MARLEY’S GHOST AND RANA It was the winter of 1976. As was the practice, Ma and I would leave for D59/4A, via 81Up, after school closed for winter vacations. Those were the good old days when children could actually enjoy a ‘propah’ 4 week holiday during the chill. Sadly, with the change of curriculum and academic pressure, the winter holidays have been truncated to a paltry few days in most parts of India. I met a family the other day, their son who is all of 11, has been enrolled into a private coaching programme which will prepare him for admissions into a renowned technical institute when he is 18. Happily, these terrible practices of today are far removed from the carefree happy times of childhood that are the focus of this book. One of the books that we had experienced during our academic year in 1976 was the famous novella “A Christmas Carol”. While the deep understanding of the Dickensian tragicomedy was beyond my 11 year maturity, the ghost of Jacob Marley did leave an indelible impression. One painful, nerve shattering ordeal that I had to endure annually at around this time of the year was a particular phone call that my Dad would make from Calcutta. You see, my school would close for the holidays around the 7th. Of December and we would reach Varanasi by the 12th or so. The promotion results would be announced around the 19th. Of December. Dad would go to my school, collect my Progress Report Card and find out if I had been promoted to the next standard. He would call up and convey the results late on a winter evening. Thus, the happiness/enjoyment levels after reaching D59/4A progressed from moderate to heavy in the first week. Declining to satisfactory to poor and then on to the nadir of “I won’t make it this time, I know I will fail and repeat a year” as the 19th approached. Repulsive thoughts of repeating a standard with kids, who were a year junior to me, reviled my mind and yet I knew that I was doomed to do so. If only I had studied a bit harder, I would have remembered the Unitary Method or the chronological sequence of the Harappa civilisation. The correct definition of ‘Horse Latitudes’ could have gained me a precious few marks and prevented my destined failure. All these hopeless thoughts, like Dementors, sapped all feelings of happiness and left me a nervous wreck by the 18th. I don’t remember, but even the Chaat Wallah’s quotidian 5pm ‘Thong Thong Thong’, probably fell to my deaf ears that day. No appetite, no happiness, no excitement – as good as dead. Then at around 7pm, the raucous jangling of the phone would shatter the silence. Boro Mama would pick it up and exchange pleasantries with Dad. They would discuss the weather as I eavesdropped from behind a curtain and Ma shuffled off in rapid paces to speak with Dad. Within the first minute, she would ask, “So how has he done?”, I couldn’t hear the longish reply, but the next thing that my Mother said was ELECTRIFYING! “OK, so he’s passed, but could have done much better.” ELECTRIFYING! I had PASSED, I had PASSED, I PASSED, I PASSED!!!!!!!!!!! The blood rushed back, the appetite returned, Varanasi was the most beautiful place on earth, the dinner being cooked smelt heavenly, Ma’s advice of “You will have to study harder next year” went unheeded amidst the haze of euphoria. Damn ‘studies next year’ could wait – I was in the middle of my winter vacations at D59/4A. The FUN had just started and now I was unbridled. Catch me if you can......................Marley’s ghost was making a comeback – a strong comeback. Rana, my cousin, would arrive at Varanasi a couple of weeks after we reached and would be accompanied by both his parents. That is when I would miss my Dad a lot. Anyway, after his arrival, we would get together and partake in many activities around the rambling premises, some that were entirely for our private entertainment and others that inevitably drew public comments and chastisement. We discovered a stash of green glass bottles in one of the forgotten rooms of the mansion. They were grimy and dirty. However, once washed they gleamed in the most emerald like hue. Ennui inspired us to device a new game involving these glass bottles. Each of us would take a bottle and set off in opposite directions. The aim was to fill the bottle with as many ingredients that we could lay our hands on in a limited span of time. From twigs to pebbles to mud and rusted steel ball bearings – everything was part of the game. At the end of the appointed time span, we would meet back where we had started off from, shake the bottles and challenge the other to name the ingredients of the murky swill within. The one who got the most correct won the round. The loser was destined to be locked up inside a dirty linen box kept on the verandah of the house between Dida’s provisions room and the Prayer/Puja room. The box was about 5 feet high and made out of net on a wooden frame work. Though no one could suffocate within, we must have made a piteous site for the rest of the family as we sat quietly inside amidst a pile of soiled bed linen, patiently waiting for the victor to decide that ‘Enough was enough’ and release us from captivity. As soon as this good sense of chivalry prevailed, it was back to business with a different escapade. This game of “Tell me what is within” kept us occupied for a couple of years till we outgrew its childlike innocence. The fear of the supernatural is present in a large majority of people. Amongst children, this fear coupled with the fear of ghosts and demons (enforced by parental conditioning) can be very strong. However, after having read Frankenstein by Mary Shelley and having spent several sleepless, terrified nights – ghosts didn’t mean anything to me. Not so with Rana. He was mortified of spirits and ghosts. The mere mention of ‘Ghost’ would cause him to turn pale. Poor chap, in the winter of 1976, the ghost of Jacob Marley was waiting for him at D59/4A. There must have been some incident of one-upmanship that warranted the revenge that I am about to recant, something that he had said or done or was it something that he showed off? I don’t remember the details and neither do my accomplices Papu’da and Rini’di. All that I do remember is that Rana had to be scared. Scared stiff! Papu’da’s family possessed a pedestal fan. During the winter months, it was carefully covered and protected with a heavy black cover made out of black canvas. This cover was tall enough to cover me completely. Papu’da had read somewhere that ghosts often rattled chains, so he procured a pair of chain links. Rini’di’s job was to lure Rana into the room where I waited clad in the canvas cover. At the cue of, “Look, what is that?” I was to stand up and groan in the most nasal ghostly manner and rattle the chains and start walking forward. I remember it was an afternoon, as Papu’da took a lot of effort in killing all the light that filtered in by shutting the windows and masking the skylights. I draped the cover of the pedestal fan, chain in each hand, and sat down on my knees to await Rana’s arrival, Rini’di went out in the courtyard and yelled, “Rana come down and see this. Papu’da has something that you must see.” After what seemed like agonising hours, I heard shuffling footsteps. Rana said, “Why is it so dark in here?” Papu’da replied, “ This magic can only be seen in the dark”, Rini’di chimed in,”Oh my God, look what is that?” Cue. Action. I straightened, stood up, groaned, rattled the chains and started walking. Being covered in the shroud, I was totally blind and couldn’t see a thing, yet I kept walking, groaning and clanking. Suddenly an entirely new set of sounds overwhelmed my sightless senses. A sustained groan, Rini’di’s exclamation, Papu’da’s expletives, multiple scurrying feet. I recklessly blew my cover and divested myself of the pedestal fan cover. The sight that met my eyes is ingrained in my ears after all these years. Rini’di was trying to revive Rana who was about to faint on the landing of the staircase leading to the first floor. Papu’da had grabbed a long bolster (kol baalish) from his bed and was trying to convince Rana that he had just seen the bolster fall off the bed and had been scared for no reason. Seeing the ghostly white bolster shoved near his face, Rana fainted. Upstairs had woken up in the meantime. Rana’s mother rushed down, followed by his Dad. Papu’da tried to run away but was spotted. Rini’di didn’t try to run and was implicated. I was apprehended ‘in flagrante de licto’ with the chains and the canvas cover of the USHA fan. Once upstairs, Rana revived and spilled the beans, the rest of us were chastised and reprimanded. Severely. I spoke with Papu’da, a few days ago, he too remembers the ‘ghostly’ incident with devious delight after 38 years!
Posted on: Fri, 26 Dec 2014 19:10:39 +0000
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