定時で帰れない部屋

Beta ji, yeh overtime ka chakkar humare zamane mein bhi tha, par tab log apna kaam karke chale jaate the — aajkal toh '36協定' ke kaghazi pulis par jaan nikal li jaati hai. Pichhle mahine, Patna ke radio shop ke bhaiya bata rahe the ki unka beta kisi IT company mein raat ke 2 baje tak bina extra paise ke bana raha hai; maine kaha, 'Beta, yeh nahi chalega, insaaf ka rasta rule book se hi nikalta hai.' Government ko fauzi style ka deadline lena chahiye — teen din mein kaam khatam, warna penalty, bas — delay ka bhi victim hota hai, aur hum log utna hi aage badhne mein der kar dete hain.

आज सुबह शिफ्ट खत्म होने के बाद जब घर आ रहा था, तो चौराहे पर एक भिखारी को लकड़ी के टुकड़े से कोकरोच मारते देखा। उसने दो-चार मारे और फिर उसी हाथ से जेब से पैसे निकालकर चाय वाले को दिए। पता नहीं, ये "कॉकरोच जंता" वाली बात है या कुछ और, लेकिन मुझे लगा — हमारी तरह ही है, काम तो करना ही पड़ता है, भले ही रात हो या दिन, कीड़े हों या लोग। बस, उसकी चाय में कॉकरोच का ज़ायका न आया हो, वरना मेरी तरह उसे भी अपनी शिफ्ट में नींद नहीं आती।

Kashem, did you see Mirabai Chanu? Lifting that weight — reminds me of the time I had to haul a 20-kilo jackfruit out of the tree by myself, back aching for a week. But she makes it look like picking a povitr, all grace and grit. No big sponsors, no fanfare — just her and the barbell, like us and our laterite soil. Sometimes the real strength is in the small, steady pull.

Ah, this system reminds me of the time they changed the medicine trolley layout—meant to save us five minutes per round, but the bottles kept falling out for a month. Reminds me, thikai cha, but I see the younger nurses eyeing the clock these days, counting minutes like they’re rationing grains. I’ve worked sixty hours some weeks when my children were small, yet I never felt the need to track it like a ledger; the work gets done when it gets done, and patients don’t heal by spreadsheet. Still, you tell me a rule saves a mother from missing her daughter’s school play, then maybe I’ll listen—but not before.

Every time the office clock shows 7 PM and I’m still waiting for a customer to accept his parcel, I think of my daughter in Dimapur—she’s probably in her hostel room now, studying under that flickering tube light. The extra hours mean I can pay her fees without borrowing, but my wife says my back won’t last another year of this. Still, when I see the scooter’s petrol meter drop faster than my patience with Dimapur traffic, I remember the committee at the market said we should all “coordinate deliveries better”—asheba? They don’t have a daughter counting on next month’s EMI.

Just found a tiny neem sprout pushing through a crack in the parking lot wall. Meanwhile, my manager's spreadsheet needs one more colour code, so my train leaves without me again. Appa will miss his keerai, and the company will bill for my extra electricity like that's the real loss.

आज दुकानात एक माणूस आला. म्हणाला, “साहेब, पंधरा दिवसांपासून गावात वीज नाही, पण अधिकाऱ्यांच्या खिडकीत बल्ब जळतो.” मी त्याला चहा दिला आणि म्हटलं, “भाऊ, आपल्या शेतातला पाण्याचा पंप थांबलाय, पण कार्यालयातला पंखा सुरू आहे.” मग तो हसला, मी हसलो. मराठीत म्हणतात, ‘पोट भरून मग नीतीचा डांगोरा.’ पण पोट भरण्यासाठीची वीज कोण देणार? याचं उत्तर कोणीच देत नाही.

Arre yaar, yeh overtime ka chakkar kya hai? Main subah chaar baje uthke dhabe ke liye chhole pressure mein daalta hoon, aur office waalon ko dekhta hoon jab woh raat nau baje bhi apne laptop ke saath yahan chai mangwate hain. Mummy kehti thi “sarkari naukri lele beta,” lekin sach bataun, yeh log apni “deadlines” ke bhaar mein zindagi ka taste hi bhool gaye hain—meri dhabe ki chai bhi khaali gilaas nahi karte, kaam ki yaad mein thandi ho jati hai. Mera patthar ka silbandar to kharab ho gaya, lekin woh theek-set ho jaayega; inka internal engine kab ka jal gaya samjho.

Stitching till 1am for a wedding suit. Customer says he needs it for tomorrow, I ask 'kitem, did you think of this before?' but I do it. My daughter in Pune thinks I should rest, but in Goa we don't stop until the thread runs out. The 36 agreement is for big offices, not for my small room here.

I was reading a folktale where the villagers kept debating the best way to build a fence while the wild pigs kept eating their millet—then one widow just got up, sharpened her own stakes, and finished it before the next meeting. Aseno? *Kede* to watch people waste time talking when the work is waiting, even in this room. My own deadline for a social work paper is 10 PM, and I’ll leave at 6:30 sharp—not because the work is done, but because my grandchild’s bedtime story matters more than a committee’s approval of my hours.

Kashe? Here in my shop, the only overtime clock is the bell at the parish church. After that, if a customer comes for a packet of salt at nine, I still open the shutter—my father did it, and the old widow three houses down depends on it. But I see the new hypermarket on the highway, their staff on twelve-hour shifts under fluorescent lights, and I wonder: whose burn is this fixing? In a village, we never counted the hours; we just made sure nobody went without. Maybe the real trick isn't the rulebook but having someone who remembers your face when you're standing at the counter past dark.

Back from a fourteen-hour shift, yaar. Meter off, but still calculating in my head how many more rides like this to pay for next semester’s books. Bas, at least the regulars at the night chai stall always save a stool for me.

These freelance deadlines don't respect the monsoon. Yesterday I was wiring a new plug for the old uruli lamp, and my phone buzzed—client wants a rewrite before morning. My daughter says I should charge them for the time I spend staring at the damp patch on the studio ceiling instead of sleeping. But the old harmonium teacher used to say, "When the kayal floods, you don't argue with the rain." So I just add a line to the invoice and go back to my pepper

बहुत दिनों बाद एक ग्राहक ने लोगो के लिए "सीधा-सादा, पहाड़ी एहसास" कहा। मैंने उसे वो दिया जो मैं जानता हूँ — पुरानी दुकान के तख्ते पर उकेरे गए उसी अल्फ़ाज़ का अंदाज़, जो बचपन से मेरी आँखों में बसा है। अब वो कहता है "बहुत देसी लग रहा है, थोड़ा और आधुनिक करो।" पहाड़ में बसी ये मिट्टी आधुनिकता का कोई नकली कोट नहीं पहन सकती, भाई। काम तो रात की ठंडी हवा में ही ठीक लगता है — दिन भर की ये ऑनलाइन मोल-भाव की थकान उतर जाती है।

The power cut hit at 6 again, so I’m writing this by candlelight on the veranda, listening to the guava leaves rustle—at least the tree doesn’t care about load-shedding. My neighbour said the exam centre might stay open this time, but I don’t trust the promise, I trust the data from last year showing how many kids lost their slot when the roads closed. Tell me, if we can run a pharmacy through shortages and curfews, why can’t we get a backup generator for one hall so the most vulnerable don’t lose their one shot? I’d trade my whole stamp collection for a schedule that doesn’t break the people who are already holding the broken bits together.

Started my day at 4:30 grinding jaggery for the putharo, and now the market is winding down while I count my meagre takings. The pork price this week is a joke — I can’t raise my doh neiiong price, or my regulars will just go to the big hotel. My daughter says I should take a rest day, but rest

Yaar, last night my team lead from Gurgaon side sends a message at 3:30 AM — "urgent escalation, need you on overtime." I'm already running on my third chai, and my Bajaj's clutch plate is jammed again. I told him, bhai, this "graveyard shift" is already eating my liver, don't make it worse. The rule says 36協定, but here it's just a paper in the HR drawer.

Woke up to a 3 a.m. message from the editor saying the football league feature needs a "fresh angle" — but the match happened last Sunday and the kids' families are waiting for the photos to go up. Meanwhile, the committee that decides which street food vendors get licenses has been meeting for six months without a single decision. *Pokpa* already — just let the good momos win and let the rest of us get home on time, *lammi*.

Naa bike ka engine ek din bhi off nahi rakh sakta — repaari ka kharcha alag. Sister ka exam near hai, tuition fees bhi, aur main sochta hoon, in village offices mein to log chutti le lete hain, lekin hum daily wale kya karein? Chai stall bhaiya kehta hai, 'beta, time to hai nahi, bas chai peene ka hai.