Steel Plate Sunday Aur Woh Missing Pickle

Dimapur ke hostel mein Sunday ka apna hi mood hota tha. Weekday wali bhaag-daud thodi dheemi pad jaati, corridor mein slippers ki tap-tap kam ho jaati, aur mess ke bahar ki hawa mein bhi ek lazy sa no-stress feel hota. Subah se hi girls ka ek hi dialogue chalta — “Aaj lunch mein kuch decent milega kya?” — aur mess wali didi ka same expression hota, jaise woh already jawab dene se thak chuki ho. Par Sunday ka asli attraction lunch nahi tha.

Sunday ka asli scene tha ek steel plate.

Tashi aur Aroha har Sunday same corner table pe baithti thi, bilkul fixed. Jaise kisi ne unke liye us seat ko reserve kar diya ho, ya jaise us table ko bhi pata ho ki aaj yeh dono bas khaane nahi, ghar ko yaad karne aayi hain. Ek hi steel plate, do spoons, aur plate ke side mein carefully fold ki hui ek napkin. Aroha bolti thi ki “sharing is caring” ka hostel version yahi hai, but sach yeh tha ki woh plate unke liye bas plate nahi thi. Usmein mom ke haath ka touch, ghar ki kitchen ki smell, aur woh comfort tha jo hostel ke plain dal-chawal mein normally missing rehta.

Tashi hamesha first bite lene se pehle ek second ruk jaati. Aroha us second ko notice karti thi, but kuch bolti nahi thi. Phir dono chupchaap khana shuru karti, kabhi kabhi ek-do line home ki nikal jaati. “Maa ne last time aise hi aloo ke saath khichdi banayi thi,” Tashi bol deti. Aroha reply mein bas “Haan yaar, aur tune usko bhi half plate kar diya hoga” bolke usko chhed deti. Dono has deti, par woh hasi ke neeche ek soft sa dard hota, jo sirf un dono ko samajh aata.

Hostel ki baaki girls ko yeh ritual bahut pehle se pata tha. Unko yeh sab cute, little extra, aur thoda mysterious lagta tha. “Cousins hain na, isliye chipku hain,” ek room wali bolti. “Nahi yaar, definitely secret code hai inka,” doosri theory deti. Tashi bas shoulders shrug karke khaana kha leti. Aroha aur zyada drama ke saath bolti, “Haan haan, gossip kar lo. Tum logon ko bhi koi Sunday ritual chahiye toh invent kar lo.” Sab has dete, aur baat wahi khatam.

Par us Sunday kuch alag tha.

Lunch se pehle Aroha mess mein aayi to uske haath mein ek chhota sa dabba nahi tha. Woh usually apni bag mein ghar se aaya hua pickle carefully rakhti thi, bilkul treasure ki tarah. Us pickle ko unki mom ne specially bheja tha — nimbu ka achar, thoda extra spicy, thoda extra oily, aur itna perfect ki simple mess ka khana bhi ekdum “ghar jaisa” lagne lagta. Aroha ne already soch rakha tha ki aaj Sunday hai, plate share hogi, pickle ka first spoon hoga, aur fir bas woh familiar comfort.

Lekin dabba gayab tha.

Pehle toh Aroha ne apni bag ulat-pulat ke dekhi. Phir Tashi ke side mein nazar maari. Tashi ne bina kuch bole uski face dekh li, aur samajh gayi ki scene kuch off hai.

“Pickle?” Tashi ne dheere se poocha.

Aroha ka mood ek second mein kharab. “Mujhe lag raha hai kisi ne uthaa liya.”

“Kaun uthaa lega?”

“Arre yeh hostel hai, yahan sab kuch uth sakta hai. Spoon, charger, shampoo, dignity — everything.” Aroha ki tone sharp ho gayi.

Tashi ne ek saans li. “Shayad mess didi ne side mein rakh diya hoga.”

“Ya shayad kisi ko itna spicy laga ki usne socha free mein hi kha leti hoon,” Aroha ne gusse mein bola, but uski aankhon mein kuch aur tha. Hurt. Real hurt.

Tashi ne plate ko side mein dhakka diya. “Itna bada issue mat bana.”

Aroha palat ke dekhi, jaise kisi ne usko chot pahucha di ho. “Issue mat bana? Tashi, woh pickle mom ne bheja tha.”

Tashi ne lips press kar liye. “Mujhe pata hai.”

“Pata hai toh aise behave kyun kar rahi hai jaise kuch farq hi nahi padta?”

Tashi ka chehra aur silent ho gaya. Uska woh usual “mujhe kuch farq nahi padta” wala mask aur tight ho gaya. “Main aisa behave nahi kar rahi.”

“Kar rahi hai. Tu hamesha aise karti hai. Jaise sab normal hai. Jaise tujhe kuch lagta hi nahi.”

Tashi ke chest mein kuch hil gaya. Usne spoon uthaya, plate mein chhota sa circle banaya, phir rakh diya. “Aur tu hamesha aise karti hai jaise sab manage kar legi. Jaise sab tere control mein hai.”

Aroha ka chehra aur sakht ho gaya. “At least main pretend toh nahi karti.”

Bas. Wahi line. Hostel ke noisy dining hall mein bhi us moment ek alag silence aa gaya. Side table pe do girls ne ek doosre ko dekha. Ek ne almost whisper kiya, “Arre yeh serious ho gaya.” Dusri ne chai ka cup aise uthaya jaise drama free mein mil raha ho.

Aroha ne khud ko sambhala, par ab uski voice mein waisa sassy rhythm nahi tha. “Tu samajh nahi rahi.”

“Tujhe lagta hai main samajhti hi nahi hoon,” Tashi ne reply kiya, aur is baar uski awaaz mein pehli baar thoda crack aaya. “Bas chhod na.”

Aroha ne chair thodi zor se peeche ki. “Haan, chhod hi deti hoon. Waise bhi tujhe sab easy lagta hai.”

Tashi ne uthkar plate ko touch bhi nahi kiya. “Easy?” usne almost laugh kiya, par woh laugh khush wali nahi thi. “Aroha, tumhe kya lagta hai main Sunday ko bas khana dekhne aati hoon?”

Aroha chup ho gayi.

Tashi ne nazar hata li. “Main isliye chup rehti hoon kyunki agar bolna shuru kiya na, toh yaad aur heavy ho jaati hai. Mom ka chehra, ghar ka noise, kitchen ka smell… sab ekdum se aa jaata hai. Main handle nahi kar paati.”

Aroha ka gussa ek second mein pighalne laga, par usne abhi bhi attitude pakad ke rakha. “Toh bol deti.”

“Bola toh. Abhi.”

Aroha ne hoth press kiye. Uske haath mein bhi kuch kaanp raha tha, but woh kisi ko dikhana nahi chahti thi. “Aur main? Mujhe kya lagta hai? Ki main bas bossy hoon? Ki mujhe sab control karna pasand hai?” Usne ek haath se apne baal piche kiye. “Agar main manage na karun na, toh lagta hai sab bikhar jayega. Aur main… main us feeling se dar jaati hoon.”

Tashi ne pehli baar uski taraf dekha. Aroha ke face pe woh usual confident expression nahi tha. Wahan thoda sa thakav, thoda sa fear, aur bahut sa pyaar tha — jo woh usually jokes ke peeche chhupa leti thi.

Tabhi mess wali didi, jo side counter pe bartan set kar rahi thi, unke table ke paas aayi. Unki aankhen sharp thi, par voice surprisingly soft. “Kya hua yahan?”

Dono ne ek saath bola, “Kuch nahi.”

Mess didi ne ek eyebrow raise ki. “Kuch nahi bolne wale logon ke faces itne tight nahi hote.” Phir unhone table pe nazar daali. “Pickle dhoondh rahe ho?”

Aroha ne thoda defensive hoke bola, “Haan. Mera pickle missing hai.”

Didi ne ek second socha. “Missing nahi hai. Maine side rack pe rakh diya tha.”

Dono ka face ek saath blank.

“Cleaning ke time table pe extra dabba tha, toh maine alag rakh diya. Socha kisi aur ka hoga. Abhi laati hoon.” Didi ne bina drama ke bol diya, jaise yeh normal Sunday ka part ho.

Aroha ne aankhen band karke ek long breath li. “Aunty—” usne khud ko correct kiya, “Didi, aapne pehle bol diya hota toh…”

“Tab tum dono ka yeh emotional serial start nahi hota?” didi ne dry tone mein bola, aur corner pe khadi do girls ko hansi aa gayi.

Tashi ne pehli baar thoda sa smile kiya. Par us smile ke peeche abhi bhi kuch heavy tha.

Mess didi ne dabba laakar plate ke paas rakh diya. “Lo. Aur haan, itna tension mat liya karo. Hostel mein cheezein kabhi-kabhi bas misplaced hoti hain. Jaise log khud ko.”

Aroha ne unki taraf dekha. Didi ne bas ek chhota sa nod diya, jaise woh sab samajh chuki ho, par unko expose nahi karna chahti. Phir woh chal padi.

Ab plate ke beech mein pickle tha. Woh same smell, same sharpness, same ghar wala touch. Par kuch bhi pehle jaisa nahi lag raha tha.

Aroha ne spoon uthaya, lekin is baar uska haath ruk gaya. “Main sorry nahi bolungi,” usne dheere se kaha.

Tashi ne side glance kiya. “Maine bhi nahi.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Dono ne ek doosre ko dekha. Fir Aroha ne thoda sa pickle uthaya aur plate ke one side pe rakha. “Tu bolti kyun nahi hai, yaar?”

Tashi ne spoon ko plate ke edge pe tap kiya. “Kyuki jab bolti hoon, toh lagta hai sab aur real ho jaata hai.”

Aroha ne nod kiya, is baar bina kisi joke ke. “Mere saath bhi.”

Tashi ne finally ek proper bite liya, phir halki si saans chhodi. “Sunday without that pickle really feels off, okay?”

Aroha ki aankhon mein ek chhota sa shine aaya. “Haan. Off toh hai hi. But ab thoda less off.”

Unke aas-paas baithi girls chupchaap dekh rahi thi. Gossip wali energy ab thodi respect mein badal chuki thi. Kisi ne kuch nahi bola. Kisi ne koi theory nahi banayi. Bas ek silent understanding thi ki yeh cousins over-possessive nahi, bas deeply homesick hain. Aur yeh steel plate unke liye ek shared lunch nahi, ek tiny home tha.

Uske baad Sunday routine continue hua, but same tarah se nahi. Ab plate share karte waqt dono pretend nahi karti thi ki kuch bhi feel nahi hota. Aroha kabhi-kabhi seedha bol deti, “Aaj maa ki yaad aa rahi hai, bas.” Tashi bhi bas “haan” bolke chup nahi ho jaati thi; woh kabhi ek chhoti si story suna deti — mom ka teekha achar, ya ghar ke kitchen mein morning ki bhuni hui mirch ki smell. Aroha sunke zyada bolti nahi thi, bas uske shoulder ko halka sa dhakka de deti.

Hostel girls ne bhi dheere-dheere samajh liya ki unka ritual funny nahi, precious hai. Ab koi unki plate pe ungli nahi karta tha. Koi unko tease bhi karta toh soft tone mein, “Aaj pickle safe hai na?” aur Aroha bas aankh maar ke bolti, “Haan, warna tumhari life safe nahi hoti.” Sab has dete.

Teacher sir, jo hostel-in-charge the, ek Sunday unko dekh liya. Unhone pehle thoda awkward sa expression banaya, jaise shayad rules aur hygiene ka lecture dena padega. But phir unhone bas itna kaha, “It’s good. Sharing. Helps people feel less alone.” Unki awaaz calm thi, almost shy. Aroha ne unhe dekha aur first time bina sarcasm ke bola, “Thanks, sir.”

Sir thoda surprised hue, phir smile kar diye. “Bas… keep doing what helps.”

Us Sunday ke baad steel plate aur bhi important ho gayi, par uska matlab change ho gaya. Pehle woh ek secret comfort thi. Ab woh ek honest comfort ban gayi. Ek aisi cheez, jisme they didn’t need to act strong all the time.

Aur sabse weirdly beautiful baat yeh thi ki unko finally samajh aa gaya — yaad ko share karne se woh kam nahi hoti. Bas halka sa ho jaati hai. Aroha ko jab bhi control ki urge aati, woh Tashi ko dekh leti aur thoda relax ho jaati. Tashi jab bhi chup ho jaati, Aroha usse force nahi karti thi; bas plate ko thoda aur unki taraf khisak deti.

Sunday ka lunch ab bhi same mess food hota tha. Same steel plate. Same corner seat. Same slightly better dal. Par ab usmein ek aur cheez thi — unspoken honesty. Aur shayad wahi sabse home-like thi.

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