**Joke Ya Junoon**

Subah ke 7:15 baje the aur Nagpur ke Kamla Bua ke ghar mein wahi usual orchestra chal raha tha—pressure cooker ki seeti, chai ki kadak smell, aur newspaper ke page palatne ki awaz jaise koi desh ka budget hi padh raha ho. Kamla Bua kitchen aur drawing room ke beech ek invisible manager ki tarah ghoom rahi thi. Unke haath mein cutting chai ka cup tha, aur aankhon mein woh khas middle-class radar, jo bina bole bata deta hai ki kiski life track se bahar ja rahi hai.

“Imran! Utho beta, subah ke 7 baj gaye. UPSC wale log 5 baje uthte hain, aur tum 7 baje bhi aise so rahe ho jaise raat bhar exam hall mein nahi, Netflix pe zindagi bita ke aaye ho,” Kamla Bua ne hall ke corner se awaaz lagayi.

Imran ne blanket ke andar se bas ek haath bahar nikala. “Bua, UPSC wale log 5 baje uthte honge. Main toh abhi aspirant se ex-aspirant banne ki process mein hoon.”

“Process-vrocess chhodo. Brush karo. Aur table pe aake baitho. Aaj current affairs revise karne hain,” Bua ne tone mein woh finality daali jo generally judge ki gavel mein hoti hai.

Imran utha, apna chehra rub kiya aur kitchen ke paas aake bola, “Bua, aap mujhe itna discipline de rahi ho na, lagta hai main IAS nahi, army join karne wala hoon.”

Kamla Bua ne aankh utha ke dekha. “Army mein bhi discipline hi hota hai, beta. Aur tum mein toh abhi tak ‘dinner time pe khana’ wala discipline bhi poora nahi hua hai.”

Imran has diya. Un dono ka relation waise hi tha—taunts ke andar affection, aur affection ke andar taunts. Bua usse padhne ke liye force karti thi, par saath hi uska tiffin bhi pack karti thi. Imran ghar ka woh ladka tha jo serious dikhne ki koshish karta tha, par uski aankhon mein har waqt kuchh na kuchh naya chal raha hota tha. Kabhi exam pressure, kabhi life ka confusion, aur kabhi woh jokes jo woh raat ko notebook mein likhta tha.

Ghar wale samajhte the ki woh bas time-pass karta hai. Par Kamla Bua ko pata tha ki Imran ka dimag alag direction mein kaam karta hai. Jab ghar mein tension hoti, woh koi na koi funny line maar deta. Jab chacha log politics aur career pe lecture dene lagte, woh silently unke expressions observe karta aur baad mein pantry mein Bua ko bolta, “Bua, chacha ji ki speaking speed dekh ke lagta hai woh debate nahi, traffic challan kar rahe hain.”

Bua bhi hans deti. “Tu bas padhta reh. Tere jokes ka kaam baad mein dekh lenge.”

Par “baad mein” ka din achanak aa gaya.

Us din shaam ko poora ghar drawing room mein jama tha. Chacha, do mausi-type relatives, Ammi, aur Kamla Bua sab baithe the. TV off tha, kyunki family ko serious baat karni thi—matlab Imran ka future discuss karna tha. Imran ko pehle se andaza tha ki kuchh na kuchh hone wala hai, par phir bhi woh apna cup lekar chupchaap sofa ke edge pe baith gaya.

Chacha ne throat clear kiya. “Toh Imran beta, humne suna hai tum coaching bhi chhod rahe ho?”

Imran ne seedha jawab diya. “Haan chacha. Main UPSC prep continue nahi karna chahta.”

Room mein ek second ke liye silence aaya. Aisa silence jo sirf tab aata hai jab kisi ne family dinner mein sach bol diya ho.

Mausi number one ne turant puchha, “Toh kya karoge?”

Imran ne saans li. “Stand-up comedy.”

Pehle kisi ko samajh hi nahi aaya. Phir chacha ne aise dekha jaise Imran ne bola ho ki woh moon pe dhanda kholega.

“Comedy?” chacha ki awaaz mein hasna kam, insult zyada tha. “Itni padhai karke comedy? Arre beta, life joke nahi hoti.”

Imran ka face tight ho gaya. “Main jaan-ta hoon life joke nahi hoti. Isliye jokes likh raha hoon.”

Kamla Bua ne cup table pe rakha. “Bas bas, bahut smart ho gaya hai.”

Imran ko laga bua bhi ab wahi bolegi jo sab bol rahe the—yeh phase hai, yeh bakwaas hai, serious ho jao. Ammi ne neeche dekh liya. Unka usual mode tha: sab suno, tension lo, par kisi se argue mat karo. Ghar ka peace unhi ke kandhon pe tikka hua tha.

Chacha ne mauka pakad liya. “Dekho Kamla, hum toh pehle se bolte aaye hain, ladke ko discipline chahiye. Ab coaching chhod ke comedy? Log kya kahenge? Family ka naam hai, mazaak thodi hai.”

Imran ne aankhen neeche kar li. Uske andar ka woh part, jo ab tak sabko explain karne mein laga tha, thak gaya tha. Usne socha bua bhi bas ab usse disappointment ka lecture degi. Aur waise bhi, unka rishta pichhle kuchh hafton se thoda thanda pad gaya tha. Bua ne jab se suna tha ki Imran apne jokes open mic pe try kar raha hai, unke chehre pe tension aa gayi thi.

Kamla Bua ne gehri saans li. “Theek hai. Log kya kahenge. Chacha ji, aap itna bol rahe ho na, toh mujhe ek baat batao—agar kisi ka beta roz subah uth ke ghar pe baithkar ro raha ho, par degree le raha ho, toh woh respectable hai? Aur agar koi ladka subah uth ke likh raha hai, stage pe ja raha hai, try kar raha hai, aur khud ko samajh raha hai, toh woh irresponsible hai?”

Chacha ne muh khola, par Bua ne rukne ka naam nahi liya.

“Tum sabko sirf safe dikhta hai. Safe ka matlab successful nahi hota. Aur family ka naam bachane ke chakkar mein agar bachche ki awaaz hi dab jaaye, toh phir naam kis kaam ka?” Unki awaaz pehle se zyada sharp thi, par usmein gussa kam aur clarity zyada thi.

Imran ne surprise se Bua ko dekha. Ammi ne bhi pehli baar sar uthaya. Chacha ka chehra ek dum se red ho gaya.

“Kamla, tum isko support kar rahi ho?” chacha ne poocha.