**Joke Ya Junoon**

Bua ne seedha jawab diya, “Support? Main isko tiffin bhi deti hoon, kapde bhi silwati hoon, aur iske liye tum logon ke taane bhi sunti hoon. Haan, support kar rahi hoon. Aur tum sab ko ek news bata doon—support ka matlab sirf UPSC form bharwana nahi hota. Kabhi-kabhi support ka matlab hota hai kisi ke weird, risky, non-family-approved dream ke saamne khade ho jana.”

Imran ke chehre pe pehli baar thodi nami aayi, par usne jaldi se nazar hata li. Bua ne uski taraf nahi dekha, bas chacha ki taraf dekhti rahi. Ghar mein tension ka temperature badh gaya tha. Ammi ne dhire se “bas karo” jaisa kuchh bola, par awaaz unki khud ko hi sunayi di.

Woh raat bahut heavy thi. Imran ne apna bag uthaya aur terrace pe chala gaya. Nagpur ki hawa mein thodi narmi thi, par uske andar ka confusion aur badh gaya tha. Woh soch raha tha ki shayad woh galat tha. Shayad family ka pressure hi correct hai. Shayad jokes sirf escape hai. Shayad woh bas enough serious nahi hai.

Neeche kitchen mein Kamla Bua dishes arrange kar rahi thi. Unka mood bhi off tha. Unhe laga tha ki woh Imran ko safe route pe le ja rahi hain, par aaj usne jo decision liya tha, woh unke liye bhi shock tha. Kuchh der baad unhone terrace pe kadam rakha. Imran unki awaz sun ke seedha ho gaya.

“Bua, aapko lagta hai main serious nahi hoon?” usne dheere se pucha.

Kamla Bua ne pehle answer nahi diya. Woh railing ke paas khadi ho gayi aur Nagpur ki lights dekhne lagi. Phir boli, “Mujhe lagta tha tu confuse hai. Serious aur funny dono cheezon ko saath leke chal raha hai, isliye main tension mein thi.”

Imran ne halki si hansi ke saath kaha, “Matlab main circus hoon?”

Bua ne uski taraf dekha. “Nahi. Tu darpok bhi hai aur brave bhi. Bas abhi tak tu khud se bhaag raha tha. Main chahti thi ki tu stable ho jaaye, kyunki middle-class ghar mein stable cheez ka matlab hi respect hota hai. Par aaj jo maine dekha na…”

Woh thoda ruk gayin. “Aaj maine dekha tu stage pe khade hoke apni problem ko joke mein badal deta hai. Woh escape nahi hota, beta. Woh art hota hai.”

Imran ne pehli baar unki taraf poori tarah dekha. “Aapko sach mein aisa lagta hai?”

“Sach mein,” Bua ne kaha. “Aur ek aur sach bolun? Main bhi life bhar family ke pressure mein hi chalti aayi hoon. Sabke kapde, sabke tiffin, sabke decisions, sabke opinions. Maine kabhi apni voice ko seriously nahi liya. Toh main tujhe bhi safe route pe dhakel ke apni purani galti repeat nahi karna chahti.”

Imran chup raha. Uske gale mein kuchh atak gaya tha. Bua ne apni practical tone wapas pakdi, jaise emotional moment ko zyada lamba hone se rok rahi ho.

“Par haan,” woh boli, “bakwaas mat karna. Funny hona alag baat hai, lazy hona alag. Routine bana. Writing daily. Open mic weekly. Aur haan, jokes aise hone chahiye ki audience hase, par soch bhi. Samjha?”

Imran has diya. “Bua, aap support kam, manager zyada ho.”

“Main manager hi hoon,” Bua ne aankh dikhayi. “Tum jaise logon ko agar manage na karo toh yehi bolenge ‘main creative hoon’ aur subah 11 baje tak soye rahenge.”

Uske baad Kamla Bua ne sach mein uska saath dena start kiya. Woh uske notebook ke pages padhne lagi. Kabhi bolti, “Yeh line achchi hai, par punch thoda late aa raha hai.” Kabhi kehti, “Is joke mein over-explanation hai. Audience ko spoon-feed mat kar.” Imran ko pehli baar kisi ne seriously suna tha, bina uske dream ko chhota kiye.

Ammi bhi dheere-dheere soft ho gayin. Pehle woh sirf chai rakh ke chali jaati thi, ab kabhi Imran se pooch leti, “Aaj open mic kaisa tha?” Unka concern same tha, par darr kam ho gaya tha. Ghar ka mood ab bhi perfect nahi tha. Chacha log kabhi-kabhi taunt maar dete the—“ab comedy se hi ghar chalega kya?”—par Kamla Bua turant bol deti, “Ghar toh tab chalega jab sab apne kaam ka respect karna seekhenge.”

Aur phir woh din aa gaya jahan Imran ka pehla proper open mic tha. Venue koi fancy club nahi tha—Nagpur ka ek chhota sa comedy space, jahan walls pe old posters lage the aur mic stand thoda tedha tha. Par Imran ke liye woh stage duniya jaisa tha. Backstage pe uske haath thode kaanp rahe the.

Kamla Bua audience mein sabse pehli row mein baithe thi. Unhone simple sa suit pehna tha, aur unke paas ek chhota sa bag tha jisme extra tissue, ek pen, aur shayad ghar ke important papers sab kuchh tha. Typical Bua energy. Imran ne unhe dekha toh thoda sa confidence aaya.

Host ne naam announce kiya. “Next up, Imran. He’s got stories, exam trauma, and enough family pressure to fuel a whole season.”

Audience hansi. Imran stage pe aaya.

Usne mic pakda, ek deep breath li, aur bola, “Good evening. Main woh ladka hoon jiske ghar mein UPSC ka syllabus itna serious tha ki agar koi packet of chips khol de, toh ghar wale poochte the—‘Isme polity hai ya economy?’”

Laughter phat gaya.

Phir usne family pressure, coaching dropout, aur “log kya kahenge” pe jokes maarne start kiye. Har punchline ke saath woh halka hota gaya. Usne bola kaise ghar mein sabko lagta tha ki padhai ke baad hi zindagi start hoti hai, aur uske hisaab se zindagi toh tab start hoti hai jab aap apni confusion pe hasna seekh jao. Audience connect kar rahi thi. Kuchh log apne phone neeche rakh ke sunn rahe the. Kuchh log sach mein uski honesty pe hans rahe the.

Aur fir woh line aayi jo sabse zyada hit hui.

“Middle-class house mein dream follow karna aisa hota hai jaise koi aapse bole—‘Beta, fly karna hai toh kar, par pehle EMI bhar ke jaa.’”