Growing Up Desi
Jamuni Ungliyan
Jamun ka rang kabhi black nahi hota tha. Ungliyon pe jo rehta tha, woh alag hi jamuni hota tha.
Ghaziabad. Garmi. Nana ka ghar.
Jamun ka ped boundary wall ke uss paar.
Reachable bhi. Forbidden bhi.
Colony ke bachche khud hi jama ho jaate the.
Koi plan nahi hota.
Bas pata hota - aaj jaana hai.
Wall pe chadhna pehla step tha.
Dararein dhundh ke pair jamana.
Ek push. Ek pull.
Phir upar.
Tree tak pahunchna alag kaam tha.
Branches moti thi, smooth.
Haath phisalte.
"Jamun ka asli rang ungliyon pe rehta tha - na black, na purple, bas jamuni."
Neeche wala lookout.
Door se awaaz aati - thaap... thaap...
Mali ki laathi.
Woh hamesha aata tha.
Tab tak haath jamun tak pahunch jaate.
Ek. Do. Phir aur.
Shirt ke andar chhupa lete.
Rang turant lag jaata.
Ungliyon pe pehle.
Jamuni.
Woh exact rang.
Na black. Na purple.
Kuch aur hi.
Phir shirt pe.
Phir cheek pe bhi.
Kaise, pata nahi.
"Kaun hai wahan?"
Awaaz aati.
Utarna mushkil hota.
Chadhna asaan tha.
Wall pe ek second rukte.
Phir doosri taraf.
Thud.
Bhaago.
Galiyon mein bhaagte.
Haath shirt ke andar.
Kahin rukte.
Saans theek karte.
Phir jamun nikal ke khaate.
Taste pehle khatta.
Phir halka meetha.
Seed chhota.
Smooth.
Aur thoda aur khane ka mann.
Ungliyan dhote the baad mein.
Nikalta nahi tha.
Do din rehta.
Bas reh jaata.
