Paranormal in the Family

Based on true incidents, with minor dramatization

In the heart of the city, on a street most people would be envious to live on, was this majestic five storied apartment building. I was maybe six years old when my uncle moved in there with his family. The building had no elevator and they lived on the highest floor with (what felt like) innumerable steep stairs that would eventually take you to the top. In spite of so many years having gone by, I clearly remember the first time I was in that enormous apartment with incredibly high ceilings, extra large bedrooms and a living-dining area that could, in most cities, comfortably house a small family. The best part however, was the terrace that one could access from the living room and get a view of the bustling, populous city.

That was then. The years had not been kind - the stagnating economy had given the city a tired look and the once-envied building was now frayed, neglected, badly in need of a paint job. The chandeliers, that once adorned the stairwell, had now been replaced with dimly lit light bulbs. As opposed to running up the steep stairs when I was six, I was now climbing them, one step at a time. Once inside, the place looked exactly the way I remembered it. The furniture, the artifacts, the rugs, light-fittings, once shiny new, now badly in need of being updated, polished or replaced. In spite of everything being clean, it felt that there was a layer of dust that could never be wiped away. 

It had been a few years since my uncle had passed away and my aunt, after a prolonged illness, had also died recently. I was sitting across from my two cousins, both of who were still living in the apartment. While they are both quite a bit older than I am, our conversations would not give away the difference in our ages. We talked about happy times, the lavish parties that were once a part of that household, the festivals we would celebrate together and the warmth shared by the families. We remembered the past, my dad and their parents who were no more, recalling incidents about them that would make us smile and get teary-eyed at the same time. 

“Much after she passed away, her spirit continued to stay with us,” said the younger of my two cousins abruptly, referring to her mother. 

For a minute there was complete silence. I didn’t know how to respond to what she had just said. Instead I just looked toward them questioningly, waiting for more, but choosing not to ask in words. 

The older one broke the silence. Facing her sister she said, “She took care of our mother night and day, relentlessly, without complaining for a moment. It was very hard for her when she passed away.”

“But what did you mean by her spirit still being with you after she died?” I asked, not wanting to let this go. 

“Initially I thought it was my imagination that I could see an apparition of her and could feel her presence in the house. But it wasn’t. She really was here.”

“How can you say that with such certainty?” 

“Her hand-prints would be around the house. We’d wipe them off and they would come back.”

“I can vouch for that. It wasn’t her imagination,” said the older sister. 

“And so many times,” continued the younger one,”I would see her walking across the hallway, catching the end of her saree as she would vanish.”

“Were you spooked?” I had to ask. 

She laughed. “Not at all. Why would I be spooked with my mother’s presence?”

I was a little spooked and intrigued. I’ve always wanted to see the dead. 

“Do you still see her?” I asked, hoping that I too would get lucky. 

“She was basically here because she was worried about me,” said the younger sister. “We spoke to a priest and he suggested that we have a special prayer service and more importantly, I had to stop grieving for her. It was my grief that was holding her back.”

“I didn’t want her to have to go through any more pain on my account,” she continued. “It was hard but I had to let her go.”

“And you haven’t felt her presence since?” I asked once again, almost as if I needed to confirm. 

“Her last set of hand-prints faded away on their own. That’s when I knew that she had left and was at peace.”

We didn’t speak for a while, each of us lost in our thoughts and probably in the past. One of the sisters decided to make tea, the other one brought out my favorite treats and we moved to the dining table, catching up on each others lives. 

As I got up to leave with promises that I would come see them again before I left the city, I looked at both sisters and found my aunt looking back at me through their eyes. It was then I realized that I didn’t need to see her apparition or hand-prints - she would always be around as a part of her daughters. 

Finding La-La Land

“And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make” - The Beatles

In my dream last night I was at the doctor’s office. I had gone there to pick up some test results and was told that I had 6 weeks to live. When the physician broke the news to me, I had around me, a few members from my family, a couple of  my co-workers from Chicago, who I am not even in touch with and Leonardo DiCaprio. 

Somewhere in my sub-conscience, I knew that this was a dream and I wanted to wake up, but wasn’t able to. When I finally did open my eyes, I didn’t necessarily feel a sense of relief about the death sentence not being real. Instead I began to think about my life, as it stands today and how I would change it if I knew that the end was near. 

Last month I discontinued my subscription to the newspaper. The reason being that I no longer wanted to begin my day reading about dirty politicians, accidents, lost planes, murders, rapes, global warming, etc. Maybe if they come up with a publication that has stories about the good instead of the bad, a ‘Good News’ paper, I would want to have it in my home.

From my Facebook newsfeed, I’ve hidden the friends that spread gloom through their postings. Or try to influence me with their political or other viewpoints. Believe it or don’t, but I do happen to have a mind of my own. As far as I’m concerned if you’re not using Facebook for entertainment purposes, then sooner or later you will go from being hidden to being unfriended. 

In the real world, I’ve distanced myself from several people that were once a part of my life. Those obsessed with money, those who have the rich as role models, those who don’t bring anything positive into my life, people who take me for granted, who have trouble laughing, who are narrow minded or close minded, who are living in a time warp, whiners, fake people, fanatics, cynics, know-it-alls, glass-is-always-half-empty types etc. Been nice for too long, I now need to be free from the likes of such. It’s a miracle that I still have friends!

I used to be but have now stopped being concerned about who likes me and who doesn’t. I try to be a good person, try not to hurt anyone, try not to get angry, not be judgmental, spiteful, but sometimes I screw up. The day I achieve Nirvana I will stop (screwing up). Until then, feel free to not like me. 

I’ve become a lot less dependent on people. If I want to watch a movie, I don’t think twice about walking over to the theater by myself. If I’m in the mood for a slice of banoffee pie at a local cafe, I have no trouble enjoying every bite of it at a table by myself. I’ve stopped consulting anyone and make my own decisions, even if they happen to be wrong. I’ve made peace with squabbles within the family and between friends. Get along, don’t get along, it’s your life and not mine. 

I spend my time doing the things I love, travel being on the top of my list. I am at my happiest when I travel to a new place or to a beautiful place or to a place that has special memories. I sleep guilt-free as much as I want. I eat the foods I love, I entertain at home, my workouts give me positive energy as well as some time to hang out with my gym buddies, I recently began meditating, I constantly meet new people and then there are times when I shut everyone out and just enjoy being by myself to read and write and sing and watch television.

So after lounging around in bed for quite a while and after much introspection, I came to the conclusion if I had 6 weeks to live I would squeeze in a couple of trips, eat all the foods I love, have a big farewell party and hang out with people that make me laugh. So pretty much continue to live the way that I do now. I’ve found my la-la land and am constantly discovering that it’s a great place to be in. 

I’m not in the least bit concerned about my morning dream coming true but I seriously wish I could figure out what the heck DiCaprio was doing in it.

The day my friend almost gave birth in my apartment

The beautiful mother-daughter pair

I remember it being an unseasonably warm Friday in November. It was the day of the week when I worked from home and didn’t have to worry about getting out of my pajamas. Quite obviously, this incident is from a few years ago when I was a corporate slave in New York City. 

My morning had just begun. I had turned on my laptop, responded to a couple of emails so it would look like I was working and was in the process of figuring out what I was going to eat for breakfast, when the phone rang. It was Aparna. 

“Hey,” she said. “Can I come over and hang out at your place for a while?”

An unusual request for a Friday morning. Fortunately, being a dear friend, I could ask her why. 

“My contractions have started,” she responded. 

So you’ve obviously figured out that Aparna was incredibly pregnant. 

And what good would I be in this situation?

“My doc wants me to come to the hospital only when the contractions are about 5 minutes apart,” she continued.

Suddenly I had lost my appetite for breakfast. 

I should probably give you a little background about why my apartment was a good place for her to hang out at, while she waited for her contractions to be more frequent. Aparna lived in Hoboken, New Jersey  while her hospital was in Manhattan, a 10 minute taxi ride from where I lived. 

A short while later I buzzed her in and she made herself comfortable on my futon.

“Carry on with whatever it is that you were doing,” she said. “Just pretend that I’m not here.”

Ha! In addition to pretending to work, I was now going to pretend that there wasn’t a woman about to give birth in my living room. Piece of cake! I sat down at the dining table, staring at my laptop, worrying about the ‘what if” scenario. 

What if she actually had the baby in my apartment? I had seen some movies and knew that I would need blankets and warm water. Except I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with them. Was I going to have to get rid of my almost new futon mattress if the baby was born here?

“How far apart are your contractions now?”, I asked.

“I’d say about 10 minutes,” she replied, seeming remarkably cool about the entire situation. 

“Don’t you think you should call Ankur?” 

The husband, who should be by your side. 

“He had a really important meeting today,” she responded dismissively, as she began leafing through the New Yorker. 

Was it stress or was it getting really warm? I cracked open a window. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked turning towards her. 

Her face was completely scrunched up and she was holding her stomach. 

“Ow” is all she said, while I looked at my watch to begin timing the contractions for myself.

The television went on. There was no sense in even trying to pretend to work. I began loudly chopping crunchy vegetables. May as well make lunch, I thought

“You’re freaking me out,” she said. “Sit down and relax.”

Words that I thought I should be saying to her.

Seven minutes later the face scrunched up again. Once the pain had passed, I decided that I now had to take matters into my own hands. 

“I’m calling Ankur even if you aren’t” I said sternly. 

She gave me an exasperated look and began dialing his number. It went to voice mail and she began leaving him a message.

“Ratan’s insisting that I let you know that the contractions are about 7 minutes apart. And that maybe you should come over. But I really don’t think there’s a need for you to rush.”

‘Maybe you should come over?’, ‘No need to rush?’. What kind of a message is that to leave for an expectant father from an expectant mother who is very close to having a baby? And what's the deal with the father who lets his wife's call go to voice mail at a time like this?

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” she said hanging up.

Except that I wasn’t so sure. It was time to change into my street clothes and prepare to take her to the hospital myself. I was pretty sure that the baby was rolling her eyes wondering when her parents would understand the urgency of the situation. 

The contractions were now 6 minutes apart. Or maybe I had mistimed them and it was really 5 minutes. 

“Okay,” I said commandingly. “Let’s go jump into a cab.”

Funny picture - a 9 month pregnant woman ‘jumping’ into a cab. 

As she began slowly lifting herself up, the phone rang.

Saved by the bell.

It was the husband. He was downstairs. 

“Grab my stuff,” she said. 

“Gladly!” I replied, ecstatic to see her leave!

So it turns out that there was no need for me to panic. Aparna went through a pretty long labor and little Mira didn't make an entrance into the world until 2 am. I dropped by the hospital to see her the next evening and Aparna, Ankur and I had a good laugh.

“I wish you could have seen your face,” Aparna said looking at me. “Can't believe I didn't think of taking a picture!”

Wasn’t funny then but yeah, it was funny now.

His Name is Khan

I was standing outside the taxi with my luggage but there was no sign of the driver. Calling his number a couple of times had proven to be futile, so I just stood there, waiting for him to appear eventually. It was probably a minute later, though it seemed longer, when I saw a man in a red shirt, running towards me. He had a big grin on his face.

“Sorry sir, I thought you would be a few minutes and decided to get some tea.”

On closer inspection, he seemed more like a boy than a man. His smile had a mix of both innocence and mischief and whatever irritation had accumulated inside me, vanished. 

Once we were on our way he apologized again.

“I haven’t had a chance to eat lunch today - it’s been really busy.”

It was a few minutes past 4 pm. I asked him to stop at Fanoos on the way, where he could pick himself up a kaati roll. He nodded his head and said that he would take a break after dropping me off. No amount of insisting on my part could get him to change his mind. 

“Arrey saab, this is a daily routine. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have a nice meal in peace,” he said. 

It broke my heart when he said that. As we kept talking, I got to know that he was 24 years old, had a son who was born 8 months ago and was the only earning member in the family that included his parents and two younger sisters, who he had to marry off. He told me that his name was Mabrouk. 

“But you can call me Khan,” he said laughingly.

I could see Khan’s face in the rear view mirror and not for a moment while we were talking did he stop smiling. He began asking questions about me but I was embarrassed to tell him about my indulgent lifestyle, where I did not feel the need to work and worse still was on my way to New York for a 6 week holiday. It made me feel horribly guilty. While not being unaware that most people have to work really hard to make ends up, hearing about it first hand from an individual who didn’t seem outwardly unhappy, was especially hard. 

Overly burdened from a very young age, Khan began driving a tempo truck illegally at the age of fourteen. An age when all I had to worry about was homework. When he was seventeen his father lost a limb in an accident and couldn’t go to work any longer. His sisters were taken out of school because they couldn’t afford the fees. I would have got really depressed if he wasn’t so nonchalant about it and if the smile had left his face. 

“It’s all kismat,” he said looking towards the Heavens. “I didn’t want to get married as it would mean even more responsibilities, but my parents would not hear of it.”

“They are also right,” he continued. “After all the family name has to continue.”

“What if you were not able to have a son?” I asked.

He laughed and said “Uski ab fikar nahin, beta to paida kar liya (I don’t need to worry about it, now that I have a son)”.

I wish I had taken a picture of Mabrouk. He had the warmest and most honest smile I had seen in a while. As he helped me unload the luggage, I felt almost sorry that we had reached the airport so quickly. He had told me so much about himself including the fun he used to have with his friends and how he looks forward to Eid, which is one of the rare times that he takes the day off and has a celebratory meal. By the end of the cab ride, I didn’t feel like Mabrouk was a stranger or just an individual who had driven me to the airport in his taxi. I opened up my arms and gave him a hug. I also gave him a large tip.

“Go have an indulgent meal now,” I said, pretending to scold him.  

I could see that he was fighting back tears. We exchanged numbers and I made him promise that he wouldn’t forget me.

As I began walking towards the check-in counter, looking at the crowd, filling out forms, going through security and waiting to board my flight, my mind moved on to so many other things. By the time I was in the plane, I had pretty much forgotten about Khan. 

                                                                         ****

Two days ago on Saturday I got a call from a name that I didn’t recognize. But as soon as I heard his voice, I knew. 

“Sir, I’m outside your building,” he said in his usual lively manner. “Chai pilaoge (can I drop by for chai)?”

Once again he hadn't had lunch so I made him a plate with whatever I could find in the refrigerator. And once again it slipped my mind to take his picture. 

It's Just Another Year

Over the past few days I’ve had a number of people ask me about my plans for December 31st. The fact that I have no plans, have not made any attempts to make plans and nobody (well ... almost nobody) has asked me to be a part of their plans, would have bothered me until a couple of years ago. I would be going around feeling sorry for myself and feeling that I am unloved and unwanted.

Not today though. Completely ‘socialized’ out, I am in the alone zone. Reading, sleeping, catching up on television and movies, as much as I love being with people, I also love being with myself. Not having to make conversation, not having to listen to people around me, the silence as a change can be so refreshing and so golden.

It’s been an incredible year for me, mostly because I managed to travel a fair amount. To places that I hadn’t been to before. To places that I’ve previously lived in and continue to love. Re-establishing connections with people I’m related to and am friends with. It really was a good travel year covering beaches (Goa), deserts (Rajasthan), my favorite city (New York), mountains (Uttarakhand) and the city I was the most skeptical about and loved more than I could ever imagine, Varanasi. 

Somewhere along the year I became indifferent to the kind of food that is considered cool. Pretentious ingredients (edible flowers to name just one), imported ingredients (eat fresh, eat local), restaurants with more glitz and less taste, the words ‘foodie’ and ‘fine dining’ and a previously loved television show, left a sour taste in my mouth. 

The more I came across people obsessed with money, the less I loved it (and them). Don’t get me wrong - I like having the money I do because it allows me to live the life that I have. I hope in 2014 my finances allow me to do the things that I did in 2013. I have no aspirations of staying in star hotels and flying first class (I would love to fly first class - who wouldn’t? But at what cost?). Budget hotels, economy class and home stays are fantastic. 

I read this morning that Michael Schumacher at the age of 44 is fighting for his life from a skiing accident. With severe brain injuries, the man that supposedly has ‘everything’ may end up having nothing going forward, even if he does get to live. Our lives can change in the blink of an eye. We must make the most of what we have right now. 

What am I looking forward to in 2014? Pretty much what I am always looking forward to. Being healthy. Warmth from my family and friends. Peace. Lots of travel. Delicious comfort food. Hopefully it isn’t asking for too much.

I’m going to end my year just like I would end any other day. Because all I want to have tomorrow is what I have today. 

I hope all of you also get to have what you want in the new year. Happy 2014!

Dial-an-Escort

While I’m perfectly content with the life that I have, sometimes I get these brilliant ideas for a career that I could possibly enjoy. The most recent one being that of offering myself as an escort. Now before you start visualizing sexual favors for money, let me tell you that this escort service is of another kind. So let me start from the beginning. 

Most of you that have met me are aware that not only am I a pretty face, I am also intelligent, interesting, charming and crazy witty. A complete package and exactly the kind of person you’d like to have sitting across from you at a nice restaurant. The thing that could improve your average dining experience by leaps and bounds, would be some arm candy/a trophy friend, enticing conversation and loads of laughs. In other words - me. 

Are you so bored with your life that watching the grass grow seems like a fun activity? When was the last time you laughed so hard, you not only snorted but almost peed in your pants? Do you worry too much about what ‘other people might think’ resulting in never acting incredibly silly? I’m here to save the day and make you laugh so much that your jaws will hurt. And if you are the ‘peeing in your pants’ kind, I’ll even provide you with an adult diaper. 

Are you going through a difficult phase in your life? Does work suck more than usual? Is your married life so dull that you can’t even remember why you guys got together in the first place? Don’t despair - instead of an evening of fun and laughter, I also offer counseling services. Trust me, I can dish out that ‘feel good’ crap as well as the next loony psychiatrist. God knows I do enough of it already. A list of references can be furnished from across the world. 

On the other hand, if you’re simply looking for a mature and sophisticated man to have a nice meal with, I can be that guy too. Although this would be at a slightly higher cost. ‘Immature’ and ‘unsophisticated’ is what I do best. 

And finally, in the mood for some role playing? Get creative and let’s discuss.

Some rules:

The first rule of the escort service is that you do not talk about the escort service. What happens between the client and me stays between the client and me. You get the gist. 

Alcohol is important at these sessions. With each drink I have, I get funnier/smarter.     With each drink that you have, you will find me funnier and turn stupider. 

Chauffeur service, wining-dining expenses will be completely borne by the client. 

The amount I charge will be at my discretion. If you’re rich, you pay me loads of money. 

If you’re not rich, call me once you’ve saved a significant sum.

Examples of topics that will under no circumstances be discussed: Software/IT/anything related  to technology, Finance/Investments/Money Matters (except for the amount you owe me). For a full list, email me. 

No credit cards, no cheques - cash only. In advance. 

No refunds. 

I have the complete right of refusal with no obligation to offer a reason (body odor, lack of a sense of humor, payment in loose change are only some of the possible reasons).

Rules may be added/changed at my discretion.

So what are you waiting for? Is this not the answer to all your prayers? Call me now at 1-800-RATMAN for an evening so enticing, you will wish you could afford to have me all the time. 

Please feel free to share this post. Referrals earn a healthy 10 percent. 

A Killer Script

He was of below average stature, small-framed with long hair, an unkempt beard and introduced himself to the class as a Yoga teacher. The thing I remember about him most vividly is that he usually wore a black T-Shirt (not in this picture though) and was the only one with a Macbook Pro for taking notes, while the rest of us used old fashioned notepads. Other than that he made absolutely no impression on me - I’m not sure if we exchanged any words at all during the course of the week. Even if we did, they must have been inconsequential. 

It was an interesting mix of students. There was the young doodler with remarkable talent who I always shared a desk with and had long discussions about films. There was the writer for documentaries who I never got to know very well during class but became close friends with later. The playback singer for Tamil films who moved to New York and with whom I attended a Martin Scorsese workshop. The model-looking engineer/MBA graduate, unhappy with corporate life, happiest as a drummer. The engineering student, the home-maker, the IT professional etc.

Oh and let me not forget, the murderer. 

During the course of the next few years some of these students joined film school, began working in television, quit their corporate jobs to make independent films, joined a band, while others continued with their lives as usual. And then there was one who decided to murder his girlfriend and stuff her body into a freezer. Who would have thought that we had a future killer in our midst, learning the technicalities of script writing?

From the introduction you may have figured out that it was the Yoga teacher. An individual you would expect to associate with serenity, calmness, spiritualism turned out to be the one to strike his girlfriend with an iron rod, attempt to hack her into pieces, stuff her into a freezer and continue to live with the body in his home for 18 days along with his wife (yes there was also a wife in the same apartment!) after the deed was done. Either the guy was remarkably smart or his wife, despicably stupid. 

How does a fight between two individuals end up with one of them dead? I get the screaming, shouting, throwing stuff at each other, hitting, slapping, crying. But killing? On the anger-meter how angry does one have to get to be able to justify to himself during that split second that its okay to take a life? And then the seeming lack of remorse. The fact that he didn’t turn himself in to the authorities and hoped to go about his life as usual seems fairly mind blowing. 

‘The Following’ a television show about a cult of killers is not only squeamish and creepy, it is disturbing on so many levels. The cult seems to be made up of people you and I would meet in our daily lives. It’s a show I avoid watching last thing at night because it gives me nightmares. Such people must exist. You know what they say about truth being stranger than fiction.

And while crime shows are my favorite genre on television (not because I love to watch people die, but because I like to use my detective skills to solve the case!), I had never really thought that a nondescript man sitting at the desk in front of me would make headlines for all the wrong reasons. 

Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? The next time you’re at a conference or a party, interacting with people you’ve never met before, be aware that there may be a murderer in your midst. Hopefully it isn’t you that’s the target.

And hopefully you're also not the perpetrator.