Lores of Heart

presence too she has managed to keep her words, while I
even though like a broken gramophone playing the same
song, stuck at the same place, have not been able to keep
a grasp of my belongings in her.. The sun shone bright
today. It pierced through the leaf gaps and managed to
make an embroidery in front of me as if it were two
entities holding hands.

It mocked me or maybe showed me possibilities
of a new beginning. I don't possibly wish to know.
Among all this introspection I notice two kids. Probably
mid-teens, vigorously laughing and making their way to
the bench. With unwillingness, I get up and start walking
away with my heads down.

Isolation from the world makes it better to love. I
was almost out of the park when out of nostalgia I stole a
glance at them. They were busy inscribing names over
the hollow trunk, we once did. They look happy. So
were we. But I guess I have to leave the place now.

134

Samadrita Ghosh
Samadrita Ghosh, 20, is currently pursuing a major in English
Honours from Shri Shikshayatan College. She is a quintessential
bookworm, loves to write, sing and travel and has a knack for
photography. Being an absolute outgoing soul, she loves to delve
into deep conversation with people, observe her surroundings –
the versatility of human nature, behaviour and the numerous
stories everyone carries with them and are eager to narrate. She is
a dreamer, a classic old school romantic and often escapes reality
to a world full of laughter, love and kindness.

135

Euphoria

As I turn the lock the door opens filling my ears
with all the laughter and chatter coming from inside. My
parents. The long twenty-nine years of marriage has
finally given them a sliver of time to spend together. A
time when they are no longer a mother, a father, a son or
a daughter - just a man and a woman who have learnt to
fall in love with each other over these years.

Evenings are glamorous for my parents. Baba
sets the "stage" - dragging the sofa and the bean bag
towards the balcony, adjusting the numerous cushions he
had ordered online on various ridiculous occasions;
opening the balcony door and spraying that horrible
lavender fragrance all around the living room (he says
it's exotic), switching the big living room light off and
dramatically illuminating the room with the fairy lights
he has stolen from my cupboard. The small stereo plays
Muhammad Rafi's romantic numbers as Baba executes
his master move - hiding the TV remote. Ma sets down
the tea pot and the cups, rolling her eyes at the man
saying, "Buro boyoshe bhimroti!"

Giggles soon replace her mild revolts as Baba
starts singing in his hoarse, off-key voice. For God's
sake, that man can't sing AT ALL!

I walk in and find them engrossed in an intense
game of chess, an almost invisible smoke rising from

136

their coffee mugs. Ma calls out to me, without batting an
eye, to place the take outs in the kitchen and join them.
Game nights are always fun, especially when they start
competing with each other on who dated better people
before they got married, with Ma taking full advantage
of Baba's distraction and emerging victorious.

I sit on the floor watching them playing,
laughing, giggling and faking anger as the games
proceed and end and another one begins. We have been
having take outs a lot these days and even though I tell
Baba it's not healthy, he gives me his clichéd dialogue,
"Jeele Apni Zindagi".

** *

It's 11. They are having dinner. Baba is a
hopeless romantic. He practically shooed me away into
my room asking me to eat in here. I'm pretty sure he is
executing his much desired candle-lit dinner plan
tonight. He has been requesting his beloved for the past
two weeks and Ma had diplomatically avoided the topic.
But I think Baba won this time.

A smile creeps on my lips as I close my eyes.
The whispers, silent giggles, the soft clinks of the plates
and the spoons, the glasses touching each other, Ma's
soothing, mesmerizing hums along with Aarti
Mukherjee's song, engulfs me...

137

“Tokhon tomar ekush bochor bodhoy
Ami tokhon ostadoshir chonyayy...”

Late at night when I wake up again the sounds
have died outside. I climb down the bed, the warm
blanket still around me, and walk into the living room
and check the locks on the door and the windows - a
usual habit of mine. The lights are out, the balcony door
closed, everything back to their own places. The bluish
hue on the walls brings out the violent dark patches here
and there. The awful memories resurfacing - the blast,
the fire wrapping my house under its vicious cloak, the
roaring of the fire alarm, the fire fighting trucks and the
two dead bodies - my parents'. Five years ago.

The booming silence of the apartment mocks me,
snickering at me as I collapse on the floor - another usual
for the night. Tearing my glance through the blur that
has begun to accumulate in my eyes ready to pour out
the rumbling pain in me, I look up at the door next to my
bedroom and all I wish I wish to barge in there and see
my parents sleeping peacefully for the last time, just one
last time. But a voice coos from deep within, reminding
of all the times I had done that and was greeted by the
hollowness, the utter desolation of the room where the
light and shadow has created a chess board of their own.

The whisper like coos coming from my heart
sound like my mother's voice and I listen carefully,
silently afraid of scaring it away. Her voice, her

138

humming alongside a hoarse out of tune recitation of
lyrics - my father's, fills my heart again and then …
*click*

"What are you doing here? You should be sleeping.
You have a flight tomorrow don't you remember. C'mon
get up!" Baba smiles, extending his hand ... like he did,
five years ago for the last time.

"Go to bed. We will be right here."
Walking back into my room I close my eyes as
the giggles fill the living room again. It's peaceful, it's a
happy sound. It's my happiness, it's my haven, and my
memories are where they lie.

139

Samadrita Jana
Samadrita Jana, hailing from Kolkata, India, is currently
pursuing medical studies in the Philippines. When she isn't
trying to remember scientific names and a thousand reactions in
vain, she loves to read and write. Dancing and creating art have
been her passions from ever since she can remember. She prefers
food, flowers and animals over people any day, and longs to see a
world filled with love and kindness.

140

Tacenda

Firoz takes my hand and laces his fingers through
mine as I shift closer to him and inhale in his scent,
trying to capture forever what he feels like pressed up
against me, his warmth washing over me, hands tracing
over mine.

"The sky seems bluer than usual, doesn't it?"

I look up at his words to see the clearest sky I've
seen in so long, almost without a trace of the war, the
bloodshed, the losses, the tears; almost like nature
wanted to create a clean slate for us to start again, afresh
and anew, forgetting the ghosts of the past.

"I've always liked morning skies and sunrises
more than the sky at night, you know", I tell him,
another of my many penchants for everything offbeat in
the world.

"I know, it reminds you of hope and shows you
that with every passing night and darkness, there's light
and love left in the world", Firoz slips his hands through
my hair and looks at me, a small smile playing at his
lips. He had always been able to understand me without
words, knew my heart in its darkest moments, and
somehow always managed to fill me with his comfort,
complete me in a way I myself never could. All my
quirks, ever hard for me to embrace were endearing for
him and with all the years, he always managed to make

141

me love myself a little bit more and with every passing
day, my heart would never stop swelling for him, just a
little bit more.

"We could get married, Firoz, today, right in this
country", I tell him in a desperate plea to hold onto him.

"They told us this country isn't mine anymore
and besides you know none of our families would spare
us alive if we did that suddenly. You know we have to
leave, sooner or later." I turn my head away attempting
to hide the tears that threatened to fall.

Firoz holds me tighter against him, "Look at the
skies, love, for one last time, together, and when you
look up and see the brightest bluest skies above you,
remember that I'm watching the same sky. They can tear
us apart, but we will always have the same beautiful roof
over our heads."

They took him away, their whole family; two
days later, I woke up to see his house across the street
empty and hollow, like nobody had ever stepped inside.
The newspaper headlines read every day about how so
many refugees crossing the border had been killed,
women tortured and raped, only we never got to know
the names; I never knew if Firoz made it to the other
side. They drew lines and broke one heart into three, one
land into pieces. Millions of people, torn apart, lovers
astray, friends separated, by whims, lines drawn, laws
made to satisfy their hunger. Uncertainty and doubt,
hatred and danger, spread like wildfire, a broken India,

142

and thousands lost in the wars of time. We never said
our last farewells, we always had time; and years from
now, I would look up and remember the cerulean skies
and unsaid goodbyes of my life, and wonder if Firoz
could look up and see the same brightest bluest sky and
remember me, while I try to hark back to how he felt
against me, his hands against mine, and his warmth
washing over me, all those years ago.

143

Sanjeevani Sen
Sanjeevani Sen, soon to step in the shoes of adulthood, finds
herself to be the jack of almost all trades, if not master of none,
in the small world of hers. She aspires to be a lawyer , out of the
many careers shedreams of. Sheloves towrite , cook,paint and
listen to music by the beach- out the innumerous activities which
makes her happy . She defines herself as an empathetic ambivert ,
who understands others well and tries her level best to help in
every situation . She is a person who wishes to flyinthesky of
music or sip tea while the evening rain and soulful music carries
heraway, yetremindingher compassion andwho shetrulyis.

144

Photographs

As she sat on her bed with the fairy lights on, she
went through the photographs. Tears rolled down her
cheeks with the feeling of emptiness and pain. She
couldn’t get up. Her mind was paining. Her vision was
blurred and her bosoms were rising and falling; trying to
breathe. She wanted to tear the photographs, burn them,
break a bottle, bleed -but she was not ready to let go off
the spirit of the gone. She wanted to hold on to them – to
her chest and smell the bedsheets which had once been
scented by the skin. She was crumbling in the memories
captured.

It was the winter of 19’. A Christmas night, with
the entity she wanted to spend her time with- now a
ghost. Her gallery, her albums are full of photographs of
the starry night. The photographs radiated the warmth of
the absent – the absence she is still afraid to lose.
Holding the memories in her hand, she feels every single
touch running through her skin. She likes that, but it
stings. It leaves the lump in her throat making her glance
at the photographs again. She thought again and again
that if she deserved to hold just the photographs in her
hand and not the ghost of the now unknown.

While the breeze ran through her ruffled hair and
wordless lips, the photographs laying on the bed flew to

145

the carpet floor as if her soul had sunk waiting to be
picked up. She found it hysterical, yet flustered, that
once the objects depicting the warmth of the heart now
are the fire burning her skin. She tried to be busy, but it
felt like memories restrained her. She took a pillow,
crawled to the floor- covered with the soft velvet carpet
and picked up; delicately, the moments she wanted to
relive. She held it in her palms and stared at it. The tears
had been replaced by numbness. She knew that the then
reality she held in her hands was just a fantasy now,
never to be fulfilled, to be distant from. Yet, she was
attached to the ghost in pictures. Her conscience and her
desire- at war.

The night was getting darker. Her eyes were
burning. The pain increased with the hollow of her soul
getting deeper. Glancing at the photographs she prayed,
she begged. But now the heart is tired and the mind,
almost given up; she lay on the floor and shut her eyes,
losing herself in fantasy - the photographs.

146

The Mind’s Noise
(it’s different for all, but here are my words)

When you wake up -
Thinking about the night,
You just want to sleep,

Tired from the hustle;
Tired from the fight.
You want someone to hug you with a cup of hot
chocolate in hand;
But you isolate yourself –

Suffocated,
Tortured.
There are things you want to say -
The things you want to say,
Clueless how to;
Lie screaming-
In your gulped down desire,

Crying

147

Sometimes trying to cry -
Just stop,

The pain needs to stop.
You want someone to understand without the words

being said,
You don’t want to smile and say it’s ok –

Being happy seems like a myth,
“It’s just a phase,

You’ll go through it “
Please understand,
I beg you –
It’s not.

There are traumas you want to forget,
Memories you want to live again-
But, says the unknown,
You can't.

The ghost that sits on your chest every night,
Reminds you in your dreams,
“The next day,
You have to fight.”,

148

Along with the cruel smile,
It seems.

Sleep seems comfort,
Solace-

You just want to relax,
Be happy,
Glaze.

Still many words left unsaid,
You still have the lump of pain in your throat,
But remember always, you have to survive,

Not to give up,
It’s ok to mourn.
Take a helping hand,
Only if you are ready to –
The world may seem against you,
But you know –
You are with you.

149

Shalini Bhattacharyya
Shalini, 20 . English Honours, Jadavpur University. tfery afraid
of turning 21. Stress- eats and is a decent Among Us player.
Likes being in nature until all the mosquitoes start flocking to
her.

150

Fireflies

She looked up at the night sky as the branches
above us shuffled quietly in the wind.

"There's a firefly right there," she murmured,
pointing to a bright dot hovering slowly, meandering
through the drooping foliage. I opened my tired eyes.
Squinting, I tried to search for it but the solitary firefly
had blended into the starry night - as if returning to its
vast abode.

"Where? I don't see it."

"I've lost it, too. I think this is the first time I've
seen one." She sat up slowly, leaning her shoulder
against the rough bark behind us. "Do you think it's true,
what they say about fireflies?"

Still distracted in searching for a glimpse of the elusive
bug, I barely heard her. "What do you mean? What do
they say about them?”

"Legend says that they are guides. When people
die, fireflies lead the detached souls to their final resting
place, wherever that may be. My mom said that she used
to find fireflies here all the time when she was a child.
There used to be a stream here; and a meadow. But, after
the second bombing they disappeared almost
overnight."

151

It seemed hardly ironic, but not sad either. Sadness
was a thing of our past. As the war progressed through
the years, the bombings had gotten more frequent. Many
people have died - our neighbours, our teachers, our
friends, a big chunk of each of our families - all wiped
away gradually. No firefly had come to search for them
amongst the rubble, had never tried to light their path
after their death.

Her hollow stomach rumbled as she continued,
"It does seem so hard to believe in them, in these tiny
specks existing in such a large world. But, I think I want
to believe in them. It's easier to imagine Maman wasn't
alone after she died, that she would have woken up to
hundreds of sparkling fireflies, all awaiting her arrival -
just like the ones she saw here as a child."

Her voice caught on the last syllable. She stopped
speaking, the quiet stillness of the night rushing in. My
unfocused eyes settled on the tumbledown house in front
of us, my mind ruminating over her words

She sighed wistfully. "Do you want to know
what else they say about fireflies? That they are
harbingers of hope. That they are the world's way of
telling us to hold on even when the days are as dark as
our shadows."

And then, her heat soaks through the fabric of my
clothes, warming my arms as she leans over to whisper
in my ears.

152

"Afrooz," she calls me, a gentle smile playing on her
face.
"Afrooz, look up now."
My open hair catches onto the rough bark as my gaze is
coaxed above.
Two fireflies dance a slow rhythm, flashing a bright
yellow before the glow dims down and we lose them to
the world.

153

Flightless
The cage has been opened
Why does the bird not leave?
Has it realised in its heart,

That the world outside
Will steal its voice?

The wings remain folded,
The eyes misty.

It will not fly away
Because it has never learnt

How to be free.

Fly away, little bird,
This world is not for you.

Or the birdsongs
will remain unheard,
The sky an empty blue.

154

Shinjinee Basu Mallik
Born to highly revered social development professionals,
Shinjinee has spent a greater part of her life growing up quite
aware of how the populace living on the margins always fell
behind the race of life. Afterseeing the dire state of thevillagers
and urban poor that her grandparents and later her parents have
worked tirelessly to amend, she hopes to someday contribute
towards their welfare too. A vividly enthusiastic reader and over
zealous about Psychology, Shinjinee writes to express raw human
emotions that cannot always be explained but rather has to be
felt.

155

An Awakening

I’d thought I could write no more
As I sat down with ideas brimming in my head one day
A lonely stillness filled me with the blank pages gaping

back
Words unspoken, emotions unlabelled
The void had started to churn all over again

I’d thought I could write no more
And this thought terrorised me so much
For writing was the only thing I felt myself in
The blank pages started to look more like my uncertain

future
And frighteningly a lot like the dreary, gloomy, and

listless past

I’d thought I could write no more
Life felt like it was spiralling again to doom or worse

It felt like reliving the horrors

156

The distractions seemed to work no more
And it dawned onto me that perhaps I needed something

more

I’d thought I could write no more
While the world stopped for no one.
The morbidity all around made it difficult, of course In

addition to that, the pain and
discouragement on seeing the blank pages

All of a sudden gave birth to an epiphany.

I’d thought I could write no more
But here I am writing this

Feels like a confession letter I needed to write for so
long.

Boiling down emotions that I still cannot label
Conjuring words that I am still so afraid to utter

I’d thought I could write no more
157

Yet words feel so feeble and cold now
Words of comfort that I’d provide to others now feel

deceitful
With the fantasy world I had lived in slowly crippling

down
The actualisation gave a temporary consolation

I’d thought I could write no more
But it has not made me accept defeat
Yes the feeling that I’m a ticking bomb waiting to

explode at any time
Is still very present and imminent
Yet the thought that I can write again feels redeeming

I’d thought I could write no more
And now I stare at words that have begged for freedom

Emotions that have revolted to cascade out
It feels rewarding to be able to write
To write and to be alive to write again

I’d thought I could write no more

158

But euphoria resides in knowing that I can still try
A battle that I fight with myself everyday

Becomes so much easier with that little discovery in
heart

And like writing, I hope that it culminates into reality
someday.

Hope is what helps me to write and to live.
Yes, I can hopefully write again.

And someday, I hope to live the way I dream to.

159

Soham Pal
Born on 6th August 2001, Soham is currently pursuing
Biotechnology (2nd year) at KIIT, Bhubaneswar. Completed his
schooling from South Point in Kolkata, West Bengal. A fun-
loving person, he believes that only the present should be
cherished, getting over the past and not worrying about the
future and that the world is full of hurdles and struggles; only
the one getting up after each fall will manage to cross them all.
Besides writing, drawing and painting is his favourite and he
loves food perhaps more than he loves himself. He loves music
also and believes "When nobody will be there to hold your hand,
MUSIC will not only hold your hand but it will be there for the
rest of your journey."

160

The Beginning of the End

(Don’t go by the title it’s just like the mask of the inner
devil)

Love stories are good in books, better in films
and best in the musical wave but it’s ‘Reel’ after all and
when it comes to ‘Real’, it’s more beautiful and
gorgeous. It’s not necessary that all Love Stories will fall
under the “..happily ever after” category. It’s not always
about your happiness, sometimes it’s about your love as
well. You have to Live the Love.

Sri also believed in the ‘Perfect’ love stories like
others, she also fell in love with a guy. I know you must
be eager to know who Sri is; well, Sri Mukherjee is the
Female lead of this movie. A 19 year old girl from
Kolkata from a high middle class family who didn’t
know what college life is, went away from her family
and made herself comfortable in a small and truly
faithful place where she got her two best friends, and the
love of her life. We can’t consider it as a mere
infatuation... that, the rest of the story will tell. We
generally know that if we develop a crush on somebody,
it goes away with time and that is the natural process.
Here, just the opposite happened. It turned into an
obsession and then utter stubbornness.

Now comes the male lead of the movie, Raj
Manthan, the most popular guy of the college. All girls
at college went ga-ga over him. Sri was also one of

161

them. The only difference was Sri never gave up on Raj.
Maybe she knew that this would never work out but still
she fought. Sri waited for 2 months just to have her first
contact with this person. Finally, the day came and they
met; she was so nervous, she didn’t know what to do and
she was shivering. She couldn’t talk but she took his
autograph (which was quite a big step). From a third
person’s view, Sri seemed insane but for Sri, that was
the most precious moment when they shook hands.
Then, they started talking over social media but
somewhere, it was clear that Raj is still out of her league,
and it’s a “Star-Fan” relationship. Poor Sri, she was still
dreaming of that day when Raj would be able to
differentiate Sri from the other girls. Sri gifted him a
diary, just as a farewell gift, though it was too early to
say “farewell” but she did, to become special in his life
and that worked. The diary was beautifully written.
Maybe the way Sri knows, nobody will ever know him
in this way. The connection was meant to be, but what
type of connection, that nobody knows. Sri knows that
she can wait for Raj for the rest of her life. Everyone had
different opinions but she was in love. When a person is
in love, then they listen only to their heart.

Like this, a year passed, then this huge pandemic
came and everybody moved back to their homes, so did
Sri and Raj. Sri was sad because she was scared of two
things; first, Raj will leave the college and that she will
never ever be able to meet him and second and the most
important thing; maybe she will lose her feelings for
him. Poor Sri, she didn’t know that the time would go

162

upside down. Exactly that happened, what everybody
was willing for. After a few months of waiting, she came
to know that Raj is finally leaving the college and she
turned mad, got emotional and decided to confess the
feelings that she had kept within herself for a year. She
confessed but she got a diplomatic answer because Raj
didn’t want to hurt her. She was intelligent enough to
understand what he tried to say. Sri cried a lot but she
was not upset that she was rejected. She decided to move
on just like the other girls. She thought that it was the
end. She didn’t know that it was the ‘beginning of the
end’. She tried not to talk much with him for three long
months but it didn't work; after all it’s love, dude, and
how will all these fake things work? Not possible. Then,
she decided to just be friends with him. It was difficult
and painful, but not impossible.

Sri accepted the fact that Raj will never be that
part of her life, which she dreamt of. She dreamt open
eyed and after all, she was waiting for Raj for such a
long time. God really became kind on this poor, brave,
stubborn soul of Sri and finally, the things that she
wanted are happening, she got a friend who can’t be
replaced. Sri earned Raj Manthan as an awesome truthful
friend and maybe he likes her now, after all it’s true love
c’mon!! This journey was not easy, for sure, but Sri
Mukherjee learnt a lot from this journey and is still
learning. She wanted Raj beside her always and yes, God
did listen to her.

163

“If it has a start, it will end” but when and how,
nobody knows. The ‘life graph’ of Sri and Raj was
exponential; now the question is, will it ever be
Parabolic? Or will it become zero acceleration and zero
final velocity?

To get to know that, sit back and keep predicting.
Till then be happy, stay healthy, and keep loving (others
and yourself).

164

Soumya Roy
Soumya Roy is currently a Civil Engineering student from
Jadavpur University. He mainly works as an illustrator for
books but also has a flair for writing.

165

The Devil Does Cry
The sun never shines on the other part of the realm,

The darkness was all he was shown.
He wasn’t welcomed by his own father, to the place

which was once his home.

The people misjudged him for evil.
He wasn’t evil at all, he was the softest of persons who

just had his own ways of expression,
But they never dared to care for him, they were afraid of

his aggression.

God, as people called his father, shows mercy towards
all,

But never did he dare show mercy to his once beloved
Samael,

And his mother watched in silence, not even a drop of
tear did fall.

All he ever received was hate, all he ever wanted was
love.

166

But the humans were the worst, they blamed him for
every evil that prevailed,

His every attempts towards a normal life never
succeeded, every time he failed.

He still did fall in love, a shot at redemption he thought,
But even that didn’t last too long,

Because even if the person was right but the time indeed
was wrong.

“What exactly do you want from me?” He yells at his
father,

“What exactly are your plans? I just want to live a
normal life,

Is that too much to ask for? Why do you want a strife?”
That night he didn’t yell, he didn’t scream,
All he did was look blankly at the night sky,

A tear fell trickling down his cheeks, because even the
Devil does cry.

167

Pain
You came into my world,
Like a tropical storm,
My world was shaken,
Your presence felt warm.
But a storm doesn’t last long,

You didn’t too.
One cold night, you called,
Said that we were through.

Only debris remain,
After the storm has left.
And so is my life today,

A total mess.
Can you please stab me in the heart?
Because probably that would hurt less.

Life has never been the same,
Death would be more soothing, I guess.

I don’t know if I will be me again,
There are things I cannot yet explain.

168

All I know is I am not okay,
Not okay with this never-ending pain.

169

Sourima Pal
Sourima Pal, 17, is currently studying in Class XII in Nava
Nalanda. She is a bibliomaniac, loves dancing, sings pretty well
and is always willing to trynew and unfamiliarthings. Shefeels
more comfortable focusing on her inner thoughts and ideas,
rather than what's happening externally. She's a dreamer and
lives in her own fairy tale world. She thrives on spending time
outdoors and observing wild animals and plants.

170

Aditya Weds Nayna

श दी कक ड´ कऊपर ह थ रखी \ई ह* नयन , आंखो म” आसेंे
भरेी थेी उसकेी, और एक हªे बे द आिेदÆ और
नयने कीश दी कपहली स ल िेगर ह*। लिेकन नयन ज नती
है िेक के छ भेी उªेीद करने सहेी नहे ी ें ह*।
आिेदÆ जेो िेक अपने सह ग र त को अपनी बीवी कस थ
एक कमर म” नही थ उससे ®े उªेीद करने ( ऐसे
हेी सेोच ते \ए नयने शे देी केी के ड´ दे ख रहेी
थेी, और उस हेी वª एक िेगटे र बजे ने की धन सन ई
दी)

- यह आव ज कह ं स आ रही है?

अपने कमरे से बे हर जे कर उस धेन केी
आवे ज ढेें ढते
\ए नयने आगई आिेदÆ के कमरे के से मने...
इतने सेें दर सजे \आ थे वेो कमरे केी केोई
ªेशल मेोम”ट लग रहे थे नयने केो।नयने सेोचेी
केी शे यद जेो उªेीद उसने छेोर देी थेी वही व पस
आ रही थी....

नयन न िआदÆ क दरव ज खटखट य ...

171

- कौन है?
- जेी म” \ें , नयने ।
- आप ®ेो?ें

172

- ®े म” अें दर सकतेी \ें ?(नयने जेो बेीतेी \ए ११
महेीने तकइस कमर म” नही आई और अभी पछ रही ह*
िेक ®े वो अंदरआसकती ह* य नही)ें

- नही! आपको ®े मतलब मझस? ®ेोें अंदर आन च हती
ह*आप?

- िआदÆजी ,आप श ंत हो ज ईए, ™ेीज़!

(यह ब त बोलती \ई नयन अंदर ही घस गई थी)

- नयन !

- ( िमदर क स म न दखकर नयन बोलती ह*) िआदÆे जी
®ेोें कर रह ह* आप? िेकतन संदर िेगट र बज त
ह* आप, आजतक ऐस अपको मैन नही दख ! आप मर िेलए
इतन ªे र से घर सजे कर बेै ठे ह* और आप मेझे
हेी बेोल रहे ह* िेक म” ®ेोें अंदर आयंगी!

- "ªे र", ®े बकवे स हेै ये? ®े बेोल रहेी हेो
तेम? इस ªे र श केो म” नफरत करते \ें ।मेझे
मत बेोलेो... शट अप!! और
िेनकल ज ओ मर Vम स, गट लॉ™!

- श ंत होज ईए िआदÆजी।( नयन िआदÆ कप स बैठी, िेफर
बोलती ह*) ®ेोें ऐस कर रह ह* आप? म* तो आपकी

173

पVेी \ें तो
िेफर ®ेोें कर रह ह*? आप मझ बोिेलए ®े ब त है?
अपको ऐसे नशे केी हे लत म”, म* नहेी दे ख सकतेी
\ें !

174

- ऐस सव ल मत पछो! वो भी ऐसी ही थी...

- कौन?
- आV..मरी आ7.....
- आV कौन है िआदÆ जी? कह ह* यस? कौन लगती है
आपकी?
- आ7िेष..मर ब™Æ” ड . मरी िेजंदगी थी आV।एक म सम सी
लड़केी... िेसªल, ‰ेटेीBेीन, सें ªे रेी...
मेॉडन´, एक येिेनक लड़की थी मरी आV।

- थी मतलब?

- क छ नही!
- मझ अपन दो™ समझ कर बोल सकत ह* आप...
- दो™? ठीक है।
आज स १५ स ल पहल, आ7िेष स मल क त \ई थी मरी कोई
रे ज़ छे पे \आ थे उन आें खेो म” जेो मेै ने उसकेी
दे खेी थेी।हेोटेोें केी गेले बेी रें ग उसकेी ªे रेी
सेी दे िेनये केी पहचे न बनगई थेी, उसकी आव ज म”
कोई िेदल की पक र आ रही थी...

175

- िेफर?
176

- िेफर पहले मेले के त प” हेी ªे र हेोगये थे ...
िेजसे हम लव एटफ™´ स इट बोलत ह*।फ™´ ईयर क कॉलज
क फ™´ िेदन थऔर पहल ही िेदन म” कोई लड़की जो मर
िेदल चर की लगई वही थी आ7िेष...

- िेकतन संदर बोल अपन, मझ तो आ7िेष को दखन क
मन कर रह ह*, उनको बल इए न घर पर...

- पॉिेसबल नहीं है!

- ®ेो? अ¾े म” आप दोनो बीच म” आगई, इिसलए आ7िेष
आपको छोड़कर चली गई...?

- पहल परी ब त सनो!

- जी, बोिेलए।

- हे , आ7िेष और म” एक से थ ªे स म” थे।धेीरे
धेीरे वेो मेरेी देो™ \ई... ब\त बे त” हेोतेी थेी... Æ”
डिेशप डे पर उसने कह," मरी ब™ Æ”ड बनोग, िेम™र
िआदÆ िेसंघ िेनय ?" मैन भी उस बोल िेदय , " ह ं, िेमस
आ7िेषर ठौर"।

उसकेी चेहरे पर एक बड़ेी सेी मेªे न थेी और
म” तेो िेपघल गये थे उस वª।धेीरे धेीरे वेो मेरेी

177

सब के छ बन गई थेी।मे भेी उसक सब कछ थ ... हर छोटी
स छोटी ब त वो मझ बत ती थी, हंसन रोन एं ड ट.™ - करती
थी... दो™ेी की एक स ल

178

ब द मझ पत चल की उसकी म त िेपत गज़र गए थी।वो अक
ली अपनी घर प” द दी और द द जी स थ रहती थी... मेझे
दे ख \आ... के छ िेदनेोें केी अें दर म* उसके
पे स जे कर अपन
िेदल की ब त बत िेदय ।

- िेफर वो ®े बोली?

- न नही ं बोल प ई थी... िेसफ´मझ गल लग कर बोली थी," मझ
छोर कमत ज न " ऐस तीन स ल बीत गय थ..हम दोनो एक स थ
खश थ...

- ते इतनेी दे र ®ेो?ें

- वेो ब\त हेी पजेिेसव लड़केी थेी... िेकसेी और
के से थ मेझे दे ख नहेी सकतेी थेी..एफबेी पर
कम”ट, fरएª, िेकसेी और के से थ बे त... यह सब
लेकर उसके और मेरे बेीच म” ब\त झगड़े हेोते
थे।ऐसे हेी चे र महेीने बे द ब\त टे यड´ हेो गये
थे म”।आ7िेष की रोज करोन धोन और एक ही ब त "मत करो
मर स थ ऐस " - य सनकर ट यड´ थ म”।एक दीन मरी उसक
सथमेले के त \ई और वेो िेदन आ7िेष के जeिेदन
थे ।मेै ने सेोचे बेोहेोत अ¾े से मने ऊें
गे ..लेिेकन उस िेदन भेी झगड़े \आ - और मझ

179

बोहोत तकलीफ भी हो रही थी...
- और उस वª आपने ®े िेकये ?

17
10

- मेै ने उसे थªड़ मे रे और बेोहेोत बKमेजेी से
बे त केी....
नेौटें केी, िेगरेी \ई लड़केी, गे लेी देकर ब\त के छ
बेोले ...

- और आ7िेष..?

- चपच प खड़ होकर सन रही थी और रोरही थी........ उस बोहोत
बर कहकर उस चली ज ओ बोलकर म* वो कै फ छोड़कर
अपन घर की तरफ ज न लग ...

- वो भी चली गई थी?

- ह , वो उधर स िेनकलकर अपनी घर की तरफ ज रही थी
और तभी कोई उसक स थ बोहोत बरी तरह स बKम जी, ज़ोर
जबरद™ेी करकर प िेकय और उधर ही छोर िेदय सरक क
बीच म” पढ़ी \ई थी मरी आ7िेष और एक बस उस कचल कर
चल गय ।मरी आ7िेष क स ंस वोही थम गय थ ..मरी आ7िेष
आखरेी बे र भेी मेझे... म* जब वे पस आकर उसे
दे ें धते \आउस कल श क स मन गय , उस उस ह लत म”
द ख कर म* ट टपड़ थ । बोहोत रोय - म नो िेकसी न मर
िेदल को भंद िेदय थ ।लिेकन मरी आ7िेष कभी व पस
नही ं आ प ई।उसक स थ
िेबते ये \आ हर एक पल, वेो ल§े ये द आतेी
ह*।उसके बेत” और वो झगड़ भी... कोई मझ "िआद,मर

17
11

िआद" बोल कर पक र ती नही ं ह*... लिेकन अब वो नही है
िेजसक स थ म*..( रोतरोत िआदÆ न िेगट र प ह थ रख कर
एक ग न गय )
" जब कहे थे मेोहɬत गेने ह नहे ी ें

17
12

िेफर गन ह कबड़ बड़ सज ®ेोें
िेमली ज़% द त हो कहत हो सीट” ह*
ज न लकर कहोग िेक जीत रहो
ªे र जब जब जमेीन पर उते रे
गये
िेजंदगी तझको सड़क म” म र गय
ªे र िेजें दे रहे मखतल म”
मगर ªे र िेजें दे रहे
मखतल म” मगर ªे र िेजसने
िेकये हेै वेो मर गये

हद यही है तो हद स गजर ज य”ग

हद यही है तो हद स गजर
ज य”ग इª चे हेगे
चेपचे प मर जे य”गे ये

17
13