A Ghost Story

The house was haunted. The locals had warned me. Yet I pushed open the creaking gates and entered the front garden. The lush green lawn that once used to be surrounded with gardenia and rose bushes was overgrown. Wild weeds and ivy had crept up and embraced the iron gates. My favourite gulmohar tree where the boy with thick framed glasses had made his tree house stood stark naked with a dead expression. An idle plank of wood somehow managed to dangle from its branches. It was the only remnant of the tree house where I first held hands. I stood on the pebbled path and sighed. A frog leapt near my feet. I felt uncomfortable. I was not fond of reptiles much. I walked towards the house. The house somewhat disappointed me always. It was nothing compared to the beauty of the garden. Today it looked ever more shabby. Cobwebs had replaced the wooden windows. The front door was half broken. The old armchair rested in peace in the balcony corner, waiting to be consumed by termites.The house was dark. Nevertheless, I went in, slowly.

At once there was light everywhere. I was wearing my Mum’s green saree. Golden bangles jingled on my wrists. Today was Jeetu didi’s wedding. I looked out for the boy with glasses. I was wearing the butterfly earrings he had gifted me on my birthday. Where was he, anyway? Groups of aunties in their brightly coloured sequined sarees and heavy ornaments sat, eating pakoras and gossiped in loud voices. Uncles sat in the garden and raged about politics. Kajal Aunty told me that I was looking pretty. But I was not convinced. The boy with specs appeared on the stairway, with his arm loaded with marigold garlands. He paused a little on spotting me. Then he grinned. I was convinced. I really was looking pretty. The groom arrived shortly in an ambassador car. Everyone went out of the house to greet him. That is everyone, except us. We slowly walked to our own home in the gulmohar tree. The boy with specs was smart enough to realize that it would be difficult for me to climb the tree in a saree. He had arranged for a rope ladder. That night as the priest chanted wedding mantras and Jeetu didi exchanged marigold garlands with her husband, we sat huddled together, listening to the rustling of the leaves above. This was where we belonged. The distant wedding lights had cast a fading glow in our home. We sat looking at each other for how long, I’m not sure. And at the moment I knew, that I was married to this boy with thick framed glasses for the rest of my life.

A bird shrieked somewhere. I felt oddly cold. The wind was blowing right through the broken windows. Dusk was beginning to enshroud the house. The wooden plank toppled a little on the gulmohar branch. I looked around. The room was empty and damp. I pulled open the door with all my might and ran. I ran through the pebbled path as fast as my legs could. I crossed the garden and didn’t stop running until I reached the main road. The locals were right. The house was haunted.