ho jaati hain. Jaise andar se kahin aur dekh rahi ho.”