The Pencil Box

The pencil box was cylindrical about 20 cms in length with a diameter of 4 cms. While the whole body was translucent the cap was of the brightest shade of red. The translucent part was also covered with a couple of big red green and yellow colour alphabets…maybe 5-6 of them. The alphabets or the colour on them was being rubbed off a bit each time- due to friction from other surfaces. It was made out of the cheapest quality of hard plastic and the lid did not adjust too well. Many a times while trying to close it, it would pinch my fingers. But I never complained. Never.

For me it was the most precious possession in the world – the most beautiful, simply the best. The red lid added brightness to not so bright classroom and the fact that I could roll it around made it the best box in the class. My teachers hated it and even complained about it to my mom. Reason: It was a rolly polly thing (because of having no edges) and would fall off my desk no less than thrice in every period. The noise would not only disturb the class but would get me off my seat to pick it up (and search out the contents, in case the lid had gone off). My mother hated it as well, for a different reason though. It had come free with something and actually looked cheap (not the kind of stuff that children from “good” families would carry to a public school. She tried to entice me to give it up, but failed – thoroughly, miserably.

During the first round of her failure she got me a new pencil box (which had an attached sharpner). I rejected it after a single day at school after the realization that the sharpner was useless – it was of a bad quality and invariably broke the tip of every pencil. Next it was double decker box, the third which opened on both sides. None interested me though.

In the second round of failures, the pencil boxes came from other cities and one even from Dubai (she had especially requested a friend to get that). They came in a variety of shapes, sizes, designs, compartments, qualities and contents (pencils, fancy erasers, magnets and toffees) but each one failed before the red one.

In the third and the final round she tried some marketing strategies. She pointed out the short comings of the red one versus others. That the red one had developed cracks (due to constant falling), that it looked old, that it had just one compartment, that the lid pinched my fingers and so on and so forth. Who cared? Finally she gave up on me but warned me that the pencil box should not come before her eyes and that if she received one more complaint from my teachers the pencil box would be thrown into the dustbin.

The warning had the needed effect. I kept it inside my bag all the time – taking it out only when I needed something from it. When no one would be watching I would roll it around on a slope. Things went like this for a long while.

And then we moved to another town- taking the most important things with us. The rest of the things were kept at a family friend’s place to be taken away later, in the next visit. Needless to say I kept the pencil box with my stuff, ensuring that it was deep inside so as not to be noticed. But destiny had planned otherwise. My mother found the pencil box and took it away- without my knowledge.

The next morning as I sat into the car that was to take us to the railway station something bright red caught my attention. Gosh!! It was my pencil box, lying in the garbage bin. I quickly checked my bag (which had all my “precious” stuff and found the box missing. I tried to make a dash to the bin but was restrained by my mom. The car started moving and that was the last time I saw anything of the box – bidding it a loud, noisy, crying farewell.

That was way back in Kindergarten. I owned a lot of pencil boxes after that but always missed that one. If you ask even today, it saddens me to think about it – no riches of the world can bring back the dirty, cheap, non decrepit pencil box that was last seen over the garbage bin.

Of Ghosts, Shampoos and Washing Powders

It was a horrible night. The moment I closed my eyes I could see her crawling out of the TV towards me. If not that I could feel her slimy fingers on my legs…her long hair bristling the soles of my feet. Reason :I had watched the movie “The Ring”(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Ring_%282002_film%29) the same evening and even though I had known the plot since long – the scene where the ghost of Sadako crawls out of the television towards Ryuji had made me go cold and right now the entire scene was playing in my head...Again and again!!

To make the matters worse I was more scared of the crawling ghost than a "normal" standing/walking ghost.Humans have an inborn innate fear of the creepy crawlies since the monolithic age, as confirmed by scientists. Crawling usually signifies a reptile and the brain has evolved to see it as danger. Combine the fear of ghosts with that of reptiles and you have a blockbuster – or a scared woman. Look at it whatever way you want…

I tired several tactics to relax my nerves. I told them that ghosts aren’t for real. I told them that if nothing else the ghost will crawl out not today but a week after (as it happens in the movie). I tried to sleep with the lights on but that made me look towards the television every 10th second. I tried to sleep with the lights off lights but then my brain got the idea that it had to be doubly alert in the darkness. It was a losing situation – no matter what way I looked at it. I cursed myself for being stupid enough to think of myself as being brave enough to watch a horror movie. To engage my mind elsewhere, I switch on the TV and decide to watch something funny that will take my mind of the whole thing. After a while I do feel a bit ok so I turn the volume to mute and close my eyes. Somehow the brain thinks it as logical that Sadako will not turn up if the TV is tuned to a different programme. Amazing isn't that?

Anyways, behind closed eyes my brain was still evaluating all the times when I had watched horror movies and had been scared or had laughed them off. I remembered the the last time I had been so scared was while watching “Vaastu Shastra”(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vaastu_Shastra_%28film%29). Scenes from the movie start playing in my head one after the other. After a while I realize that I am no longer scared of Sadako and her crawling – it was the strange looking tree outside the window (which at that one moment in every likeness looked like the one in Vaastu Shastra) that I was holding my attention and fear. One ghost eclipsing the other...

And then suddenly I hear a sound- my body still taut with stress reacts immediately. My eyes turn to the television and believe it or not there she was, crawling out of the well and the TV...making straight towards me. So the legend was true- I had watched the movie without copying and hadn't recommended it to anyone thereby being cursed. I cant go towards the door because she was there between me and the door. I feel for my mobile phone, but can't find it. So I turn to the landline on the side table and what I saw made me into a statue. On the other side of the bed was the whole ghostly cast from Vaastu Shastra was there right by the window...staring at me!!

To say that I was horrified would be an understatement- I had no clue what to do.I was the battlefield and the prey and my imagination had no answer to what the "2 armies" would turn me into. But then even in that terrible moment a question nagged and tucked at the strings of logic. Why both of them here? And why at the same time? Was it planned or just plain bad luck to be doubly scared? Since both of them were staring at me it almost seemed that they were unaware of each other. Or was it possible that the Indian and Japanese ghosts don't see each other(just as normal humans don't see ghosts). How would they react once they saw one another?

For a split second I got more interested in what their reactions would be on seeing each other. Would they say “Hello, nice to see you here. I wasn’t expecting to see you” or would they continue to crawl/walk towards me unmindful of each other? Would they say “I reached here first – it’s my right to scare her to death” or would they just be nice and divide the “horror killing” between themselves? And how about the language barrier? Japanese versus Hindi ghosts…would the creepy Sadako get up and do that bowing ritual thats common in the Eastern countries while our own desi ones would reply with a polite Namaste?

I was drawn back to reality on hearing a snort from one of them (not sure which one)But then I realised that the snort was the end result of the 2 parties seeing each other- thereby confirming that it was my plain bad luck that the ghosts from 2 scary movies had chosen the same time to scare me. Looking at their faces I thought they looked horror struck themselves (if ghosts can be horror struck). Both stopped dead in their tracks eyeing each other. What were they waiting for? For me to do the introductions? "Hello everyone, great to see so many of you right here. This is Sadako, who stays in some well in Japan and Sadako this is Virat, this is Manish, that little girl, she is Jyoti....Hope u all have a bloody good time...make the most out of me...blah blah"?

Now that I had no doubt about the existence of Ghosts and because I had time before I died, I did what humans do when everything else fails. I turned to God...Hanumaan Chalisa came pouring out of my mouth as if my life depended on it...It did...or did'nt it? I wasn't sure

The effect was immediately apparent. The Vaastu Shastra family- they could not bear the sounds of the Chalisa and headed out of the window right away. But Sadako looked a bit confused (I could not see her face but the body language suggested that). I feel pity for her. First she had to face a whole team of ghosts where she had anticipated a frightened girl and then this...Poor thing. But I didnt dare to help her out. Thankfully Virat (Sushmita Sen’s husband in Vaastu Shastra) comes to her rescue(with his fingers firmly inside his ears- to block off the Hanuman Chalisa). He explains the whole situation to her and invites her for a cup of tea err blood on the tree top home before Sadako leaves to her well-home in faraway Japan. “Athithi devo bhava”.It was nice to see the traditions running prim and proper even on the other side of the grave. Both of them give me that dirty-ghost-just-wait-and-watch-look and move out. Thankfully.

I breathe again. I thank God for pulling me out and then praise myself inwardly for remembering the whole of Hanuman Chalisa. But what was this sound? My body tenses again but then I realise that its the ghosts outside my window...laughing and talking...as if they have met soulmates. For sure...only if they had any souls... I place the photograph of God on the window(so that they cannot enter the room again) and get back to bed. I can still hear them - my eyes refuse to shut with them around, right outside the window. They share their numbers and mail ids. No I didn’t note it for the brave hearts reading this out. They discuss “how-they-turned-into-ghost” stories in a mix of English and sign language. The lady ghosts also exchange “scary makeup” tips and gals from “Vaastu Shastra” take a special liking to Sadako’s long and dense hair asking her “kaun sa shampoo use karti ho” (What shampoo do you use?). Dove? Pantene? L’Oreal (because you are worth it-are Ghosts worth it?). She tells some gruesome mix of blood and frogs and cockroaches that she applies 7 days a week. Oh!! So the secret of long and dense hair is not shampoo but regular champi… “But champi ke liye time kahan?”, pipe out the Indians in unison(so they knew those ad lines as well..) This was certainly getting weirder every moment. They mumble among themselves that Sadako certainly has a lot of time – after all the bottom of a well can’t be interesting enough…

At this Sadako tells them that she has a proper routine to keep herself occupied. When asked as to what keeps her “so busy” at the bottom of the well she laments “You see, I have crawl out to my victims and that gets my clothes dirty. But then I cannot afford to keep my clothes unclean or of a color anything other than the brightest of the white shades – otherwise the effect on the victims will not be the same – particularly the victims whom I seek in the darkness in late evenings – they will not see me at all if not for my white clothes. I spend no less than 3 days each week cleaning up my dress for the next visit” I hear sympathetic oohs and aahs from the other party and each of them followed by the suggestions of Rin Supreme and Ariel and Vanish followed by a thumping approval made by Virat’s kaamvali in favour of Tide….

Chownk gai bhaiya? The thumping was so loud that I jump out of my skin. After all they are ghosts...and unpredictible. It was at that moment that my eyes open. So I had dozed off…Everything looks normal…noone’s around – not in my room, nor outside on the tree. It’s all quiet and I permit myself to smile on the weird dream that I had until all of a sudden my eyes fall on the TV. It’s open...how? My nerves stiffen again…but then I remember that it was me who had turned it on. One breath and I stiffen again because I don’t know whether it’s a chance or by design…the channel is Zee Café and its showing 13B(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/13B_%28film%29). My room number is 13….

Meeting Miss Maya

For a long time I thought that it was just Wordsworth’s “The Immortality Ode” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ode:_Intimations_of_Immortality) and songs of Enigma did that to me. But I was wrong – there are specific words, phases, sights and sounds that make me shiver on the hottest of the days.

Like the phase “distant woods”, like the smell of melting ice, like the distant sound of drums, like the sight of moonlight touching the craggy rock mountains. The effect is not the same if “distant forest” replaces distant woods, if the smell is of the running water, if the sound of the drums is an octave louder or if the moon lights up the forest trail. After all one may argue as to what is the difference between the smell of melting ice and of a clear running stream. If you ask the real me, my answer is I have no clue – I might even laugh away the question or say that there is no difference. But if you ask the other me, she wills say that the 2 smells are as different as that of over wet leaves and the parched earth that is receiving water after a long time.

I often ask “who is the other me?” Is she just a flight of fancy of an over imaginative mind or is she for real. I fail miserably to answer that as well but for all I can tell she is very much real if not tangible. So I ask her who is she? At times she tells me that she is the snake that slithers on the dark forest floor and at other times she is the wolf that walks in the jungles of the night. Those answers look funny and scary at the same point in time so I probe her further but she does not answer. So I ask her if she is a tree…she says no. A lion (ess) – no. A dog (which is a distant cousin of the wolf) – no. A river? – No. A bird? She pauses and then says maybe an eagle. I get scared. Why is “she” choosing out some of the most dangerous species? To this she answers – because I am wild – not someone whom everyone can tame.

Who-so-ever she is, I must say it’s a pleasure to meet her, to be with her and to be her. Those moments come suddenly once in a while all of a sudden. They come without notice and without a care of my location. The sights sounds and words mentioned above are the aphrodisiacs that fuel this journey to her but I can meet her even without those. At such moments my senses are sharpened intensely for a few million seconds. I begin to see the shapes and colors around – as if I have just been born from a blind, deaf and dumb world. Symmetry reveals itself and I am lost in the beauty of the objects of daily use – a pen, a toothbrush, the suitcase. If I try I can hear no less than 4 -5 different sounds. Atleast 3-4 of them are from nearby – of the traffic, of people talking at a distance and that of the radio being played but then there is another subtle distant note. That which is not of this world. The sound of the universe- the sound of silence. There are no sounds or word to explain that one. But this orgasmic feeling slips away so lightly and quickly as if it wasn’t there at all. I look at the water jug, the pen and the toothbrush but don’t see a thing – attempts to see them as they were a few seconds ago make me feel like a fool. But “she” leaves her testimony behind – for I feel immensely drained out and more often than not I have the strong urge to fill up pages. Real pages with real ink…the laptop and typing simply doesn’t fit in the scenario.

And then I stop wondering who she is. Because she is my life force –who is wild and uninhabitable beneath the fake and earthly human skin. The Aphrodite’s Echo. Maya. So infinite that when I don’t see her I assume her to be nothingness.