Roshniyon Ke Beech Chhupa Hua Purana Sa Dard

Durga Puja ka time Kolkata mein sirf festival nahi hota, ek alag hi season hota hai. Galiyon mein dhunuchi ki khushboo, conch shell ki awaaz, aur pandal ke bahar chai ki tapri par hoti adda—sab milke aisa lagta hai jaise poora mohalla ek hi saans mein jee raha ho. Us lane ke log bhi ajeeb the, par pyaare the. Har saal pandal ki lights aur wiring ka “unofficial caretaker” ek hi insaan hota tha—Nana Ashok Chatterjee, 72 saal ke, retired schoolteacher, aur kaam ke maamle mein itne disciplined ki bachche bhi unke naam se seedhe ho jaate the.

Nana ka rule simple tha: pehle test, phir trust. Har bulb, har wire, har switch unki nazar se guzarta. Aur unke saath hoti thi unki granddaughter Riya—17 saal ki, college-going, local drama group mein volunteer, aur har waqt kisi na kisi cheez par hasne ya comment pass karne ke mood mein. Nana aur Riya ka ek hi ritual tha: shaam ke baad pandal ke lights check karna. Nana ladder pakadte, wire dekhte, aur Riya niche khadi hokar kabhi kabhi gaana gun-gunati, kabhi children ko bhagaati, kabhi Nana ko bolti, “Nana, aap itna serious kyun ho? Yeh pandal hai, NASA launch pad nahi.”

Nana bas ek nazar daalte aur bolte, “Light mein fault hua toh poora mood kharaab ho jayega. Time pe kaam karo, bakwaas baad mein.” Riya hasti aur bolti, “Haan haan, aapke liye toh poora mohalla ek maintenance project hai.”

Par sach yeh tha ki yeh unka bonding time tha. Kam bolna, zyada kaam karna. Riya ko pata tha ki Nana words mein affection kam dikhate hain, par unki har tightening screw aur har replace kiya hua bulb usi affection ka version tha. Aur Nana? Woh kabhi admit nahi karte, lekin Riya ke saath lights check karna unke din ka sabse shaant hisa hota tha.

Us raat pandal ke andar ek alag hi halchal thi. Stage pe rehearsal chal rahi thi, committee wale budget aur timing par jhagad rahe the, aur kuch bachche—jo har saal pandal mein permanent “emotional nuisance” ki tarah ghoomte the—wiring ke around khade ho kar pooch rahe the, “Uncle, yeh red light zyada bright kyun hai?” Ek chhota sa bachcha toh seedha bol diya, “Yeh bulb weak hai. Isko bhi neend aa rahi hai.” Bapi-da, committee uncle, apne forehead par haath maar ke bole, “Tum logon ki zubaan aur is pandal ka budget, dono hi control se bahar hain.”

Bapi-da 50s ke the, practical bhi aur thode dramatic bhi. Unka favorite sentence tha, “Kaam karo, emotion baad mein.” Par puja season mein kaun sach mein emotion se bachta hai? Woh bas pretends karta hai. Bapi-da ko bhi sab pata tha. Phir bhi jab bhi koi issue hota, woh aise react karte jaise poora pandal unke kandhe pe rakha hua ho.

Usi din raat ko Riya ko Nana ki purani cupboard saaf karte waqt ek faded photo mili. Photo mein do ladke the—ek young Nana aur ek unka bada bhai Shankar-da. Dono ke chehre serious the, par aankhon mein kuch aisa tha jo clear dikh raha tha: competition. Photo ke neeche ek newspaper clipping bhi thi, purani si, peeli pad chuki. Usmein family business ka mention tha, aur kaise ek time pe do bhaiyon ke beech koi bada public disagreement hua tha. Riya ne clipping ko dhyaan se padha. Uska expression badal gaya.

Woh seedha Nana ke paas gayi, jo wiring box kholke kuch check kar rahe the. “Nana,” Riya ne dheere se bola, “yeh kya hai?” Nana ne ek second ke liye sirf dekha. Phir unke chehre par woh familiar closed expression aa gaya. “Purani bakwaas. Rakh do.” “Bakwaas?” Riya ne eyebrow raise kiya. “Yeh aap aur Shankar-da wali story hai? Aapne kabhi bataya hi nahi.” “Batane layak kuch tha hi nahi.”

Riya ko yeh jawab sunke aur curiosity hui, gussa bhi. “Nana, seriously? Aap har cheez ka wiring diagram bana sakte ho, par apni life ka ek simple incident bhi share nahi kar sakte?” Nana ka mood turant hard ho gaya. “Puja ke time drama mat karo. Jo kaam hai woh dekho.” “Main drama nahi kar rahi hoon. Main bas samajhna chahti hoon.” “Samajhne se kuch nahi hota,” Nana ne thoda sakht awaz mein bola. “Kabhi kabhi cheezein waise hi rehni chahiye.”

Riya chup ho gayi, par andar se usse laga ki Nana kuch chhupa rahe hain. Aur woh cheez sirf family secret nahi thi—kuch pain tha, kuch regret tha, jo unhone saalon se apne discipline ke neeche daba rakha tha. Riya ko achanak realize hua ki Nana ka “main theek hoon” shayad incomplete truth tha.

Agli do din tak dono ke beech thodi thodi khamoshi rahi. Nana apna kaam perfect karta रहा, par Riya ke jokes ka response short ho gaya. Riya bhi zyada push nahi kar rahi thi, lekin uska dimaag chal raha tha. Pandal mein lights ka issue bhi aa gaya—ek side ki string baar baar flicker kar rahi thi, rehearsal ka sound system bhi ulta seedha ho raha tha, aur Bapi-da ka patience officially khatam hone wala tha.

“Dekho bhai,” Bapi-da ne committee meeting mein table par haath patak ke bola, “festival mein sirf puja nahi hoti, public relations bhi hoti hai. Agar lights ne dhokha diya, toh audience bolegi committee ne kaam hi kya kiya?” Ek uncle bole, “Audience ko toh bas khichuri aur light chahiye.” Bapi-da ne sigh kiya, “Haan, aur kuch logon ko purane zakhm bhi.”

Riya ne woh line sun li. Uske dimaag mein ek idea aaya. Woh drama group mein thi, aur usse pata tha ki story ko directly confront karne se zyada effective hota hai usse stage par laana—thoda safe distance ke saath. Agle hi din woh Nana ke paas gayi, is baar soft tone mein.

“Nana, ek chhota sa play karte hain pandal mein,” Riya ne casually bola. Nana ne bina dekhe kaha, “Nahi.” “Arre sun toh lo. Local family story type. Puja evening slot mein. Bachche bhi kar lenge. Aap bas thoda sa help kar do.” “Mujhe in sab mein interest nahi hai.” “Interest kaun maang raha hai? Main toh sirf yeh bol rahi hoon ki aapke purane schoolteacher wale dimaag se ek acha structure nikal sakta hai.” Nana finally uski taraf dekhe. “Tum mujhe manipulate kar rahi ho?” Riya ne innocent face banaya. “Nahi Nana, main toh bas creative hoon.”

Unhone pehle mana kiya. Par Bapi-da ko jab idea suna, woh surprisingly serious ho gaye. “Agar yeh play crowd kheench lega aur committee ka pressure kam karega, toh kar lo. Bas overacting nahi chahiye. Pandal hai, serial set nahi.” Children ne sun liya aur turant bol pade, “Hum chorus karenge!” “Tum log chorus nahi, chaos ho,” Nana murmur kiya. Bachche khush ho gaye. Unko compliment aur insult ka difference waise bhi kam hi samajh aata tha.

Riya ne play likhna shuru kiya. Directly Nana aur Shankar-da ka naam nahi liya. Bas ek story banayi do bhaiyon ki—ek disciplined, ek practical—jo ek hi chhoti si dukaan aur family respect ke around compete karte rehte the. Story mein jealousy bhi thi, care bhi, aur woh misunderstanding bhi jo kabhi openly solve nahi hui. Riya ne Nana se purani yaadein nikalwaane ke liye alag alag tarike apnaye. Kabhi poochti, “School ke baad kaun zyada padhai karta tha?” Kabhi bolti, “Dadaji ke time business ka sabse bada jhagda kya tha?” Nana pehle toh hard answers dete, phir dheere dheere unki memory se chhote chhote tukde bahar aane lage.

Ek shaam rehearsal ke dauran, stage pe do bachche bhaiyon ka role kar rahe the. Ek line thi: “Tu hamesha jeetna chahta tha, par main bas dekhna chahta tha ki koi mujhe notice kare.” Nana ne door se woh line suni, aur unke haath mein held screwdriver ek second ke liye ruk gaya. Riya ne notice kar liya. Phir ek aur scene hua. Dusre bhai ne bola, “Main strong dikhne ke chakkar mein chup raha, aur chup rehkar sab kuch bigad gaya.” Is baar Nana ko jaise kuch hit hua. Woh bina soche bol pade, “Yeh line aise nahi hoti. Iske baad pause chahiye. Silence mein baat zyada lagti hai.”

Riya muskurayi. “Toh aapko play mein interest nahi hai?” Nana ne huff kiya, “Interest nahi hai. Bas line weak thi.”

Lekin rehearsal ke beech jo hua, usne Nana ko aur hila diya. Ek bachcha, jo Shankar-da ka role kar raha tha, usse ek line bolni thi: “Tu mujhe hamesha compare karta raha, aur main bhi bas jeetne ke liye jeeta.” Nana ne dheere se khud hi us line ka next part bol diya, almost whisper mein: “Aur phir dono ne socha ki pyaar toh automatic hota rahega.” Room mein ek chhota sa silence aa gaya. Riya ne unko dekha. Nana ko khud bhi realize hua ki woh kya bol gaye hain. Unka chehra sakht tha, par aankhon mein kuch soft sa, unfinished sa tha.

Us raat Riya ne unse kuch nahi pucha. Bas unke liye chai bana di aur staircase par baith gayi. Kuch der baad Nana khud bol pade, “Shankar aur main… hum dono alag the. Main padhta tha, woh kaam sambhalta tha. Sabko lagta tha main better hoon, usko lagta tha woh zyada practical hai. Phir ek din ek misunderstanding hui. Main bolna chahta tha, par bola nahi. Woh sunna chahta tha, par suna nahi.” Riya quietly sun rahi thi. Nana ne cup mein dekhte hue kaha, “Main sochta raha ki agar main soft ho gaya toh weak lagunga. Par asal mein main bas dar raha tha. Shankar se bhi, aur khud se bhi.”

Yeh unka life ka sabse lamba confession nahi tha. Bas itna hi. Par Riya ke liye itna kaafi tha. Usne bas itna bola, “Toh aap perfect caretaker toh ho, Nana. Par perfect insaan banne ki zarurat nahi thi.” Nana ne ek faint smile di. “Tum bahut bolti ho.” “Family mein kisi ko toh bolna padta hai.”

Finally puja ka evening aaya. Pandal lights se itna roshan tha ki lane ka har kona warm gold mein dikh raha tha. Dhunuchi ki smell hawa mein thi, aur children apne costumes mein stage ke peechhe idhar udhar bhag rahe the. Bapi-da unusually calm the, shayad isliye kyunki unko laga tha agar ab kuch bigda toh ro-rokar hi sambhalega. Audience mein mohalla bhara hua tha—elderly aunties, teenagers, shopkeepers, aur kuch curious log jo bas “dekhte hain kya hota hai” mode mein aaye the.

Play shuru hua. Simple, local, honest. Zyada polished nahi, par heart se bhara hua. Bachchon ne itna natural perform kiya ki lag raha tha jaise woh acting nahi, apni hi family ki kahani bol rahe hon. Jab rivalry wala scene aaya, logon ne dhyaan se sunna shuru kiya. Nana backstage khade the, arms folded, expression unreadable.

Phir woh moment aaya jahan ek character bolta hai, “Main jeeta nahi tha, main bas tumse pehle thak gaya tha.” Aur uske turant baad ek line jo Riya ne specially Nana ke ek purane sentence se inspire karke likhi thi: “Kabhi kabhi jo bhai se jeetna chahta hai, woh asal mein usse khona nahi chahta.” Nana ki aankhen thodi neeche ho gayin. Stage pe bachcha woh line bol raha tha, par Nana ko lag raha tha jaise kisi ne unke andar ki locked drawer khol di ho.

Audience mein kahin corner mein ek familiar figure bhi tha—Shankar-da. Zyada dramatic entry nahi, bas quietly chair par baithe hue. Grey kurta, plain expression, par aankhon mein wohi guardedness. Unhone poora play dekha bina kuch bole. Jab final scene aaya, jahan do bhai ek dusre ke paas khade hote hain aur bas itna kehte hain, “Purane din bhulna easy nahi tha,” toh hall mein koi dramatic gasp nahi hua. Bas ek soft, collective silence tha. Jaise sab samajh gaye ho ki yeh apology nahi, acknowledgement hai.

Play ke baad koi grand hug nahi hua. Na hi koi filmi background music. Bapi-da ne bas itna kaha, “Theek tha. Budget se zyada emotional tha, par theek tha.” Bachche khush ho gaye kyunki unko taali mili. Riya stage ke side pe khadi thi, jab Shankar-da dheere se Nana ke paas aaye. Dono ne ek doosre ko dekha. Kuch seconds ka awkward pause. Phir Shankar-da ne bas itna bola, “Line achchi thi.” Nana ne ek chhoti si saans li. “Haan. Riya ne likhi.” Shankar-da ne nod kiya. “Samajh gaya.”

Bas itna. Na maafi ki overacting, na emotional flood. Par us simple exchange mein saalon ka thoda sa weight halka ho gaya.

Us raat, puja ke baad, Nana aur Shankar-da ne pandal ke bahar khade hokar lights ko dekha. Riya thodi door khadi thi, jaanboojhkar unko space de rahi thi. Nana ne ek switch check kiya, phir dusra. Shankar-da ne kaha, “Yeh wiring ab bhi tum hi dekhte ho?” Nana ne almost smile ke saath jawab diya, “Haan. Tum ab bhi practical hi ho.” Shankar-da ne halka sa hansa. “Aur tum ab bhi stubborn.” “Woh toh main school se hi hoon.” “Pata hai.”

Dono ne phir lights ki taraf dekhte hue ek der tak kuch nahi bola. Par is baar silence mein distance nahi tha. Sirf thodi si understanding thi. Riya ne door se yeh scene dekha aur uske face par ek soft smile aa gayi. Usse laga family stories ko fix karna zaroori nahi hota. Kabhi kabhi unhe bas itna chahiye hota hai ki koi unhe safely stage par laa de, taaki woh khud ko dekh saken.

Aur pandal ki lights? Woh phir se perfect thi. Jaise har saal hoti thi. Par is baar unke neeche khade log thode alag the. Same ritual, same wires, same old Kolkata night—but ab silence mein thoda zyada pyaar tha, aur thoda kam regret.

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