Hostel Ke Paanch Saal: Ek Shandaar Nostalgia & Memoir Hinglish Kahani

Pooja

BHU ka girls hostel pehli baar dekha toh mujhe laga tha jaise koi purana sadi ka dabba ho—bahar se faded, andar se full awaazein. Gate ke andar ghuste hi do suitcase, ek bedding roll, aur maa ka diya hua achar ka dabba mere haath se almost fisal gaya. Varanasi ki garmi chipak rahi thi. Corridor mein floor cleaner, geele kapde, talcum powder, maggi masala, aur kisi ke hair oil ka weird sa mix tha.

“Room?” peon ne bina uthke poocha.

“D-14,” main boli.

Usne mujhe upar se neeche dekha. “Nayi ho?”

Main bas sar hila diya.

Peechhe se ek awaz aayi, “Arre bhaiya, thoda dhyaan se. Bacchi hai.”

Maine mud ke dekha. White kurti, blue dupatta, braid itni tight jaise usne baalon se koi personal dushmani kar rakhi ho. Face pe woh confidence jo hostel ke corridor ko apna samajhta ho. Sonali.

Mujhe pehli nazar mein bas itna laga—yeh ya toh bahut helpful hai ya bahut problem.

“Main Sonali,” usne haath aage badhaya. “Tum?”

“Pooja.”

“Chalo. Warna pehle hi din gum ho jaogi aur ghar phone karke bologi ‘mujhse nahi hoga’.”

Main uske peechhe chal padi. Room mein do beds the, do almirah, beech mein hilta hua table. Window se campus ka tukda dikh raha tha—ped, cycle stand, do teen girls baithke gossip kar rahi thi, aur door kahin temple ki ghanti.

“Upper ya lower?” Sonali ne poocha.

“Lower.”

“Expected,” usne seedha bol diya.

“Mtlb?”

“Matlab tum safe type lag rahi ho.”

Main ne usko ghura. Woh has di.

Tab samjhi ki Sonali se pyaar karna aur irritate hona ek hi saans mein possible hai.

Woh meri roomie thi, par uska role sirf roomie ka nahi tha. Woh hostel ki local news channel thi, scandal detector thi, aur kabhi-kabhi meri problem bhi. Main uske saamne thodi slow, thodi careful, aur bahut zyada apni head mein rehne wali ladki thi. Woh loud thi, jaldi bolti thi, aur logon ki boundaries ko test karne mein use ajeeb maza aata tha.

Mera first week hi sidha nikal gaya. Orientation thi. Main subah jaldi uth ke ready ho gayi. Sonali abhi bed pe padi thi.

“Tum aa rahi ho?” maine poocha.

“Ha, jaungi,” usne aankh band karke bola. “Aur dupatta theek kar le. Idhar over-smart dikhne ka nuksaan hai.”

“Tum hamesha aise bolti ho?”

“Kaise?”

“Jaise sab already tumne dekh liya ho.”

“Kyuki dekh liya hai,” usne aankh khol ke bola. “Yahan pe pehle padhai hoti hai, baad mein ego ka ilaaj.”

Orientation hall mein main chair dhoondh rahi thi toh ek senior ne rok liya. “First year?”

“Ji.”

“Name?”

“Pooja.”

“Department?”

“Hindi.”

“Achha. Emotional log hote ho tum log.”

Main kuch samajh hi nahi paayi ki kya bolun. Tab Sonali aayi aur bina rukke bol diya, “Di, emotional nahi, bas mess ke baad weak.”

Do teen ladkiyan hans padi. Senior ne usko dekha. “Tu kaun hai?”

“Sonali. Hosteller. Survivor.”

Mujhe us din pehli baar laga ki Sonali sirf smart nahi, kaafi fearless bhi hai.

Phir aayi Asha Di.

Asli naam Asha tha, par hostel mein sab unhe Asha Di ya Senior Di bolte the. Third year ki thi. Unki chalne ki speed se hi lagta tha woh har scene mein pehle pahunch jaati hongi. Face hard nahi tha, bas composed. Jaise koi jo zyada bolta nahi, par jo bolta hai seedha point pe bolta hai.

Mera mess card kho gaya tha. Main corridor mein idhar-udhar dekh rahi thi, almost panic mode mein. Tab unhone mujhe dekh ke poocha, “Kya hua?”

“Card kho gaya.”

“Pehle din hi?” unhone dry tone mein bola.

Mujhe laga ab main aur chhoti ho gayi. Phir unka face thoda soft hua. “Aao.”

Woh mujhe warden office ke bahar le gayin, register bharwaya, form diya, aur boli, “Is hostel mein cheezein kho jaati hain. Card, slipper, kabhi kabhi dimag. Wapas bhi aa jaati hain. Chill.”

Maine unki taraf dekha. “Aapko sab kaise pata hota hai?”

“Pehle main bhi new thi.”

Bas itna bolke woh chali gayin, par main us line ko kaafi der tak carry karti rahi.

Sonali

Sonali aur mera equation seedha nahi tha. Din mein taana, raat mein maggi, aur beech-beech mein borrowed cheezein jo kabhi return hoti, kabhi nahi. Woh meri handwriting ko “doctor level kharab” bolti, main uski aadat ko “attitude ka overuse.” Par hostel mein dosti smooth nahi hoti. Wahan pe sharing aur irritation same shelf pe rakhe jaate hain.

Ek baar usne meri almirah se mera facewash uthaya aur casually use kar liya.

“Arre, mera hi toh hai,” usne bola jab main ghoor rahi thi.

“Pooch toh leti.”

“Poochti toh tum mana kar deti.”

“Ha.”

“Toh phir?”

Main usko dekh ke chup reh gayi. Woh has di.

Uske saath rehke mujhe samajh aaya ki Sonali kisi bhi room mein ghuste hi atmosphere change kar deti thi. Kabhi helpful, kabhi unbearable. Ek din woh mere notes arrange kar rahi thi, next day same notes ko “boring” bolke table pe patak deti.

Woh apne ghar ki baat bahut kam karti thi. Bas kabhi-kabhi raat ko jab corridor quiet hota, tab uski awaaz thodi neeche gir jaati.

“Tumhare ghar mein tumse kaun baat karta hai?” maine ek baar poocha.

Usne bina meri taraf dekhe bola, “Kaun nahi karta, woh important hai.”

Main samajh gayi ki uske andar bhi koi band darwaza hai. Bas usne us par shelf laga rakhi thi.

Ek din uska mood bahut kharab tha. Bahar se aakar seedha bed pe baith gayi, shoes bhi nahi utare. Main poora din notice kar rahi thi ki woh kisi se theek se baat nahi kar rahi.

“Sab okay?” maine poocha.

“Ha.”

“Ha mein itna gussa kyun hai?”

Woh palat ke boli, “Mujhe mat sikha.”

Maine chup kar liya. Thodi der baad usne mere dabbe se achaar nikala aur bina permission kha liya.

“Arre,” maine kaha, “yeh meri last bottle thi.”

“Phir pehle bolti.”

“Tumne poocha hi nahi.”

“Poocha hota toh bhi tum drama karti.”

Maine kuch bolne hi wali thi ki usne dabba bed pe patak diya. Achar ka tel chammach se phisal kar bedsheet pe daag bana gaya.

“Yeh kya kar diya?” maine awaaz uthayi.

Uska face aur tight ho gaya. “Bas ho gaya. Ek achar ke liye itna mat kar.”

Mujhe pehli baar laga woh sirf irritating nahi, ugly bhi ho sakti hai. Uski aankhon mein woh moment mein kuch bahut raw tha—jaise kisi aur pe nikal raha ho. Woh uth ke corridor mein chali gayi aur door se ek roomie se zor se boli, “Haan, sabko meri hi cheezein free lagti hain!”

Main bed pe baithi reh gayi. Achar ka tel spread ho raha tha. Mujhe gussa bhi aaya, bura bhi laga. Raat ko woh wapas aayi toh usne bedsheet ko dekh ke bas itna bola, “Mereko pata hai over hua.”

“Pata tha toh kiya kyun?”

Woh aise hi khadi rahi, phir dheere se boli, “Aaj ghar se phone aaya tha.”

“Phir?”

“Phir wahi. Maa ne bola, ‘is baar bhi result first class laana, warna log kya kahenge.’” Usne hasne ki koshish ki, par awaaz nahi nikli. “Maine bola theek hai. Bas. Phir call cut.”

Main kuch keh nahi paayi.

Woh neeche baithi aur mere bedsheet ka daag rub karne lagi, jaise uske saath kuch aur bhi nikal jayega. “Mera mood kharab tha. Toh nikal gaya tumpe.”

“Samajh gayi.”

“Sorry.”

Woh uska sabse awkward sorry tha. Par genuine tha. Hostel mein wahi kaafi hota hai.

Asha

Asha Di ke saath meri real baat-cheet exam se pehle hui. Main mess mein plate ke saamne baithi thi aur khaana bas ghuma rahi thi.

“Tabiyat theek?” unhone poocha.

“Bas stress hai.”

“Stress mein khana chhod dogi toh aur stress hoga.”

“Padhai zyada hai,” maine dheere se kaha.

Unhone chair kheench ke baith gayin. “Kaun sa topic?”

Maine bata diya. Woh bina mock kiye samjhaane lagi. Unka style lecture jaisa nahi tha. Woh seedha bolti thi, kabhi kabhi beech mein ruk ke poochti, “Samjhi ya bas haan bol rahi?” Mujhe woh achha lagta tha kyunki woh samjhaane se pehle mujhe bewakoof treat nahi karti thi.

“Di, aap sab manage kaise kar leti ho?” maine poocha.

“Manage?” unhone hansi dabake bola. “Bas aise hi. Roz ka hai.”

Thodi der baad unhone poocha, “Ghar mein sab theek?”

Maine maa ka face yaad kiya. Phone pe hamesha same sawaal—“Khana kha rahi ho?” “Sardi toh nahi?” Aur main har baar “Haan” bolke kaam khatam kar deti thi.

“Miss karti hoon,” maine bola.

Asha Di ne meri plate mein extra sabzi daal di. “Strong dikhna zaroori nahi. Bas sambhal ke rehna.”

Unki awaaz mein softness thi, lekin us softness mein ek aisi authority bhi thi jo argue nahi ki ja sakti.

Ek raat meri tabiyat sach mein kharab ho gayi. Bukhar, body ache, aur period pain ka alag level. Room ka fan bhi mujhe ghoomta hua lag raha tha. Sonali class mein thi. Main bed pe curl ho ke padi thi.

Maa ka call aaya.

“Kaise ho beta?”

“Thoda theek nahi,” meri awaaz toot gayi.

“Sach bol,” unhone turant pakad liya.

Main chup ho gayi. Tab knock hua. Asha Di thi, haath mein ORS aur do tablets.

“Warden ko bol diya hai. Rest kar,” unhone kaha. “Aur maa ko jhoot mat bol.”

Maine call speaker pe kiya. Maa ki awaaz sunke ro padi. Bilkul stupid tarah. Maa bas kuch seconds chup rahi, phir boli, “Ro lo. Phir bolna.”

Asha Di bed ke paas baith gayin. “Weak feel karna crime nahi hai,” unhone dheere se bola.

Main ne unki taraf dekha. “Aap itni strong kaise ho?”

Woh thoda muskurayi. “Main strong nahi hoon. Bas aadat ho gayi hai.”

Us raat mujhe unke liye ajeeb sa respect mehsoos hua. Jaise woh hostel ki sirf senior nahi, uske andar ka hard-earned survival manual ho.

Warden

Warden ka naam sabko pata tha, par hostel mein woh sirf Warden thi. Saree hamesha tidy, bindi centered, aur awaaz mein finality. Unse sab darte the. Main bhi.

“Girls hostel mein discipline pehle,” woh assembly mein bolti. “7 baje ke baad unnecessary bahar mat ghumo. Boys se faltu baat nahi. Lights time pe off. Mess mein wastage nahi.”

Pura hall silent.

Sonali mere kaan ke paas whisper karti, “Inki personal life dekhne layak hogi. Itni sakhti without reason nahi aati.”

Maine hansi daba li. Par rule pressure real tha.

Ek baar raat ko Sonali late aa gayi. Gate band. Warden khud khadi thi.

“Name?” unhone poocha.

“Sonali, Di. Library ka kaam tha.”

“Library 9 baje band hoti hai.”

“Project...”

“Excuse register mein likh do.” Unhone pen aur register dono hold kiye hue the. “Entry karo.”

Sonali ne aankh maari, jaise yeh bhi game ho.

Mujhe pehle lagta tha Warden bas machine hain. Phir ek din unke room ke bahar form sign karwane gayi. Door thoda khula tha. Andar ek framed graduation photo thi—ek ladki ki. Shayad beti. Shayad koi aur apna. Warden ne mujhe dekh liya aur door turant band kar diya.

“Sign?” unhone poocha.

“Ji.”

Pen chalate hue unhone bina meri taraf dekhe bola, “Hostel rules se nahi chalta. Logon ko sambhalna padta hai. Rules uska cover hain.”

Unka tone same tha, par us din mujhe unki awaaz mein fatigue sunayi di.

Pooja

Rahul waise story ka central hero nahi tha. Bhala ho. Uska role zyada se zyada corridor ka tha. Fine arts department mein tha. Patla sa, thoda slow बोलने वाला, aur hamesha paint ya charcoal ka smell saath leke chalta.

Main usse pehli baar library ke bahar mili thi jab usne bina introduction ke bola, “Pooja na?”

Mujhe laga shayad koi aur hogi. “Haan.”

“Tumhari notes chahiye the. Kal ka class miss ho gaya tha.”

“Achha.”

Bas.

Uske baad kabhi kabhi milna hota. Kabhi cycle stand pe, kabhi canteen ke paas. Woh zyada baat nahi karta tha. Main bhi, uske saamne. Shayad isliye ki uski silence mein kisi aur ki tarah noise nahi hoti thi. Woh aadmi kam, mood zyada lagta tha.

Ek baar baarish mein main mess se laut rahi thi. Umbrella chhota tha. Gate pe bheed thi. Rahul cycle le ke aaya.

“Chalo,” usne bola.

“No, main manage kar lungi.”

“Tumhara dupatta already wet hai.”

Maine dekha. Tha.

Usne cycle se utar ke side mein khada ho gaya. “Bas hostel gate tak baith jao. Itna hi.”

“Warden dekh legi.”

“Main murder thodi kar raha hoon.”

Maine hans ke cycle pe baith liya. Hostel gate ke andar pahunchte hi mujhe laga jaise ek chhota sa secret ho gaya ho.

Uske baad Sonali ko kaise pata chala, ye mystery nahi thi. Sonali ko hostel mein sab pata chal jata tha ya woh sab nikaal leti thi.

“Cycle ride?” usne poocha, aankhon mein woh irritating grin.

“Tumhe kaise pata?”

“Pooja, tumhari face pe likha hota hai.”

“Chup.”

“Ha ha. Almost-crush.”

“Almost?”

“Rahul type log almost hi hote hain,” usne shoulder utha ke bola. “Kuch hota nahi, bas hawa ka drama.”

Mujhe uska bolna chubha. Kyunki sach mein, Rahul ke saath bhi kuch seedha nahi hua. Woh kabhi kabhi note maang leta, kabhi seminar ke baare mein pooch leta, phir disappear.

Aur phir ek din usne woh kar diya jo mujhe pehle notice karwana chahiye tha—usne mujhe ignore karna shuru kar diya, aur uska reason bhi hostel mein gossip ban gaya: uski department mein ek ladki, Meenal, jo uske project partner thi, uske saath zyada time bitane lagi thi. Sonali ne mujhe ek raat bataya.

“Woh toh Meenal ke saath full busy hai ab,” usne bina kisi delicacy ke bola.

Mujhe pehle laga, achha. Then weirdly, khali sa.

Rahul ne mujhe ek din canteen ke paas dekha aur bas “hi” bolke nikal gaya. Uske baad maine usko consciously dekhna kam kar diya. Hostel mein kisi ko dekhna aur dekhna band kar dena dono ek hi jagah se start hote hain—same corridor, same canteen, same library corner.

Mere liye woh chapter khatam nahi hua, bas dheere se mute ho gaya.

Mess

Monthly audit se ek din pehle mess mein ajeeb si garmi thi, jaise kitchen ne pehle hi samajh liya ho ki aaj ka din lamba hone wala hai. Din mein hi do baar rice khatam bola gaya, phir “aaj supply late hai” bola gaya, phir “adjust kar lo” bola gaya. Junior girls ne roti ke saath chawal ka bhi calculation karna shuru kar diya tha.

Dinner ke time pe table aur zyada bhari thi. Nandini, jo first year thi aur hamesha apni plate ko aise dekhti thi jaise usmein se kabhi kuch bhi kam nikal sakta hai, usne pehla bite liya aur seedha chehra bana liya.

“Dal mein bas rang hai,” usne itni dheemi awaaz mein bola ki shayad khud se bhi.

Uski friend ne turant elbow maara. “Chup kar.”

“Roti dekh,” Nandini ne almost whisper kiya. “Beech se kacchi hai.”

“Chhodo yaar.”

Lekin chhodna easy tab hota jab stomach mein kuch aur hota. Usne plate side mein ki, aankhen bhar aayin.

Main us table ke paas thi. Sonali opposite side pe. Asha Di bhi corridor mein kisi file ke saath aa rahi thi. Nandini ke aansu dekh ke mujhe ek second ko apni first week yaad aa gaya—mess card, roti, darr, sab. Bas is baar koi card nahi kho gaya tha, bas khana hi bekaar tha.

Main kitchen ki taraf gayi.

Mess aunty, jo hum sabko “Aunty” bolte the but jo asal mein ration aur taano ka combo thi, gas ke paas khadi thi. “Kya hai?”

“Dal itni patli kyun hai?”

“Bachha, aaj sabko mil rahi hai.”

“Roti kacchi hai.”

“Tum log har cheez mein nuks nikalte ho.”

Maine deep saans li. “Nuks nahi. Fact.”

Woh thoda aage aayi. “Kaun fact? Tumne kitni baar yahan kaam kiya hai?”

“Kaam karna zaroori hai kya sach bolne ke liye?”

Tab peechhe se Sonali ki awaaz aayi, “Aunty, drama mat karo. Nandini ko dekh lo, ro rahi hai.”

Aunty ne aise dekha jaise Sonali ne uske ghar ka address public kar diya ho. “Tumhari roomie ko sambhalo.”

“Roomie nahi, hostel ko sambhal rahi hai,” Sonali ne turant bola.

Uska tone sharp tha, par uski aankhon mein kuch aur bhi tha—ek purani ghabrahat jise woh gusse mein chhupa rahi thi. Kitchen ke andar 2-3 aur girls aa gayin, unhone bhi complaint karni shuru ki. Ek boli uski roti mein kaala sa soot tha. Dusri ne kaha dal mein namak nahi. Nandini ke aansu ruk nahi rahe the.

Maine apni pocket se chhota notebook nikala. Do hafton se main servings note kar rahi thi—kitni roti, kitna chawal, kitni dal. Sonali ko pehle hasi aayi thi, phir usne khud kuch dates dekh ke bol diya tha, “Isko sambhal ke rakhna.”

Asha Di kitchen door pe aa chuki thi. Unke face pe woh expression tha jo tab aata tha jab woh scene ko pehle se samajh jaati thi.

“Pooja,” unhone bas itna bola, “bolo.”

Maine notebook unke saamne kholi. “Quantity kam hai. Do hafte se. Aaj bhi.”

Mess aunty ne kaha, “Yeh bachchi kya bol rahi hai?”

“Bachchi nahi hoon,” maine is baar thoda zyada loudly bola. “Aur yeh ‘adjust’ wali line ab nahi chalegi.”

Aunty ka face tight ho gaya. “Tumhe kaun sikha raha hai?”

“Numbers,” maine kaha.

Sonali ne ek step aage aake notebook se kuch pages palte. “Yeh dekh lo. Roti count. Rice. Servings. Har din same cut.”

“Tum dono milke nautanki kar rahi ho,” aunty boli.

Tab warden ki chappal corridor mein sunayi di. Sab ek second ke liye chup.

Warden aayin. Unhone pehle mess aunty ko dekha, phir notebook, phir Nandini ki geeli aankhen, phir mujhe.

“Pooja,” unhone bahut dheere se bola, “yeh tum kar rahi ho?”

“Ha.”

“Kaafi himmat lagti hai.”

“Zarurat bhi thi.”

Sonali ne meri taraf dekha. Shayad use laga ab main ruk jaungi, ya aur bolungi. Main ruk nahi payi.

“Di, bill mein quantity aur kitchen mein quantity same nahi hai. Agar galat hoon toh check kar lo. Agar sahi hoon toh phir koi na koi yahan se nikaal raha hai.”

Warden ne notebook li. Pages par ungli pheri. Unka face unreadable tha. Aise logon ka face hi sabse annoying hota hai—kuch bataate nahi.

“Isko office le jao,” unhone finally kaha.

Mess aunty ka chehra safed pad gaya. “Madam, aise mat—”

“Chup.” Warden ka ek shabd kaafi tha. “Aur sab apni plates leke baitho.”

Par baithna ab possible nahi tha. Hall mein murmur phail gaya. Junior girls ek dusre ko dekh rahi thi. Kisi ne whisper kiya, “Sach tha kya?” Kisi ne kaha, “Pooja ne kiya?” Nandini ne apni plate ko dekha aur phir mujhe jaise first time notice kiya.

Office ke bahar contractor bhi bulaya gaya. Register nikla. Bills nikle. Kitchen inventory recheck hui. Main corridor mein khadi thi, dil aise dhadak raha tha jaise kisi ne andar se darwaza thok diya ho.

Warden ne mujhe alag bulaya. “Tumhe pata tha consequences honge.”

“Pata tha.”

“Phir bhi?”

“Ha.”

“Tumhare marks pe asar ho sakta hai.”

Maine unki aankhon mein dekha. “Phir bhi.”

Asha Di thodi door khadi thi. Sonali unke paas, haath bandh ke, aankhon mein woh ajib mix jisme gussa bhi tha aur pride bhi. Contractor ne bahut safai di, phir counter-questions mein ulajh gaya. Mess aunty ne pehle deny kiya, phir ro padi, phir kaha koi aur stock kama raha hoga. Raat ke end tak teen cheezein clear ho gayin: ration kam aata tha, register mein jhooth likha jaata tha, aur jo beech mein tha woh sabko pata tha, bas koi bolta nahi tha.

Koi bada scene nahi hua. Koi public punishment nahi. Par agle din se kitchen ka mood badal gaya. Rotis thodi better aane lagi. Dal mein pani kam hua. Nandini ne mujhe din mein do baar dekh ke sir hilaya, jaise uska thanks wahi ho.

Aur mujhe? Mujhe pehli baar laga ki hostel ka chand, uski smell, uska noise—sab mere khilaaf nahi, mere saath bhi ho sakta hai.

Sonali

Us raat Sonali ne mujhe bed pe baithne ko bola.

“Darr nahi laga?” usne poocha.

“Laga tha.”

“Phir bhi bol diya.”

“Ha.”

Woh kuch der chup rahi. Phir bina meri taraf dekhe boli, “Main bol nahi paati thi.”

“Ab toh bol leti ho.”

“Har baar nahi.” Usne apne nails ko dekha. “Aaj agar tum kitchen mein nahi jaati na, main... shayad bas funny line maar ke nikal jaati.”

Maine usko dekha. “Sach?”

“Ha.”

Pehli baar uski voice mein non-cool honesty thi. “Main sabke saamne gussa kar leti hoon kyunki chup rehna auron ko easy lagta hai. Ghar pe aisa nahi hota.” Usne saans li. “Meri maa ko lagta hai main yahan bahut khush hoon. Kyunki main call pe hasti rehti hoon. Agar hansi nahi toh woh poochengi kya hua. Aur phir main bata nahi paungi.”

Mujhe samajh aaya ki uska loud hona ek armour tha, personality nahi sirf. Aur armour jab thak jata hai, toh insaan ugly ho jata hai. Aaj uska wahi hua tha. Phir bhi woh mere saamne khuli thi.

“Tum ghar jaake kya bologi?” maine poocha.

“Sach nahi.” Woh hansi. “Bolungi hostel ka khana theek hai.”

“Tum jhooth bolti ho.”

“Bahut.”

Phir usne mera notebook bed pe rakh diya. “Aur yeh sambhal ke rakh. Kal ko koi bole na ki tune bas scene create kiya, tab dikhana.”

Maine notebook ko cover kiya. “Tumne ek din meri bedsheet pe achar phaila diya tha.”

“Woh galti thi.”

“Ugly galti.”

Woh meri taraf dekh ke thodi der tak kuch nahi boli. Phir bas itna kaha, “Haan.”

Ye uska sabse seedha maafi-tha. Hostel mein isse zyada milna bhi mushkil hota hai.

Asha

Final year mein Asha Di zyada busy ho gayin. Placement forms, viva, internship, sab kuch. Par unki aadat nahi gayi—kabhi kabhi bas message aa jata, “Khana?” ya “Pani?” aur main reply mein “ha” likh ke sochti thi ki itna simple concern bhi kabhi-kabhi poori din ki energy de deta hai.

Ek din terrace pe mujhe bulaya.

Varanasi ki shaam thodi muddy orange thi. Hum railing ke paas khadi thi. Neeche hostel ground pe kuch junior girls ball fenk rahi thi.

“Hostel chhod ke kya lagta hai?” maine poocha.

Asha Di ne neeche dekhte hue bola, “Jaise ek aadat nikalti hai, par haddi mein rehti hai.”

Main hasi. “Aap kabhi seedha answer deti ho?”

“Deti hoon na. Bas tumhe pasand nahi aata.”

Maine unka haath dekh liya—fingertips pe pen ke nishaan, thodi rough skin. Unke jaane ke baad hostel kitna khaali lagega, mujhe tab samajh aaya.

Uske baad unhone mujhe ek line boli jo mere andar chipak gayi—“Pooja, tum safe nahi ho. Tum bas chup rehti ho. Dono same cheez nahi hain.”

Mujhe shock laga. “Main chup?”

“Ha. Risk lene se pehle apne aap ko pehle mana leti ho.”

Main defend karna chahti thi, par nahi kar paayi. Kyunki sach tha.

Pooja

Rahul wala part ab bhi koi filmy heartbreak nahi bana. Bas ek din usne mujhe canteen ke paas dekh ke aankh milayi aur side ho gaya. Uske haath mein Meenal ka sketchbook tha. Usne bola, “Pooja, sorry. Main busy tha.”

Main samajh gayi ki sorry ka matlab apology se zyada exit hoga. “Theek hai.”

Usne kuch aur bolne ka socha, phir nahi bola. Baad mein Sonali ne kaha, “Achha hua. Fine arts wale log har cheez ko texture bolke uljha dete hain.”

Main has di. Sach mein, Rahul ke saath jo bhi tha, uska weight itna nahi tha jitna mujhe lag raha tha. Hostel mein kuch cheezein bas isliye badi lagti hain kyunki corridor mein unka echo lamba hota hai.

Packing ke din room ka floor cardboard, tape, aur dust se bhar gaya tha. Sonali meri suitcase pe baithi thi, pair idhar-udhar hilate hue. Uska braid khul gaya tha. Face pe pehli baar itni thakan thi jo woh usually cover kar leti thi.

“Yeh charger kiska hai?” usne poocha.

“Woh mera.”

“Woh? Tumhara kaun?”

“Tumhara nahi.”

“Main seriously pooch rahi hoon.”

“Main bhi.”

Woh hansi, phir achanak chup ho gayi. “Pooja.”

“Ha?”

“Main ek baat bolun?”

“Bol.”

Usne floor pe ek chipka hua tape uthaya, phir wapas gira diya. “Mess wale din jab tum gayi thi na kitchen side... mujhe laga tum phat jaogi.”

“Phat gayi thi andar se.”

“Pata tha.” Usne apni ungliyon ko dekha. “Main tab soch rahi thi ki agar tum piche hat gayi toh main bhi bol dungi. Par agar tum na bolti, toh main shayad... idk. Main bhi chup ho jaati.”

Mujhe ye sunke ajeeb sa laga. Sonali jo sabse loud thi, woh bhi mere peechhe khadi thi. Ye baat usne kabhi cool way mein nahi boli. Na full drama. Bas ek thaki hui, sidhi si sachchai thi.

“Tum bhi dar jaati ho?” maine poocha.

“Har time.” Woh hansi nahi. “Bas face pe nahi aata.”

Maine usko dekha. “Mujhe lagta tha tumhe kuch farak nahi padta.”

“Farq padta hai isliye bolti hoon.” Usne apni dupatta meri suitcase ke upar rakhi. “Aur haan, woh navy wala... main le jaungi. Ghar jaake mummy ko pehn ke dikhana hai. Unko lagega main finally thodi normal lag rahi hoon.”

Maine uski taraf dekha. “Tum already normal ho.”

Usne muh bana liya, par uski aankh thodi geeli ho gayi. “Bakwas mat kar.”

Main samajh gayi ki hug zaroori hai. Is baar usne roka nahi. Na mazaak, na shor. Bas ek second ke liye hum dono ek dusre ke against khadi rahi, jaise room ki hawa ko apne beech se nikalne diya ho.

Gate ke bahar nikalte waqt hostel ka corridor wahi tha—same smell, same peeling paint, same bucket-ke-paani ka risk, same warden ki distant awaaz. Par ab woh mujhe ek building se zyada ek aadat lag raha tha. Ek aisi jagah jahan maine apni awaz ko thoda aur seedha, thoda aur sakht, thoda aur apna hote dekha.

Asha Di gate ke paas thi, ek file dabaye hue. Unhone bas haath uthaya. “Take care,” unhone bola.

“Di, aap bhi.”

“Main theek hoon.”

Sonali ne unki taraf dekha aur kuch bolne ke liye muh khola, phir band kar diya. Shayad us din uske paas koi taana nahi tha.

Main gate se bahar nikli. Varanasi ki hawa face pe lagi, garm aur dhool se bhari, par usmein kuch jaana-pehchana sa tha. Hostel peeche reh gaya, par uska shor mere andar ka hissa ban gaya tha—Sonali ka taana, Asha Di ka seedha concern, Warden ka tight control, mess ka khatta taste, aur meri apni awaaz.

Main pehle yahan bachne aayi thi. Ghar se door, apne darr ko suitcase mein daal ke, bas survive karne.

Ab main ja rahi thi ek aisi ladki banke jo thodi kam shrink karti hai. Jo bolti hai toh seedha bolti hai. Jo khud ko pehle se chhota karke nahi dekhti. Jo darti hai, phir bhi kaam karti hai. Jo hostel ke corridor mein kho gayi thi, aur wahi corridor usko wapas le aaya tha.

Peechhe se Sonali ki awaz aayi, “Pooja, safety pin!”

“Mili!”

“Aur charger!”

“Liyaa!”

“Aur apna dimaag?”

“Woh tum room mein hi bhool aayi thi!”

Usne zor se hasna shuru kiya. Main bhi.

Phir main chal padi.

Aur us hansne ki awaaz ke beech, ek aur awaaz thi—hostel gate ke andar se aati hui, bahut halki, jaise koi kisi ke jaane ke baad bhi uska naam yaad rakh raha ho.

Maine mud ke nahi dekha.

Khatam