I was wondering what to publish my next post about, when my friend interrupted my thought and asked if I saw the snap of the ghost of a dead Patriot soldier captured by a group of students. I said not, and he then, proceeded to give me a lengthy discourse about ghosts and their deeds. At that point of time, I figured out what my next post would be about.
As a child, I had a daily routine of tasks to do. One of those tasks was to water the plants. And, thanks to some article my mom read about the respiration of plants, I had to do it only in the night. So, there I was, with bucket and mug, in my then petite hands, and ready to get wet. Initially, I was raring to go, for I loved getting wet. They say, time teaches best and so it did.
The potted plants were on the rear portion of the second floor and to make matters worse, it wasn't lighted amply enough. On the first few days, I did not give a thought to ghosts.
I only worried about my mom giving me an earful for needlessly getting wet when only the plants were supposed to. I only worried about if neighbors would complain to my mom about the water I splashed on their walls every night. I only worried about the beating I could get from my grand father for raining water from all the way up, on his partly-bald pate. But I did not worry about ghosts.
Then, it happened. I know not till today, just who that wise person was - the one who brought the Evil Dead tape over. Like a dork, a rather stupid one at that, I watched it, jaws and eyes - alike, wide open. And suddenly, I was worried about ghosts. In fact, my neighbors and grand father seemed like angels now.
Ghosts were everywhere. They rested under my bed (I got to know later that they never rest!). They fielded the ball when I played a shot (What else could explain the ball not making it to the boundary?!). They made some noise or the other in my closet (Nah, not cockroaches!!). Scribbles used to appear out of nowhere in my note books (They forged my teacher's signature too!). They gave me crank calls (My friends denied giving me any!). I did not reveal to anybody, though, about my fright for ghosts (and anything white and mobile!). After all, I was a kid then, and rather 'brave'!
I loved watering plants no longer. I dreaded night-fall. As the day went by, my face would start paling into a then similar shade of white! I confided in no one. But the cat had to overgrow the bag and spring out some time! (And when it did, it had metamorphosed into a tiger!)
On one such dreary night, I was watering the plants, when I heard some noises. What could have obviously happened next? I ran for my dear life! Two steps away from the door I tripped over an empty bottle (I still say it is a ghost!) and thinking it to be Mr. You-Know-Who, I screamed my lungs out - "Mummy...Bhootam!" (Mom says I repeated the same phrase for almost two minutes!!!). And the rest, as they say at my place, is history.
My fear was out in the open. Every body had a good (nah, raucous would be the word!) laugh over it. Mom gave me a big hug and agreed to accompany me while I watered the plants. Even today, she beams her my-son-was-so-daft smile whenever a horror movie screens on air!!!
As for me, I think I have gotten over my fear of ghosts. They no longer torment me as they used to. Though, for the record, I would have loved becoming somebody like Cole in The Sixth Sense!
So, all is well. I haven't given the ghost up over ghosts! Just not yet.
PS - 'Bhootam' is Telugu for ghost. :)
As a child, I had a daily routine of tasks to do. One of those tasks was to water the plants. And, thanks to some article my mom read about the respiration of plants, I had to do it only in the night. So, there I was, with bucket and mug, in my then petite hands, and ready to get wet. Initially, I was raring to go, for I loved getting wet. They say, time teaches best and so it did.
The potted plants were on the rear portion of the second floor and to make matters worse, it wasn't lighted amply enough. On the first few days, I did not give a thought to ghosts.
I only worried about my mom giving me an earful for needlessly getting wet when only the plants were supposed to. I only worried about if neighbors would complain to my mom about the water I splashed on their walls every night. I only worried about the beating I could get from my grand father for raining water from all the way up, on his partly-bald pate. But I did not worry about ghosts.
Then, it happened. I know not till today, just who that wise person was - the one who brought the Evil Dead tape over. Like a dork, a rather stupid one at that, I watched it, jaws and eyes - alike, wide open. And suddenly, I was worried about ghosts. In fact, my neighbors and grand father seemed like angels now.
Ghosts were everywhere. They rested under my bed (I got to know later that they never rest!). They fielded the ball when I played a shot (What else could explain the ball not making it to the boundary?!). They made some noise or the other in my closet (Nah, not cockroaches!!). Scribbles used to appear out of nowhere in my note books (They forged my teacher's signature too!). They gave me crank calls (My friends denied giving me any!). I did not reveal to anybody, though, about my fright for ghosts (and anything white and mobile!). After all, I was a kid then, and rather 'brave'!
I loved watering plants no longer. I dreaded night-fall. As the day went by, my face would start paling into a then similar shade of white! I confided in no one. But the cat had to overgrow the bag and spring out some time! (And when it did, it had metamorphosed into a tiger!)
On one such dreary night, I was watering the plants, when I heard some noises. What could have obviously happened next? I ran for my dear life! Two steps away from the door I tripped over an empty bottle (I still say it is a ghost!) and thinking it to be Mr. You-Know-Who, I screamed my lungs out - "Mummy...Bhootam!" (Mom says I repeated the same phrase for almost two minutes!!!). And the rest, as they say at my place, is history.
My fear was out in the open. Every body had a good (nah, raucous would be the word!) laugh over it. Mom gave me a big hug and agreed to accompany me while I watered the plants. Even today, she beams her my-son-was-so-daft smile whenever a horror movie screens on air!!!
As for me, I think I have gotten over my fear of ghosts. They no longer torment me as they used to. Though, for the record, I would have loved becoming somebody like Cole in The Sixth Sense!
So, all is well. I haven't given the ghost up over ghosts! Just not yet.
PS - 'Bhootam' is Telugu for ghost. :)
