“Sunai nahin deta hai kya?”
Kriti turned. Someone was calling her. She saw two people coming towards her- her friends Gauri and Siddharth. Gauri had called out to her.
“Behri hai kya yaar?” she asked as she reached closer.
“Matlab?” Kriti snapped.
“Matlab yeh,” Siddharth spoke up, “ki Gauri gala phaad phaad ke chilla rahi thi par tujhe sunai hi nahi diya!”
“Kuch soch rahi hun,” Kriti said, almost to herself.
“Tune sochna kab se start kiya?” Gauri giggled. “Aj-kal sab kuch ulta ho raha hai.”
“Chup reh, nikammi!” Kriti snapped at her again.
“Shanti! Shanti!” Siddharth spoke up quickly as Gauri opened her mouth to retort back. “Baat kya hai ye toh bata.”
“Mera English homework baaki reh gaya hai!” Kriti almost yelled in despair.
“Kaun sa?” Gauri asked, thinking. “Wahi jo maha third class essay ma’am ne bola tha likhne ko?”
“Haan ... wahi,” Kriti muttered. “Third class ho ya first class, likhna toh tha na.”
“Maine toh likha hai,” Gauri told her. “Copy karna hai toh kar sakti hai.”
“Naah,” Kriti shook her head. “English hai, yaar... Dutta ma’am toh poora padhti hain.”
“Toh mujhse copy kar le,” Siddharth offered.
“Ullu,” Kriti said impatiently, “copy tujhse karun ya Gauri se, ma’am ko toh pata chalne waala hai, na?”
“Arre unko yaad nahi rahega,” Siddharth waved his hand casually.
“Haan, tu unki yaddasht jo gumane wala hai,” Kriti rolled her eyes in exasperation. Gauri giggled.
“Dekh,” Siddharth began matter-of-factly, “teri class mein kitne students hain?”
“Almost 40,” Gauri replied.
“Meri class mein bhi approx 40 students hain,” he explained. “Ab ma’am ko kya yaad rahega ki 40-40 students ke do alag-alag sections mein kin do students ka essay same hai?”
“Shayad nahi...” Kriti said thoughtfully, after a pause. “Theek hai, apni copy de. Lunch time wapas kar doongi.”
Siddharth, after much messing around in his bag, extracted his English notebook and handed it to her. Then he said, “Jaldi likh le. Main chala class.”
“Itni bhi kya jaldi hai?” Gauri asked him.
“Arre woh saamne Ankit ja raha hai,” Siddharth muttered. “Abhi dekh liya toh mazak udayega.”
“Kya kahega?” Kriti asked, curious, pausing in the act of flipping through his notebook.
“Woh aur uski baatein...” Siddharth trailed off. “Chhor na! Main chala. Tu kaam khatam kar.” Saying this, he rushed off, leaving the two girls confused.
“Isski baatein toh meri samajh mein nahi aati,” Gauri shrugged. “Chal, prayer se pehle jitna likh sakti hai likh le.”
They stepped inside the classroom; only one person was there- Rishi Sinha, the class monitor.
“Hi, man-eater!” both girls said in chorus. Rishi just smiled. He was used to being called ‘man-eater’, ‘dictator’, ‘Hitler’ and God-knew-what-else by every other person in the class.
“Aaj itni jaldi?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Mere peechhe ek saand daud raha tha school aate time isliye,” Kriti spoke in a mock-apologetic tone, settling down in her seat to copy the essay. “Koi nahi, prayer mein late jaungi.”
“Kyun?”
“English homework baki hai,” Gauri made a face at Kriti, then laughed.
“Hmm... Thik hai,” he nodded. “Bass Pandey sir se daant padi toh mujhe mat phansana.”
“Haan, haan-” Kriti broke off at the sound.
Beep-beep! Beep-beep!
The three of them stared at each other, bewildered. Then Rishi asked, “Ye kya tha?”
“Pata nahi...” Kriti whispered.
“Awaaz shayad tere bag se aayi,” Gauri spoke warily. Even Rishi was staring at Kriti’s bag.
“Kya hai dekho,” he urged. Kriti opened her bag slowly, only one thought coming to her mind at the characteristic sound, looked inside and what she found confirmed her suspicions.
Her dad’s cellphone!
“Hey bhagwaan!” she threw up her arms, freaked out.
“Ye mat kehna cellphone hai,” Gauri said in a small voice. Kriti nodded and squeaked, “Papa ka.”
“Hey bhagwaan!” Rishi echoed her. “Silent kar do, chhupa do, jala do, phenk do, mitti mein gaad do, kuch karo warna pakdi jaogi! School mein cellphone mana hai!”
“Mujhe toh pata hi nahi tha school-rules ke baare mein,” Gauri muttered sarcastically.
“Main silent kar doongi,” Kriti said. “Par kisi ne bag se uda liya toh? Aur mere paas toh pocket bhi nahi hai.” She looked at Gauri and both of them looked at Rishi.
“Kya?” he asked suspiciously.
“Tum rakh lo,” Gauri said, as if ordering him.
“Heh?” he almost yelled at her. “Main? Rakh lun? Woh bhi isske dad ka cellphone? Mujhse nahin hoga!” He shook his head violently.
Kriti knew there was no way man-eater was going to help her out in this. She clutched the cellphone in her hand, concealing it as well as she could, and strode out of the classroom, almost crashing into Dinesh who was entering.
She quietly entered the adjacent classroom. Only four people were there- Ankit, Siddharth, Ranjita and Saanjh. Siddharth was deep in conversation with Saanjh. Kriti got a little annoyed at that, seeing the bimbo-ish smile Saanjh was giving Siddharth. “Khokhli khopdi!” she thought irritably.
“Oye, Sid!” she called out.
He turned and was really surprised to find her there. But he immediately got off the bench he was sitting on and walked up to her.
“Kya hua?” he asked.
“Tujhse baat karni hai,” she said in a low voice. “Basketball court tak chalega?” Ankit sniggered; clearly he had heard her. She gave him a nasty look which had him sobering up.
“Uhh... Haan, chal,” Siddharth agreed, shrugging.
“Tera dimag toh thik hai?!” Siddharth said, goggling at her five minutes later on the deserted basketball court. “Tu apne papa ka cellphone le aayi?!”
“Main nahin laayi, yaar!” Kriti said for the third time. “Pata nahin kaise mere bag mein aa gaya!”
Siddharth gazed at the phone in her hand, lost in thought. “Silent kiya hai?” he asked. She nodded.
“Hmm...” he went on. “Saara din chhupa ke rakhna padega.”
“Pata hai,” Kriti said impatiently. “Par bag mein rakha toh chori ho sakta hai aur mere paas pocket nahin hai.” She paused a bit, looked up at him. “Tu rakh sakta hai?”
“Kyun?!” he yelped, and reminded her of Rishi. “Bag mein nahin rakh sakti?”
“Chori ho sakta hai,” she repeated dully.
Siddharth had his eyes narrowed for a moment, looking at the phone. Then he let out a breath.
“Theek hai,” he agreed reluctantly. “De rakh leta hun.”
Relieved, just as she was about to give him the phone, he whispered in a panicked voice, “Arre baap re! Jaldi chhupa! Games sir aa rahe hain!”
“Aap donon yahan kya kar rahe hain?” the bulky, hard-to-believe-you-are-into-physical-activity teacher for PET and Games Mr. Singh asked just as Kriti turned to face him, the phone concealed behind her.
“Um... Kuch nahin, sir,” Siddharth fumbled. “Aise hi baat kar rahe they.”
“Kya baat kar rahe they itni subah-subah, akele-akele, basketball court pe?” Mr. Singh persisted, frowning suspiciously.
“Hum donon Laila-Majnu lagte hain kya?” Kriti muttered, so that only Siddharth could hear her. He cleared his throat loudly. The teacher focussed on her, peering down hard.
“Aapne kuch kaha kya?” he asked.
“Actually, sir,” she began in an apologetic and convincing voice, “maine English homework poora nahi kiya hai. Siddharth se utaarne ke liye usski copy li thi par shayad ma’am ko pata chal jayega. Usi baare mein discuss kar rahe they.”
“Hmm...” Mr. Singh responded, still a little suspicious. “Abhi jaiyye class mein. Donon.” He nodded at both of them.
“Yes, sir!” both of them said in unison, backing away from him, concealing the cellphone. They went round him, walked backwards for a bit, and then rushed off.
Halfway to their classrooms, Kriti shoved the gadget into Siddharth’s hand.
“Pocket mein rakh le,” she gasped. “Chhutti time de dena.” He nodded and slipped it into the right pocket of his trousers.
They reached the corridor of secondary classes, near their classrooms, when they heard Ankit’s voice. “Arre! Cellphone!”
“Heh?” Kriti and Siddharth both said together, as they turned to stare at Ankit who was wiggling his eyebrows.
“Cellphone?” Siddharth asked innocently. “Kaisa cellphone?”
“Bhole mat bano,” Ankit smirked at him. “Nokia ka ribbon pocket se latak raha hai aur tujhe acting ki padi hai.”
Siddharth looked down. Indeed, the ribbon with the Nokia logo was dangling from his pocket. He shoved it inside and repeated, “Kaisa cellphone?”
Ankit raised an eyebrow, getting the hint. “Theek hai, kisi ko nahi bataunga,” he said in a bored voice. “Hai kiska?”
“Kriti ka,” Siddharth replied. Then he corrected quickly, “Kriti ke papa ka.”
“Tum apne papa ka cellphone le aayi?” Ankit asked her, surprised.
“Main nahi layi...” Kriti groaned, tired of the line. “Pata nahin kaise bag mein aa gaya.”
“Hmm...” Ankit scratched the back of his head, confused. The bell rang shrilly from the main part of the school building. Students started making their way to the assembly ground.
“Chalo, prayer hone ko hai,” Siddharth shrugged and led the way. Kriti followed him quietly.
***
“Iss musibat ko tu wapas le,” Siddharth said, pushing the cellphone into Kriti’s hand.
Classes had just got over and people were leaving. Kriti, Gauri, Siddharth and Ankit were at the school cycle stand.
“Bahut jhamela hua na?” Kriti asked in a small voice, feeling guilty.
“Mat poochh!” Siddharth scowled, his hands deep into his pockets. “Vibrate karte time lagta hai maano mere saath-saath bench ko bhi hila ke rakh dega!”
“Kahin class mein uchhalne toh nahin laga na?” Gauri laughed, imagining the situation. Ankit was very quiet the whole time.
“Lunch ke time switch off kar diya,” Siddharth sulked.
“Kriti, zara phone dikhana,” Ankit spoke suddenly. Kriti gave it to him and quietly slipped it into his own pocket. He looked up to find the other three staring at him.
“Oh, main toh batana bhool hi gaya,” he began casually, walking up to his bicycle and unlocking it. “Yeh toh” –he got it out of the row of bicycles –“mera hi naya cellphone hai” – he made his way out of the cycle stand –“Kriti ke papa ke cellphone jaisa, same model” – he swung his leg over it –“aaj aise hi laaya tha, mann kiya kisi ko pareshan karun, toh subah-subah Kriti ke bag mein daal diya. Samjhe?” Saying this, he dashed off leaving the other three with their jaws hanging open. Siddharth seemed to process whatever Ankit said, for five full seconds in stunned silence. Then he got his bicycle out of the stand, swung a leg over it, let out a snarl, “Teri toh!” and took off after Ankit.
“Tujhe pakka yakeen hai woh tere dad ka cellphone nahi hai?” Gauri asked after a moment when she found her voice. She looked doubtfully at Kriti.
“Haan...” Kriti answered casually, shrugging. “Duniya mein ek hi Nokia ka waisa phone hai kya? Aur mere dad ka phone mere bag mein aayega bhi toh kaise?”
“Hmm...” Gauri said, paused for a moment. Then she asked again, “Mera matlab tha tu Ankit ko peetne ke liye usske peeche kyun nahi gayi?”
Kriti laughed and said, “Bhaand mein jaaye Ankit! Mujhe toh ghar pe daant padne ki fikar ho rahi thi! Mujrim ki pitayi kabhi aur kar doongi.” She winked at her friend and went to get her bicycle out.
