pickpocket- IV

               जी  करता  है  कि  चूम  लूं ,

उसकी  टट्टी  में पड़े उस  मटर के दाने को ,

कम्बख्त  वो  तो  कम  से  कम  उसके  लबों  से  होकर  गुज़रा होगा l

 Without a speck of doubt I knew who the writer of those lines could have been.

              I was totally amused at his fearless use of the word टट्टी in an otherwise highbrow shayari. Soon enough I realized that no other 'sober' word fits better in conveying the feeling that came out of it; bit eerie, humorous, and high on emotional quotient if taken in the right context. And better still, if delivered at the right moment on an emotional roller-coaster of a juvenile love story- with a tragic end.

I could not resist asking, लड़की का क्या हुआ ?

HIM: होना क्या था, अभी कोलेज में है वो l

ME: उसके बाद कभी उस से मिलने की कोशिश नहीं की ?

HIM: गया था उसके कोलेज के बाहर एक दिन, एक लड़के के साथ गेट से बाहर निकली l बहन का लौड़ा इंगलिस में कुछ कुछ बोल रहा था, और वो हँस रही थी l मन् किया साले को चैलेंज करुं- भेन्चोद, गाँड में गूदा है तो लड़की को हिन्दी में बोल के पटा कर दिखाये, या सिंगल लड़ ले मेरे से l

आ जाते हैं साले इंगलिस झाड़ने - गाँड में दम नहीं, हम किसी से कम नहीं l

तू भी तो भेन्चोद उन्ही में से एक है l  कितनी girlfriend हैं तेरी?

He asked me with utter contempt, anticipating an affirmative in plural.

               To his chagrin I replied with polite disappointment- यार, एक भी नहीं है l He paused for a moment, and in equally polite manner, held my shoulders and said- यार, तू एक काम कर l

क्या?, I asked with the anticipation of watching a girl undress, live.

His reply had never been so polite- चुल्लू में पेशाब कर, और डूब के मर जा l

To avoid embarrassment I suddenly ejaculated- तू शायरी अच्छी कर लेता है l

He was prompt. सुनेगा ? said he, and started without seeking my non-existent, faint approval.

              ले  जा अपना  हुस्न किसी  और  को  दे  दे,.

गालिब को  अपने  हाथ से  ही करार  आएगा l

…एक  और  सुन् … 

खुदा  ने  भी  क्या  ज़िन्दगी बनाई  है,

खुदा  ने  भी  क्या  ज़िन्दगी बनाई  है, 

जूगनू की गाँड  पे  भी  एक  बत्ती लगाई है l

I was smiling, amused. Then he said-

एक लतीफा सुन् l पसन्द न आए जनाब, तो मेरी जेब काट लेना  l

               I had almost forgotten about the money, but those last vocals made me nervous. They reminded me of the process my wretched self might have to go through, although unknowingly, at the hands of the mighty shayar.

Thankfully, he did not notice the signs of nervousness. Or had he, already?

He continued his joke-

एक आदमी अपनी बीवी से बोला – Sex हो जाए ?

बीवी बोली – नहीं, सर में दर्द है l

...Diamond जेवर ला दूँगा...

...नहीं...

...कार  ला  दूँगा...

...बोला ना, नहीं !...

साथ्  में  उनका  बेटा  सो  रहा था, वो  बोला -

डैडी  मेरी मार लो,  साइकिल ला देना l

              Ever confronted with a paradoxically hilarious joke?

Well ! The situation was it. I wanted to laugh, but the tension that had built around me was enough to suppress the heaviest bout of laughter on my part.

               And so, I laughed. It was probably the most gut wrenching laughter that came out of my humble self.

I began sweating, and suddenly remembered that i was the proud owner of two hands, none of which, I knew what to do with.

                So in order to escape the ignominy of the moment, I started to fiddle with my bag, illustrating a desperate search for something I wanted badly.

He asked me, क्या हुआ ?

कुछ  नहीं . I said, with a profoundly fake nonchalance. भूख  लग  रही  है .

               "तेरी  मताई  ने  बनाए  होंगे  और  ज़बरदस्ती  रख दिए  होंगे", he said, looking at the hindi-newspaper-wrapped paranthas I took out of the bag. My hands were feeling a good amount of weightlessness, out of nervousness. The newspaper was the smooth two page weekly attachment that came with a leading daily in UP. I unwrapped it.

               "मुझे sex सीन करने से कोई परहेज नहीं", read the headline with a barely clothed actress, her eyes inviting. Our hero's eyes were fixed, onto something else, brutally ignoring her.

              I unfolded the paranthas.

आम  का  अचार !, he said, getting overtly excited and displayed the never-seen-before greed in his eyes.

The first parantha looked dilapidated. The आम का अचार had annihilated it with its acidic contents.

ये  पहला वाला  मैं खाऊंगा…he said instantly. बडा  स्वाद  लगता है l...

ठीक  है …वैसे भी  मैं  ये  वाला  नहीं खाता …I lied. As a matter of fact, that used to be my favourite too. The bastard wasn't even sparing my food.

              This was a heartening development. It instantly metamorphosed his contempt, if any, towards me into a friendly gesture.

...to be continued...