Abhi andhera hi tha jab Safar ki aankh khuli. Kamra bilkul shaant tha — sirf pankhe ki halki si awaaz aur uski biwi Anaya ki gehri saans lene ki aawaz sunayi de rahi thi. Wo kambal ke andar lipti hui thi, uske chehre par shanti thi. Safar dheere se bistar se utha, bina usse jagaye, aur drawing room ki taraf chala gaya.
Yeh subah ke waqt uske liye ek tarah ka escape ban gaya tha. Usne paudhon ko paani diya, ek kadak chai banayi, aur khidki ke paas jaakar baith gaya. Bahar ki duniya dheere dheere jaag rahi thi. Phone par ek halki si dhun baj rahi thi. Aise lamhon mein use sukoon milta tha — jaise zindagi thoda ruk jaati ho, saans lene ka mauka deti ho.
Lekin aaj kuch alag sa tha. Yeh khamoshi aaj usual jaisi comforting nahi lag rahi thi. Yeh khaali si lag rahi thi.
Garam chai ka cup haathon mein tha, par dil thanda lag raha tha.
Aakhir kyun itni tanhaayi mehsoos ho rahi thi ek aise ghar mein jo kabhi khaali nahi hota?
Usne bedroom ki taraf dekha. Anaya abhi bhi so rahi thi. Use pata tha Safar subah jaldi uth jaata hai. Phir bhi, wo kabhi uske paas nahi aayi. Safar aksar imagine karta — agar wo uske paas baithti, dono ek saath ek cup chai share karte, thoda baat karte… ya shayad kuch bhi na bolte. Bas ek saath hote.
Pehle aisa hota tha — kaafi pehle.
Usse Anaya ki ek baat yaad aayi jo kuch din pehle boli thi:
“Tum ab subah mujhse baat hi nahi karte.”
Shayad wo sahi thi.
Unki zindagi dheere dheere alag si ho gayi thi. Safar ka din khamoshi se shuru hota, Anaya ka thakaan se. Safar din bhar kaam par rehta. Anaya ghar sambhalti thi — lekin ab to ye bhi uske liye bojh ban gaya tha.
Safar samajhta tha. Anaya ab waise nahi rahi. Wo spark, jo kabhi uski cooking, hasi, ya ghar sajane mein hoti thi — ab dheere dheere chali gayi thi. Ab jab wo kuch banati thi, to wo banati thi jo usse pasand ho. Safar ki pasand ki chizein kab ki peeche reh gayi thi. Agar Safar chup rehta, to isliye ke uska dil na dukhe. Aur agar kuch bolta, to baat jhagda ban jaati. Toh ab wo bas chup rehta tha.
Usne Anaya ko space di thi — shayad zarurat se zyada. Wo chahta tha ki Anaya free feel kare — jitna chahe soti rahe, kaam karna hai ya nahi, wo uska decision ho. Par is azaadi mein Safar khud gum ho gaya tha.
Kabhi kabhi to Safar chahta tha sirf khamoshi — akele sona, jo pasand ho wo khana, jab chahe tab ghar se nikal jana bina kisi sawal ke. Lekin jab wo late ghar aata, ya chup chaap rehta, to Anaya kehti,
“Kahan the?”
Ya kabhi kuch nahi kehti. Aur uski wo khamoshi sukoon wali nahi hoti — wo thandi hoti thi, tez hoti thi, unsaid baaton se bhari hoti thi.
Pehle bhi dono ne baat ki thi. Gehri baatein. Rote bhi the ek dusre ke saamne. Uske baad kuch din sab theek lagta tha. Par phir se wahi distance wapas aa jaata — dheere se, jaise kisi purane furniture par dhool wapas jam jaye.
Safar ko koi perfect life nahi chahiye thi. Koi bade badlav bhi nahi chahiye the.
Usse bas yeh chahiye tha ki wo dono beech ka raasta dhoondh lein.
Ki Anaya ek baar uski aankhon mein dekhe — jaise Kabir abhi bhi har din use dekhne ki koshish karta hai.
Jab subah ki roshni dheere dheere kamre mein phail rahi thi, Kabir ne apna phone uthaya aur notes app khola.
Wo nahi jaanta tha ki in baaton ko aur kaise kehna hai. Isliye usne likhna shuru kiya — shikayat ke roop mein nahi, ek kahaani ke roop mein.
Shayad kisi din, Anaya ise padhegi.
Shayad kisi din, dono padhenge — ek saath.
