Yellow Line se Life line tak

December aa gaya. Dilli ki sardi ab poori tarah se aa chuki thi. Humari metro meetings ab sirf book discussions nahi rehti thi. Hum apne bachpan ki baatein karte—main apne Meerut ke ghar ke baare mein, vo apne Dwarka ke flat ke baare mein.

"Mere ghar ke aage ek bada imli ka ped tha," maine ek din bataya. "Garmiyon mein hum bachche uspe chadhte the. Mummy kehti thi gir jaoge, par hum girte nahi the. Sameer, aapne kabhi ped chadha hai?"

"Engineering ke first year mein," usne kaha, serious chehre se. "Hostel ke peeche aam ka ped tha. Raat ko chori se chadh ke aam todte the."

"Sameer Bansal! Chor?" maine drama kiya.

"Engineering hostel mein sab chalta hai," usne kaha, defensive tone mein. "Survival of the fittest. Plus, mess ka khana... aap samajh sakti hain."

"Main samajh sakti hoon," maine kaha. "Meerut ke college mein hum bhi karte the. Chhole bhature ke liye boundary paar karna, guard se bachna..."

"Rebellious Anjali," usne tease kiya.

"Expressive Anjali," maine correct kiya. "Mummy kehti hain main zyada bolti hoon. Aapko bura lagta hai?"

"Nahi," usne kaha, aur uski awaaz mein kuch tha—koi warmth, koi acceptance. "Aapki baatein sunne mein achha lagta hai. Aapki awaaz mein... jaise koi story chal rahi ho. Real story."

Main chup ho gayi. Metro ki khidki se baahar, Dilli ki buildings chalti jaa rahi thi—concrete jungle, aur hum dono uske beech mein, ek chhote se compartment mein, apni duniya bana rahe the.

"Sameer," maine kaha, softly. "Aap kya chahte ho life se? I mean, long term?"

Vo socha. Sachi mein socha, jaise koi code likh raha ho apne mind mein.

"Balance," usne finally kaha. "Kaam ka balance, family ka balance, aur... kisi ke saath share karne ka balance. Aap?"

"Mujhe apna khud ka ghar chahiye," maine kaha, surprising myself with my honesty. "Not necessarily bada, par apna. Jahan main apni books rakh sakun, apni photos laga sakun, aur... aur kisi ke saath chai bana sakun."

"Chai?" usne pucha, smiling.

"Chai important hai," maine kaha, seriously. "Meri mummy kehti hain, jiski chai pasand aaye, uska dil bhi pasand aa jaata hai."

"Toh phir mujhe aapki mummy ki chai peeni hogi," usne kaha, aur phir jaise realize kiya ki yeh thoda zyada personal ho gaya, he added quickly, "I mean, Meerut ki famous chai, you know, wohi..."

Main hassi. "Sameer, aap bhi na."

"Kya?"

"Kitne polite ho. Har baat mein 'please,' 'sorry,' 'excuse me.' Delhi ke ladkon mein yeh quality rare hai."

"Delhi ke ladkon ko badnaam mat karo," usne kaha, mock-offence lete hue. "Hum mein bhi ache qualities hain. Jaise... patience."

"Patience?"

"Aap roz late aati hain, par main phir bhi intezaar karta hoon," usne kaha, deadpan expression ke saath.

"Main late nahi aati!" maine protest kiya. "Bas... time management mein thodi..."

"Expressive aur punctual dono nahi ho sakti?" usne tease kiya.

"Sameer!" maine uska haath mara, playful thappad. Usne mera haath pakda—sirf ek second ke liye, par electricity thi us touch mein. Hum dono ne apne haath jaldi se hata liye, aur dono ke cheeks red ho gaye. Metro ki thandi hawa bhi humein thanda nahi kar paayi.

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Part Four: Ghar, Parivaar, Aur Unsaid Words

January aa gaya. Humne numbers exchange kar liye the—professional reason ke liye, hum dono ne apne aap ko convince kiya. "Agar metro miss ho jaaye toh inform kar sake," yeh excuse tha. Par actually, raat ko do baje tak WhatsApp chalti thi.

Mummy ne notice kar liya tha. Meerut ki maaen, unki sixth sense kisi NASA satellite se zyada accurate hoti hai.

"Kaun hai yeh Sameer?" mummy ne ek raat pucha, jab main kitchen mein uske liye aloo ke parathe bana rahi thi—vo bhi late night craving mein, jo actually uske liye thi, next day metro mein dene ke liye.

"Friend hai, mummy. Metro mein mila hai."

"Metro mein dost nahi, bhoot milte hain Dilli mein," mummy ne kaha, her classic line.

"Mummy, vo web developer hai. Decent family se hai. Papa retired teacher hain, behen doctor ban rahi hai."

"Arre wah, poori family history pata hai?" mummy ne eyebrow raise ki. "Anjali, dekh lena. Meerut ki ladki ho, Dilli ke ladke..."

"Mummy, please. Bas friend hai."

"Friend jo tere chehre pe itni badi smile laata hai?" mummy ne pucha, par uski awaaz mein koi anger nahi tha—sirf concern, aur thoda sa curiosity.

Main chup ho gayi. Mummy ne mere kandhe pe haath rakha.

"Deewali ke baad umar ho jayegi teri. Soch rahi hoon koi achha rishta..."

"Mummy, please. Abhi nahi. Meri career bhi toh..."

"Career, career, career. Kab tak?"

"Jab tak sahi insaan na mil jaye," maine kaha, aur mummy ne meri aankhon mein dekha. Unhein samajh aa gaya. Unhone kuch nahi kaha, bas sar hilaake chali gayi. Par raat ko mere room ke darwaze ke neeche ek note aaya: "Kal se garam doodh peena. Sardi mein skin crack ho jati hai."

Mummy ka pyaar—indirect, practical, aur unconditional.

Sameer ne apne papa ke baare mein bataya tha. Mr. Bansal, retired Hindi teacher, strict but loving. Unhone Sameer ko shuru se literature mein interest dilaya tha.

"Papa kehte hain," Sameer ne bataya, "ki code bhi ek kavita jaisa hota hai. Structure hona chahiye, rhythm hona chahiye, aur meaning hona chahiye."

"Aur aapki mummy?" maine pucha.

"Vo... choti thi jab main paida hua," usne kaha, awaaz mein woh familiar sadness jo main pehchan gayi thi. "Papa ne dono roles play kiye. Riya aur mujhe."

"Riya aapki kitni choti hai?"

"Do saal. Abhi MBBS final year mein hai. Papa chahte hain vo America jaake specialist ban jaye."

"Aur aap?"

"Main chahta hoon vo apna decision khud le," usne kaha. "Par papa... unke apne sapne hain hum dono ke liye."

Main samajh sakti thi. Parents ke sapne, aur apni khwaahishein—yeh balance sabse mushkil hota hai.

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Part Five: Jaise Hi Kuch Kehne Wale Thay...