“Ji, bilkul. Aap do minute baithiye.”
Mehak Dixit ne phone ko kandhe aur kaan ke beech sambhala, saamne khade buzurg patient ki receipt dobara print karne ki koshish ki aur baayen haath se ek fasting patient ko paani na peene wali instruction sheet dikhayi. Aastha Diagnostics ka Saturday reception desk koi desk nahi tha; woh ek chhota sa desh tha jahan har nagrik ko apna kaam sabse pehle chahiye tha.
Printer ne kagaz aadha bahar nikala, phir usse wapas chaba liya.
Mehak ne muskurahat nahi chhodi. “Ji, report shaam chaar baje authorise hone ki sambhavna hai. Nahi, main values explain nahi kar sakti. Doctor se consult karna hoga. Ji, main samajh rahi hoon.”
Saamne buzurg bole, “Beta, receipt?”
“Bas aa rahi hai, Uncle. Machine thoda adab seekh rahi hai.”
Peeche se ek aadmi ne kaha, “Hum pandrah minute se khade hain.”
Mehak ne phone mute kiya. “Sir, aapki registration complete hai. Sample counter par token C-satrah announce hoga. Aap baith jaiye, main bulwa dungi.”
“Lekin report urgent hai.”
“Isliye Dr. Vats ne priority note kar diya hai. Test ko jaldi karna aur test ko sahi karna dono zaroori hain.”
Uski awaaz naram thi, lekin sentence ke neeche lakir kheench di gayi thi. Aadmi kuch budbudata hua baith gaya.
Phone par caller ab bhi “Hello? Hello?” kar raha tha. Mehak ne unmute kiya. “Ji, main yahin hoon. Home collection ke liye address WhatsApp kar dijiye.”
Printer ne karahne jaisi awaaz ki.
Dr. Vats lab ke andar se nikle. Coat ki pocket mein do pens, forehead par chaar permanent lines. “Mehak, Sharma ji ki lipid profile release kyun nahi hui?”
“Sir, aapke authorisation queue mein hai.”
“Mere queue mein? Computer dikha hi nahi raha.”
“Aap filters mein kal ki date lagaye hain.”
“Maine nahi lagayi.”
“System ne apne aap adab se laga di hogi, sir.”
Dr. Vats ne sarcasm nahi pakda. Woh terminal ki taraf chale gaye. Mehak ne printer tray kholi. Receipt accordion ban chuki thi.
Door khula aur Sana Saxena do paper cups lekar andar aayi. Usne pale blue kurta pehna tha, baal jaldi mein clip kiye hue aur expression aisa tha jaise duniya ne subah se teen galat formulas enter kar diye hon.
“Madam receptionist,” Sana boli, “aapke liye chai. Extra meethi. Kyunki life ne namak apni taraf se de rakha hai.”
Mehak ne phone rakhte hi cup liya. “Tum yahaan? Noor wale azaad kar diye?”
“Azaad nahi. Temporary parole. Ek buyer ne same design ko spreadsheet mein ivory, mail mein cream aur phone par off-white bola. Maine kaha teenon mein se ek rang chun lijiye, hum kapde ko identity crisis nahi denge.”
Mehak hansi, phir printer ka paper kheenchne lagi. “Do minute.”
“Lucknow mein do minute ka matlab pata hai? Ya to aadha ghanta, ya kabhi nahi.” Sana counter ke side khadi ho gayi. “Mela chalna hai. Ticket book hai. Heritage walk ka slot teen bees.”
“Mera lunch bhi nahi hua.”
“Wahin khaogi. Veg Galouti tumhare naam ka prasad hai.”
“Prasad mat bolo. Koi aunty sun legi to festival band karwa degi.”
Dr. Vats wapas aaye. “Mil gaya. Date filter tha.”
Mehak ne seedha chehra rakha. “Achha hua, sir.”
“Aaj closing tak billing reconcile karke jaana.”
“Sir, meri half-day approval hai. Neha closing karegi; handover ready hai.”
Dr. Vats ne calendar dekha, jaise half-day unke khilaaf saazish ho. “Haan, theek. Phone reachable rakhna.”
Sana ne chai ke cup ke peeche se Mehak ko dekha. Bahar nikalte waqt woh dheere se boli, “Phone reachable rakhna ka matlab hai chhutti par bhi receptionist.”
“Unko lagta hai computer jaadu hai aur main jaadugar.”
“Tum jaadugar ho. Itne logon ko ‘ji’ bolkar ek ko bhi thappad nahi maara.”
***
Noor Chikan Exports ka stockroom Chowk ki ek purani building ke andar tha jahan seedhiyan sankri, bundle bade aur har landing par kisi na kisi ko jaldi thi. Sana Mehak ko half-day ke baad wahan sirf apna bag lene le gayi.
Computer room mein do desktops, ek old pedestal fan aur wall par buyer deadlines ka chart tha. Sana ki screen par rows rangon se bhari thi.
“Yeh dekho,” usne bag uthate hue kaha. “Design N-214. Ledger mein ek sau bees pieces. Physical count ek sau chaudah. Chhe hawa mein embroidery karwa rahe hain shayad.”
Mehak ne screen dekhi. Columns mein artisan batch, size, colour, received, wash, finish, pack aur dispatch likha tha.
“Mile?”
“Do wrong rack mein. Teen finishing wale bundle mein. Ek abhi bhi moksha par.”
Stockroom se manager ki awaaz aayi, “Sana ji, Monday tak buyer list clean chahiye.”
Sana ne utni hi meethi awaaz lagayi, “Ji, pehle aap physical slips clean bhejwa dijiye.”
Phir Mehak se boli, “Dekha ‘pehle aap’ ka industrial use?”
Mehak ne dupatta set kiya. “Tum Lucknow ki tehzeeb ko threat bana deti ho.”
“Tool hai. Use karna chahiye.”
Dono Chowk ki bheed mein nikliं. Galiyon mein chikankari ke kurtas latak rahe the, scooters logon ke beech se maafi maange bina nikal rahe the aur ek dukaan se itr ki khushboo, doosri se tel mein talti tikki ki. Chacha Zafar ka tea stall corner par tha. Unki safed daadhi chhoti, aankhen hamesha kisi private joke se roshan.
“Arre bitiyaan,” unhone ketli uthate hue kaha, “aaj chai dhokha de gayi kya? Doosre cup ke bina ja rahi ho?”
Sana ne mela ticket dikhaya. “Aaj heritage aur kebab ka programme hai, Chacha.”
“Hum bhi wahin service counter par hain. Cultural society ne chai ka contract diya hai. Lekin udhar debate ka paisa alag lagega.”
Mehak boli, “Aap pahunchiye. Sana ko koi sunne wala chahiye.”
Zafar hase. “Isko sunne wala nahi, minute-book chahiye.”
***
Residency ke visitor entrance par mela wali bheed ko volunteers do streams mein baant rahe the. Food mela ka main gate aage civic exhibition ground par tha; heritage-walk ticket wale log alag line mein, bags check karwa kar, guide ke saath protected complex mein ja rahe the. Ek board par saaf likha tha: NO FOOD INSIDE. NO AMPLIFIED MUSIC. RESPECT THE MONUMENT.
Mehak ne ticket phone par dikhaya. Sana ne apna water bottle bag mein band kiya. Guide, Farheen, ne group ko Bailey Guard Gate ke naam aur complex ke itihaas ka sankshipt parichay diya.
Andar aate hi bahar ka festival shor peeche patla ho gaya.
Lawns ki hariyali ke beech tooti deewarein khadi thiं. Kahin arches aasmaan ko frame karte, kahin brick par goli aur cannon ke purane nishaan. Museum ke paas schoolchildren ek line mein ja rahe the, unki teacher baar-baar “touch nahi karna” keh rahi thi.
Farheen ne Banquet Hall, Treasury aur Dr. Fayrer’s House ki taraf sanket kiya. Usne 1857 ki gherabandi, complex mein rahe logon aur baad ke sanrakshan ki baat ki. Mehak ne ek shattered wall ko dekha aur socha ki receptionist desk par log dates ko kitna bada samajhte hain—report ki date, marriage ki age, salary credit ka din. Yahaan poori zindagiyan ek plaque par do dates ke beech aa gayi thiं.
“Kya hua?” Sana ne dheere se poocha.
“Kuch nahi. Bas… jagah chup hai, phir bhi bahut kuch bolti hai.”
Sana ne deewar dekhi. “Isliye hum dono ko yahaan dheere bolna chahiye.”
“Tumse hoga?”
“Historic occasion hoga.”