Chhat Par Sookhti Chaddar Andar Dabti Saansen

Lucknow ke old city wali galiyon ka apna hi rhythm hota hai. Subah sabzi wale ki aawaaz, shaam ko chhat par chaddar jhaadne ki sound, aur raat ko kisi na kisi ghar se pressure cooker ki seeti—jaise poora mohallah ek hi saans me chal raha ho. Ali house bhi kuch alag nahi tha. Narrow sa ghar, pehle floor pe teen kamre, ek chhoti si drawing room, aur upar chhat jahan Ammi roz kapde sukhane jaati thi aur Faizan kabhi-kabhi tuition ke notes leke baith jaata tha.

Ghar me noise bahut thi, par baat-cheet kam. TV chalta rehta, Ammi kitchen me busy, Abbu dukan aur hisaab-kitab me, Faizan college aur tuition ke beech, aur Ayaan? Ayaan aksar apne kamre me. 16 saal ka tha, 11th me, patla sa, quiet sa, aur aise expression deta jaise duniya usse thodi zyada hi disturb kar rahi ho. Family ko lagta tha bas lazy hai, ya screen se chipka rehta hai. Faizan toh seedha bol deta, “Yaar Ayaan, har cheez ka scene mat bana. Thoda kaam bhi kar liya kar. Itna dramatic kyun rehta hai?”

Ayaan kuch bolta nahi tha. Bas ek chhota sa shrug, phir door band. Faizan ko lagta tha bhai bura maanna band kar dega, par sach ye tha ki Ayaan ke andar jo cheezein chal rahi thi, unka naam kisi ke paas nahi tha. Na ghar me koi puchhta, na uske paas itni himmat thi ki khud bata sake.

Faizan khud bhi thaka hua rehta tha. Final year college, part-time tuition, ghar ke kaam, aur Abbu ke “beta, zara market se ye le aana” wale orders. Uski life me rest naam ki cheez bas Sunday ke aadhe din tak limited thi. Isliye jab Ayaan bed se late uthta, homework adhoora hota, ya kisi baat pe chup ho jaata, Faizan ka patience turant khatam ho jaata. “Mera bhi dimaag kharab hai,” woh sochta. “Isko bas bahane milte rehte hain.”

Phir woh raat aayi, jo normal nahi thi.

Raat ke kareeb do baje the. Gali me sannata tha, bas door kahin kisi scooter ka awaaz aur chhat pe hawa ki halki si sarsarahat. Faizan apne room me notes khol ke baitha tha, par padhai me mann nahi lag raha tha. Ammi so chuki thi, Abbu bhi. Tabhi Ayaan ke room se ek ajeeb si khurkhurahat si aayi, jaise koi bed pe seedha uth ke baith gaya ho. Phir ek dum se halki, ghut-ti hui awaaz—“Ammi…”

Faizan ne pehle ignore kiya. Do minute baad awaaz phir aayi, iss baar zyada shaky. “Ammi… saans… saans nahi aa rahi.”

Ammi ka darwaza sabse pehle khula. “Kya hua? Kya hua tujhe?” Unki awaaz me neend aur ghabrahat dono the. Faizan bhi uth ke bhaaga. Ayaan apne bed pe baitha tha, dono haath chest pe, aankhen phati hui, saans chhoti-chhoti, jaise hawa room me hai hi nahi. Uska chehra safed pad gaya tha. Wahi scene dekh ke Faizan ka sarcasm ek second me gayab ho gaya.

“Arre… Ayaan? Theek hai kya?” Faizan ne aage badh ke pucha.

Ayaan kuch bol hi nahi pa raha tha. Bas head shake kiya, phir phir se chest pakad li. Ammi ne paani ka glass pakda diya. “Pee le, pee le, kya hua hai? Itni raat ko kya drama hai?” Unki tone me pyaar bhi tha aur irritability bhi, kyunki neend toot chuki thi aur ghar ka normal rhythm disturb ho gaya tha.

Abbu bhi uth gaye the. “Kya tamasha laga rakha hai? Raat ke do baje? Itni bhi kya pareshaani hai?” Unhone door ke paas khade hoke dekha, phir seedha wahi strict face. “Seedha bol, kya hua?”

Ayaan ka panic aur badh gaya. Usne kisi tarah bolne ki koshish ki, “Mujhe… hawa… saans…” Phir words toot gaye. Faizan ne pehli baar notice kiya ki ye nakhra nahi lag raha. Ye toh sach me dar tha. Bahut gehra, bahut physical.

“Ammi, thoda side ho jao,” Faizan ne unexpectedly soft awaaz me kaha. Usne Ayaan ke room ka khidki wala palla khola, aur usse bola, “Bhai, meri taraf dekh. Dheere se saans le. Jaldi mat kar. Bas dekh, main count karta hoon.”

Ayaan ne uski taraf dekha. Aankhon me embarrassment bhi tha, aur ek ajeeb si helplessness bhi. Faizan ne counting shuru ki—“Ek… do… teen…” Ayaan ki saans phir bhi uneven thi, lekin thodi der baad uska body tremble kam hua. Ammi uske paas baithi rahi, uske sar pe haath phera. Abbu door khade rahe, jaise unke paas is situation ke liye koi line hi nahi thi.

Subah ghar ka mahaul bilkul tight tha. Raat wali tension abhi hawa me latak rahi thi. Ammi ne chai banate hue kaha, “Dekha, zyada mobile use karta hai. Din me sota hai, raat ko jagta hai, phir aise hota hai. Main pehle se bol rahi thi.” Abbu ne newspaper fold karte hue add kiya, “Hamare zamane me itna sensitive koi nahi hota tha. Thoda discipline chahiye bas. Har cheez ka issue bana leta hai.”

Faizan, jo raat ko thoda soft ho gaya tha, subah phir se apni purani habit me aa gaya. “Haan yaar, maybe overthink hi karta hoga. Aise hi tension le leta hai.” Bolte hi usko khud lag gaya ki usne wahi line repeat kar di jo ghar me hamesha boli jaati thi. Ayaan kitchen ke paas khada tha, school uniform half-on, aur uske face pe woh expression tha jo sirf wohi log samajhte hain jo baar-baar dismiss kiye jaate hain—ek mix of shame aur resignation.

Phir Ayaan ka patience toot gaya.

“Bas karo,” usne pehli baar unchi awaaz me bola. “Aap log sunte hi nahi ho. Har baar bolte ho natak, laziness, overreacting. Main marne laga tha raat ko, aur aap sabko bas ye lag raha hai main drama kar raha hoon.”

Kitchen me silence gir gaya. Ammi ki haath me chai ka cup freeze ho gaya. Abbu ne newspaper neeche rakh diya. Faizan ko laga jaise kisi ne uske pet me punch maara ho. Ayaan ki awaaz kaamp rahi thi, par woh ruk nahi raha tha.

“Mujhe khud samajh nahi aa raha tha kya ho raha hai,” Ayaan ne bolte-bolte saans li. “Kabhi chest tight hoti hai, kabhi room band lagta hai, kabhi lagta hai main saans hi nahi le paunga. Main bolta tha toh aap log haste the. Isliye main chup ho gaya. Ab main kya karun?”

Ammi ki aankhen thodi nam ho gayin, par unka instinct ab bhi defensive tha. “Toh pehle bolna tha na. Hum kya jaane?”

Ayaan ne thandi hasi jaisi awaaz me kaha, “Bolta tha. Aap log sunte nahi the.”

Faizan ne kuch bolna chaha, par words nahi nikle. Usko yaad aaya kitni baar Ayaan ne room ka door khula nahi rakha, kitni baar bina khaye late-night tak baitha raha, kitni baar bas “theek hoon” bolkar conversation khatam kar di. Usne uss waqt sabko lazy samjha tha. Ab usko pehli baar laga ki shayad usne bhai ko nahi, apni convenience ko protect kiya tha.

Same din shaam ko Faizan ne zidd karke Ayaan ko local clinic le jaane ka faisla kiya. Ammi pehle boli, “Doctor ke paas jaane ki kya zarurat hai? Thoda rest kar lega toh theek ho jayega.” Abbu ne bhi kaha, “Doctor-wactor me paise barbaad mat karo.” Lekin Faizan is baar nahi muda. “Nahi Abbu, ek baar check karwa lete hain. Bas. Agar kuch nahi hua toh theek.”

Clinic chhota sa tha, old city ke ek corner me, jahan fans slow ghoom rahe the aur walls pe faded posters lage the. Dr. Naina ka cabin simple tha. Unke bolne ka style bhi simple—na lecture, na over-sympathy. Unhone Ayaan se pehle aaram se pucha, “Kab se ho raha hai? Kab trigger hota hai? Room band hone pe? Stress me? Neend kam ho toh?”

Ayaan pehle chup raha. Phir dheere-dheere bolna shuru kiya. “Mujhe kabhi-kabhi lagta hai saans nahi aa rahi. Chest tight ho jaati hai. Sab log sochte hain main bahane bana raha hoon. Main khud bhi sure nahi tha kya hai.”

Dr. Naina ne bas itna kaha, “Tum bahane nahi bana rahe. Jo tum feel kar rahe ho, woh real hai. Ye anxiety ya panic symptoms ho sakte hain. Iska matlab ye nahi ki tum weak ho. Iska matlab hai tumhara body aur mind overload me hai.”

Room me ek alag hi silence tha. Is baar woh silence toxic nahi tha. Is baar usme pehli baar meaning tha.

Ammi ne dhime se pucha, “Toh ye natak nahi tha?”

Dr. Naina ne unki taraf dekha, bilkul judgement ke bina. “Nahi. Symptoms ko natak bol dena easy hota hai, par helpful nahi hota. Jab koi baar-baar saans ki problem, restlessness, ya panic feel kare, toh usse attention chahiye, labels nahi.”

Abbu ne thodi der tak kuch nahi bola. Unke chehre pe woh purana strict expression tha, lekin uske neeche ek crack aa gaya tha. “Iska ilaaj hota hai?” unhone finally pucha.

“Hotaa hai,” Dr. Naina ne calmly kaha. “Par first step hai samajhna aur support dena. Home environment bhi matter karta hai. Pressure kam hoga toh episodes manage karne me help milegi.”

Wapas ghar aate waqt rickshaw me koi zyada baat nahi hui. Galiyon ke lights on ho chuke the, chhat par kapde phir se sookh rahe the, aur kahin se biryani ki smell aa rahi thi. Faizan ne side me baithkar Ayaan ko dekha. Bhai pehli baar usse itna chhota nahi lag raha tha, balki thoda thaka hua, thoda scared, aur bahut zyada akela lag raha tha.

Ghar pahunchte hi Ammi ne Ayaan ke liye khana alag garam kiya, bina kuch kahe. Abbu ne bhi unusually soft tone me bas itna bola, “Agle hafte phir doctor ko dikha denge.” Ye unke hisaab se almost emotional speech thi. Faizan ko hansi bhi aayi aur guilt bhi. Woh Ayaan ke room ke door pe gaya aur knock kiya.

“Main andar aa jaun?”

Ayaan ne pehle kuch seconds wait kiye, phir “Haan,” bola.

Faizan bed ke edge pe baith gaya. Dono ke beech ka silence is baar uncomfortable nahi tha. Faizan ne throat clear kiya. “Kal jo maine bola tha… woh stupid tha.”

Ayaan ne uski taraf dekha, bina expression ke. “Bas stupid?”

Faizan ne ek chhota sa smile try kiya. “Bahut stupid. Main samajh hi nahi paaya tha. Socha tu bas drama kar raha hai. Mujhe laga main har cheez handle kar leta hoon, isliye tere mood ko bhi handle kar lunga. Galat tha.”

Ayaan ne nazar neeche kar li. “Mujhe bhi bolna mushkil lagta tha. Kyunki jab bhi bolta, koi kehta ‘zyada mat soch.’ Toh phir main chup ho gaya.”

Faizan ne dheere se kaha, “Ab nahi hoga. Main try karunga sunne ka. Theek se.”

Ayaan ne pehli baar us din halki si saans li, jaise room thoda bada ho gaya ho. “Bas sun lena kaafi hai,” usne almost whisper me kaha.

Uske baad kuch cheezein ekdum magically theek nahi ho gayin. Abbu ab bhi kabhi-kabhi “hamare time me” wali line bol dete the. Ammi kabhi overprotective ho jaati, kabhi phir se tension me Ayaan ko zyada puchne lagti. Ayaan ke episodes bhi turant band nahi hue. Par ghar me ek chhota sa change aa gaya tha—ab koi uski condition ko laziness bolke close nahi karta tha.

Faizan ne apne routine me bhi changes kiye. Jab woh tuition se aata, toh seedha “kya kar raha hai?” bolne ke bajay puchhta, “Aaj kaisa feel ho raha hai?” Kabhi Ayaan ke saath chhat pe do minute khada rehta, bina lecture diye. Kabhi room ka door khula rakhne ko bolta, kabhi uske saath market chala jaata, bas isliye ki Ayaan ko akela feel na ho. Aur Ayaan, jo pehle har baat ko andar hi andar daba deta tha, ab kabhi-kabhi ek line bol deta—“Aaj thoda weird lag raha hai,” ya “Mujhe crowd me uncomfortable hota hai.”

Ye lines chhoti thi, par unme himmat bahut thi.

Ek shaam chhat par sookhti chaddar ke neeche Faizan aur Ayaan khade the. Neeche gali me kids cricket khel rahe the, aur door se Maggi wale bhaiya ki aawaaz aa rahi thi. Faizan ne aasman dekha aur bola, “Strong ka matlab shayad ye nahi hota ki kuch feel hi na karo.”

Ayaan ne halki si smile di. “Haan. Shayad strong ka matlab ye hota hai ki bol sako.”

Faizan ne uski taraf dekha, phir bas itna kaha, “Theek hai. Toh bolte rehna.”

Lucknow ke us old house me ab bhi noise thi. Chhote bartan, TV, gali ke log, Ammi ki aawaaz, Abbu ki khankhanati chai ki cup, aur Faizan ke sarcastic comments—sab kuch waise ka waisa tha. Par pehli baar us noise ke beech ek jagah bani thi jahan Ayaan ki saans ko bhi space mil sakti thi. Aur shayad isi ka naam ghar hota hai: perfect silence nahi, bas itni himmat ki koi bole aur koi sach me sun le.

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