Share This Article
Shweta Gurgaon ke ek purane sector mein rehti thi, jahan har building ko naye mallon ne gher liya hai — lekin uska flat abhi bhi 80s ke style ka tha. Peeling paint, low wiring, aur ek purana landline jo usne kab kaat diya tha — ya kam se kam wo samajhti thi ki kaata hua hai.
Pichli teen saal se, monsoon ke pehle phone bajta. Kabhi ek raat, kabhi do. Har baar, jab usne uthaya, line mein kuch nahi hota. Bas ek bhaari saans — jaise koi do logon ke beech mein baithkar bol raha ho. Aur jab bhi ye call aayi, kuch dinon mein koi na koi mar gaya. Pehla call uske flatmate Megha ke liye tha. Dusra, uske ex-boss ke liye. Teesra, uska cousin Aman.
Shuruaat mein laga coincidence hoga. Har insaan kisi na kisi dukh se guzar raha hota hai. Lekin jab chhata nikalne se pehle call aaye, aur fir koi naa chhutti pe gaya, naa bacha — tab usne notice karna shuru kiya. Ek pattern tha. Har baar, phone bajta sirf barish ke smell ke pehle. “Petrichor,” usne once Google pe padha tha. As if mitti khud kisi cheez ko acknowledge karti hai.
Ye saal alag tha.
June ke doosre hafte mein hi carbon sky ne badalon ko kheench liya. Aur peeche se awaaz aayi — ghanti ki. Sham ke 8 baj rahe the. Shweta dinner bana rahi thi jab vo ringtone baj uthi jiska connection kaunse line se tha, usko bhi yaad nahi. Room freeze ho gaya. Usne dekha — landline ke peele handset mein ek laal light blink kar rahi thi.
“Not again,” usne thand mein bola.
Ringtone theek wohi tha: ek purana DoT tone, ek second on, ek second off.
Usne phone nahi uthaya. Pehle baar, usne kisi friend ko text kar diya: “If I die, it’s the phone.”
Call kat gaya.
Do din tak koi nahi mara, koi news nahi. Usne socha shayad iss baar kuch nahi hoga. Lekin uski flatmate Saima ka chhota bhai, Hameed, jis se Shweta kabhi mili bhi nahi thi, uska scooter accident mein death ho gaya.
“Tu overthink kar rahi hai,” Saima ne bola. “Yeh toh bas ek coincidence hai.”
Par Shweta ne realise kiya — baarish toh officially abhi hui bhi nahi thi. Petichor nahi aaya tha. Lekin line — kisi tarah se — active ho gayi thi.
Agli raat, fir se phone baja.
Is baar, Saima ne uthaya. “Hello?”
Pause.
Fir uske chehre pe ajeeb sa horror aagaya. Aankhein seedhi Shweta ki taraf.
“Kya kaha?” Saima ne dhime se poocha. Voice trembling. “Kya matlab main?”
Usne phone rakh diya.
“Shweta… vo kehte hain ki main agla hoon…”
Uske baad Saima bathroom mein chali gayi aur andar se lock kar diya. Teen ghante tak ghar mein silence raha, jab tak Shweta ne darwaza tod diya. Saima unconscious thi, haath pe razor marks. Ambulance aayi, lekin hospital pahuchne tak wo ja chuki thi.
Ab Shweta akeli thi.
Usne landline ka wire completely kheench diya. Plug hata diya. Port band kar diya. Par agle teen dino mein — jab Gurgaon mein pehla thos pani gira — vo ghanti phir se baji.
Shweta ne trembling haathon se phone uthaya. “Hello?”
Static.
Phir, ek diluted si voice: “Tum sun rahi ho na…”
“Kaun?”
“Tumhare andar ek jhooth ka tukda hai. Sach bol do, ya uska samna kar lo.”
“Main kis baat ka jhooth bol rahi hoon?!”
“Tumhe pata hai.”
Disconnect.
Usse yaad aaya — pichli saal Aman ki maut ke waqt wo Hyderabad me thi. Usne police ko bataya ki usne Aman ko birthday pe wish kiya tha — par wo jhooth tha. Last baat uski Aman se ek kalti ke baad hui thi, jisme unmein bura fight hua tha.
Kya vo misaal tha? Is phone ne ye moment ‘lock’ kar liya ho?
Us raat, Shweta ne sab kuch confess kiya. Ek blog pe post likhi. Sab bataya. Apne guilt ko, apne lies ko. Wo puri raat jaagti rahi. Phone nahi baja.
Agli sham, jab clouds phir ghere, phone phir se baja.
Usne uthaya. Is baar, voice familiar thi.
“Tum is baar bach nahi sakti.”
“Par maine sab kuch confess kar diya!”
“Us confession mein bhi ek jhooth tha.”
Click.
Room suddenly dark.
Us raat, Shweta ka WhatsApp last seen tha: 3:12 am.
Agli subah, building ke security ne file banayi: “One sudden suicide. No signs of forced entry. Ek landline ka receiver ground floor ke chhat pe mila… poori tarah se puraane jung kaat se ghooma hua tha.”
Tab se, har barish se pehle us flat mein phone bajta hai. Naye tenants jaate jaate samajh jaate hain — kabhi kabhi, confession bhi ek jhooth hota hai.
