Good Evening
Sunahri shaam thi, park me chahal-pahal thi.
“Dada ji namaste, namaste dadi ji”, kehte hue koi jogging karta hua koi guzra. Dada ji thodi unchi aawaz me bole, “Khoob khush raho”. Dono tahal rahe they, Sociaty ke beech me bada park tha, bacchhe khelte the, jhule the, benches thi, ped the, kai log they.
Dadi ke safed balo se unki umar ka andaaza lagaya ja sakta tha. Dada ji ke kaale balo se bhi, unke baal aaj unki jhurriyon se taal-mel nahi bitha pa rhe the.
“Tumhe ajeeb nahi lagta, log hume dada-dadi bulate hai?”, dadi ji ne kaha.
“Fir kya kahenge?”, Dada ji ne pucha.
Dadi dada ki or dekh rahi thi… ek pyaari si muskaan ke sath.
“Sab samajhti hu. Tum jante ho mai kya keh rahi hu, bhole mat bano”
Dadi ke hath me ek thaili roz hoti thi, jisme tiffin ka ek dabba hota tha, unke hath me ek gulab bhi roz hota tha. Par aaj kuchh cheeze nayi thi, roz ki tarah aaj dada ji ke baal safed nahi they, subah unpar kuch rasayanshashtra kiya gaya hoga. Aaj unke hath me ek diary thi, ye bhi nayi baat thi. Dairy waise to patli thi par, kai lifafon kagazon ko uske panno ke beech fasa diye jaane ke kaaran, koi moti kitab maloom ho rahi thi.
Roz dono ke chehre par ek muskaan hoti thi, aaj Dada ji ki muskaan kuchh zyada badi thi.
Dono ek bench me baith gaye, tiffin aur diary bhi usi bench par saath baithe. Dhakkan khula halwe ki khushboo aayi, khayi gayi, tareefein ki gayi, dabba band hua, fir saath baith gaya.
“Aaj maine safai ki”, dada ji ne shuru kiya.
“School ke samay ka mera baksa nikla. Har saal nikalta hai. Meri koi dilchaspi nahi thi, fir bhi maine use khola, chalo kam-se-kam safai ho jaayegi.”
Dadi ji sun rahi thi. Kabhi phool dekhti, kabhi park me khelte huye bacchhe, kabhi dairy-naresh. Kabhi sirf “hmmm” keh deti.
“Meri writing bahut sundar hua karti thi. Mere dost, kabhi kabhi unke dost, kahin se do-chaar laine utha le aaya karte the, mera kaam cards aur letters likhne ka hota tha…”
“Mai shaant kism ka tha.”
“Aaj bhi ho”, dadi ji ne muskara kar kaha.
Ye shant swabhao sirf dada ji ka nahi tha.
“Meri to kabhi baat bani nahi, aur ab likhne baithu to apna naam bhi saaf na likh paaun. Isme mai unhi laine likha karta tha, kabhi ek style me kabhi doosre. Lo ise tum rakh lo”
“Ye kaisa bachpana hai!”, dadi ji ne kaha, haste huye diary cheen li. Bachpana bhi sirf dada ji ka nahi tha.
Aise hans hans ke na dekha karo sab ki jaanib
log aisi hi adaon pe fida hote hai
Dadi ji ne padha, ek haath kuchh upar uthaya aur kaha “Waah!”. Ek panne par sher aur niche Majrooh Sultanpuri ka naam likha tha. Sundar saaf akshar they, usi panne me chaar aur tarah se likhi huyi thi. Saari sundar.
Roz ki tarah baatein huyi, par roz ki tarah haal chaal nahi puche gaye, aaj tabiyat ki baat nahi huyi, aaj kahaniya sunayi gai, ye bhi nayi baat thi.
“Bye”, roz ki tarah dono flat me laute, apne apne, ye bhi purani baat thi.
Dono gharon ke beech park tha, bacchhe khelte the, ye purani baat thi.
Dadi ji ka chatt se dada ji ko gardening karte dekhna, purani baat thi.
Dada ji ka phoolon me pani dete huye dadi ji ko niharna bhi purani baat thi.
Usne jab mujhse kiya, ahede wafa aahista,
Dil ke viraane me ik phool khila, aahista
Dr. Shafi Hassan ki laine likhi do baar gayi thi, padhi kayi baar gayi.