I Too Had a Ghost Story
By: Angel Das
Tags: Life Lessons, Life, Love, Fiction, Short Story

Nature has its way of mesmerizing people around. Sometimes it beautifies the inherent soul and sometimes it enhances the spirit from within. It was during my childhood when life was boring and counting stars was the only option I had, before I could complete my mathematics and science homework. Well, the point is, life is beautiful and sometimes unexpected happenings make it more interesting. “People say silences have secrets, but that day I got to know that secrets have silences as well”.

It was during my second trip to Dehradun when I met Ana, a lovely young lady in her mid-20s. Located near the Himalayan foothills, Dehradun a small happy go lucky city forms the heart of Uttarakhand. At its core is the 6-sided Ghanta Ghar clock tower, a popular tourist destination. To the southwest is Paltan Bazaar (Market), a busy shopping area. Just east is the Sikh temple Gurdwara Nanaksar and legend has it that Guru Dronacharaya, a Brahmin teacher of warfare, considered Dehradun a place fit for meditation & worship and therefore, the valley of Doon was christened Drona Ashram, which means “The Abode of Drona”.

Due to its location in the hilly part of the state, the climate of Dehradun is salubrious. I was happy and excited to get a break from my studies, however, spending a week in Dehradun with the snowfall punching my back was not something I would have preferred. We were supposed to stay at Mr. Joshi’s farmhouse, 4 km from the Dehradun railway station. I was in class 11 and my holidays were on their way when my dad decided to pay a visit to his old friend.

Snow blew over the train in a vertical and horizontal blur. There was a momentary hint of the blue sky but this small bit of light was not enough to release a flash of the spark that would lit up the entire hills and terrains. The cold was matured enough to express its happiness on seeing us, at the same time warning us of the frailties that lie ahead. As the sunlight kissed the snow, the love and warmth, generated, caused it to melt, just like an ode in the middle of a play. It was a fairy tale world, childlike and funny. Amid such a pacific beautification my story started.

It was Sunday. The weather was perfect for a long walk. Moreover baffled by family traditions and unnecessary laughter that happened every time, both the family decided to discuss things happening in their own life, I decided to take a break. Dehradun is well known for its craving for art and Platan Bazar had a local art gallery that was hosting its 21st annual painting exhibition. The exhibition didn’t have much significance of its own, but it proved to be the social gathering for the upper-middle-class localites, who won’t waste a single moment to flaunt their costly attires while expressing their so-called undaunted love for painting.

It was 3 kilometers from Mr. Joshi’s farmhouse, so without thinking much, I took my bicycle, and started my journey. Being a painter myself, I knew, the day wouldn’t be wasted and over I was hoping to get a good solid breathe. The red and gold leaves did manage to cast its spell on me, making me wonder what life is. As the sunlight beautified the melting snow, setting the perfect tone for a journey that could well have created a history out of nothing, I caught sight of a young girl, and for the very first time, my heart started beating fast.

To tell the girl, whose beauty is present in all seasons, her beauty extends into the heavens, and it goes on forever and never lessens. My fondness for her constantly deepened. Every time I took a glimpse of her, my heart started to weaken. Romantic? Yes, it was, and I was thoroughly enjoying my emotions. She was riding a BSA Ladybird Breeze, the plethora of lady’s bicycle in India. In her white top and blue jeans, she looked adorable. We parked our bicycles in the adjacent stand, and even before I could start a conversation, she started walking towards the gallery. Now, to be honest, I am a guy who is shy and really nervous around women, but that day some magical energy worked in me. I never felt that confident before!

The exhibition was divided into two parts to cater to the socio-economic condition of the city. A stretch leading to the main hall had paintings on either side, sold by the local vendors, a few junior students from the local art college and the aspiring ones. The main hall had the fancy ones, designed and painted by the most renowned artists from the town and from other parts of India. The fascinating part of the entire set up was that unlike the traditional market place where the atmosphere around the local shops and glass size malls are very different, this one chose to maintain a harmony of silence and admiration.

She stood there at the corner, looking at the same painting, for the last ten minutes. I badly wanted to start a conversation but didn’t find an opportunity to contribute. As she said, “I can pay you 25 bucks” to the young boy selling it, I intervened “50 bucks”, She said “100 bucks” and I again “200 bucks”. She didn’t make a move this time and walked away slowly. She seemed disappointed. It was all instinctive from my end. There was nothing fascinating about the painting. It resembled a young boy and a girl buying a bouquet of roses from the local market.

I collected the painting and started looking for her everywhere. She was sitting on the sides of the roadway bridge overlooking the local museum. She seemed pretty disappointed. “This one is for you”, I said. She was amazed but replied gently, “I can’t take it. I don’t know you”. I stood there for a while and replied, “It is not important to know everyone”. She replied, “200 bucks for this painting, don’t make any sense”. I replied, “Just to share a few minutes with you”. She replied, “I don’t talk to strangers.” I replied, “Nor do I”. She smiled, “So you mean to say we know each other? “ I said, “Yes we do, we both have scars on our forehead”. I noticed that already the first time I saw her. She smiled again, “Are you trying to be what you are not, or are you just not trying to be, what you are.” I replied, “Every truth and every reflection has its unique image and mirage”. Her question and my response didn’t make any sense to me but I went on.

She always had a nice smile on her face. Her voice was soft and low, sometimes not audible. Initially, the conversation was rather formal. It involved art, the local culture, it’s people and food. We went back to get our bicycles and started walking through the crowded roads. Now the beauty of Paltan Bazar was that it’s a small crowded market but the stretches connecting the suburb to this place were long and quite. Once we reached the stretch leading to Mr. Joshi’s farmhouse our conversation revolved around life, likes and dislikes. I was more of a listener but interesting we didn’t talk about who we are or where we stayed.

She asked me, “How did you get the scar?” I replied, “Long back I visited Dehradun once, I was young, maybe 5 years old, when I had met an accident on the Northern Road. We were traveling with a few others to board our train to Kolkata from the Dehradun railway station. A few of my father’s friends accompanied to see us off. We were traveling in two or three small vehicles and unfortunately, one of them was hit by a speeding bus. I was lucky enough to survive because our car was behind the others. I don’t remember much though. My parents say that many died. I lost a friend too, who promised me a rose once we reached the station which was 5 kilometers from the Northern Road.” I stood silent for a while. She said, “Sorry. But maybe she will keep her promise someday, don’t worry.” I asked her, how did you get the scar?” She replied, “You said we know each other, didn’t you?” I smiled “Yes, we do”.

As we walked, I got busy telling her about my interests, hobbies, and aspiration. I was so immersed in telling her about my life, I failed to realize that she didn’t respond for the past few minutes. By the time I looked to my right, she was gone. There is no way she could have disappeared suddenly unless she got bored and decided to take a U-turn. Honestly, I was scared and disappointed and wanted to paddle my way quickly to Mr. Joshi’s farmhouse. As I was about to ride my bicycle, I saw a bunch of roses, lying gently on the carrier and there stood a milestone that displayed Dehradun Railway Station, 5 kilometers.