The Account.

The year is 2012.

Brack Jeremy was a teenager. He belonged to the United States of America. He breathed its air, ate its food and drank its water. Brack saw All American Girls and drank a big glass of Cola every day. He had 20 tattoos spread all over the body and always wore a cap which was too big for his head. Brack Jeremy was an American teenager.

One bright Tuesday in New York, 11 years ago.

Brack stood in a bus station sipping Cola. He looked around and found himself to be alone. It was 8:10 in the morning. He dug into his pant pockets and started searching something. There were more than 8 pockets in his pants. The search continued. In the 9^th pocket he had a packet of Marlboros which he carefully removed.

“Don’t do it!” said a voice behind him.

“Shit!” he turned back.

“Who the fuck are you dude?” said Brack spilling his Cola on the ground.

“Click!” came a noise from the bag of the stranger sitting behind Brack.

“I’m just a somebody” said the stranger. “Who I am is not important. What I say and as a result what you do is very important for us.”

“Who us?”

“Everybody” said the stranger.

“Ah! You must be one of those guys. Those environmental jerks!” said Brack.

“No I’m not. I’m not them, but they are mine. All of them.”

“You mean you’re some sort of a mafia.”

“Oh I’m way above Mafia.”

“Your name?”

“Brack Jeremy” said the stranger.

“That’s my name freakshow! My fuckin name!!” yelled Brack. Our Brack.

“Might be. But I’m Brack.”

“So who is your boss?”

“It’s a question I ask myself. Who’s my boss? But I rarely get answers. I sometimes tend to think my limitations are my boss or the power that I have are my boss, but very rarely do I get instructions from them. I feel I have no limitations and hence I have no boss. But the fact that I had to think a lot about your question makes me believe that I have a boss. One day I’ll know.”

“Click! Click! Click!....” the noise from the bag cracked their conversation.

“What the fuck is that!” asked our Brack.

“That’s nothing.”

Brack looked at the stranger and observed him, top to bottom. He was as fair and reddish as a typical American would be. He had almost the perfect teeth. The letters on his bag read the word Nirvana.

“Do you study Brack?”

“Yes”

“What do you study?”

“A lot of things. But recently I’ve been studying about having a computer with infinite memory to it. Use space to save data and since space is infinite, memory will be infinite, for the unending set of data I play around with everyday.”

“You’re computer man!!”

“Yes. Aren’t we all?”

“I don’t have one. And I don’t want to have one either.”

“I’m sure you’d need for you All American Girl” said the stranger.

“What is that?”

The stranger chuckled. Brack tried to smile.

“Are you on Facebook?” asked our Brack.

“Yes. I’m the one who created it.”

“Huh! Mark Zuckerberg created it!”

“Exactly!” said the stranger and opened his bag. There was a big black laptop on which the words AMRAK were imprinted.

“You seem strange, what’s your deal bro?”asked our Brack.

“Oh! There are deals. Big deals that happen with me. Day in, day out. Deals with unimaginable numbers within them. Deals which give lives, take lives. Deals which make people on earth go nuts. There is an account, of big numbers, of superficial things, of unsatisfied bodies, of lusty souls, of materialistic relatives, of unattainable peace, of meandering thoughts, of crippled minds, of unintentional comments, but it all comes down to just an account of the good and the bad.”

“Are you a judge?”

“Sort-of”

“Do you have a gun?” asked our Brack trying to keep the Marlboros inside.

“No.”

He then took his pack out again.

“Don’t smoke. Your smoke is the culmination.”

“Of what?”

“An account.”

“Of?”

“As I said good and bad.”

There was an awkward silence. Both the Bracks stared at each other.

“Where do you stay?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“On the time of the day. I get up at a place which is in the east and sleep in the west. “

“Bro! you’re a weirdo bro!”

“Yes, I am. You have to be a weirdo to understand all this. “

“Do you have a family?” asked our Brack.

“Yes.”

It was 8:45 AM.

“Ok bro! Here is my deal. I’m going to smoke this cigarette. I’ve paid for it. It’s my right.”

“It’s wrong. Don’t smoke. Here is why.”

He opened his laptop. There were two big columns on the monitor. In one column was a big number in green colour and in the other was a much bigger number which was in red. Both the numbers were increasing in value.

“What is this?” asked our Brack.

“An account” answered their Brack.

“Of what?”

“As I said good and bad. Your smoking is the end point, the culmination.”

“I don’t believe in the shit you say dude!”

Brack Jeremy opens his Marlboro box and lights one of them.

“What can you do?”

“Can you see that airplane?” said the stranger.

“Yes. That is flying freakishly low!” Brack.

“Watch that and also wait for the next one to repeat the act.”

“Repeat what act?”

30 Minutes Later.

Two airplanes crash into the World Trade Center in New York.

The Perfect Crime.

“WHAT IS A PERFECT CRIME?” he wrote in his book.

He checked the time. It was 11:00 PM. He drank another cup of coffee and lit a cigarette. There was a strong breeze across as he stood on his terrace watching the city lights glow. The windows of his room made little yet considerable noise as he tried to think about the question he was thinking since that evening.

What is a perfect crime?

He went into the room and sat at his table. He opened the last page of his small note book and took a red ink pen. He thought for a while and wrote in big, capital letters –

“MURDER”

He leaned back on his chair. He was thrilled. He took the pen again and wrote on the page.

“DIRECT OR INDIRECT BENEFIT”

He took a black ink pen and connected the two sentences with an arrow mark. He was getting there. The wind now blew faster. His cat played with his left leg.

“Go away!”

He walked out to the balcony again. His cat followed him. A couple of bikes sped on the road at high speeds distracting him. He cursed them. He held the cat his hands and looked at its blank face. He spoke to the cat.

“The first thing that the cops look for after a murder is who has the maximum benefit or who could have had the maximum benefit? Isn’t it?”

The cat said meow. He looked happy.

He went back to his table and opened his book again.

“MURDER WITHOUT A MOTIVATION OR BENEFIT = PERFECT CRIME.”

The clock struck 12. There were 12 long absolutely intentional and melodramatic bells that echoed through his walls. At the sound of every bell his plan grew bigger, wilder and crazier. His cat demanded an explanation. He was in no mood to give one. He wore his big leather jacket and went into the kitchen. He took the sharpest of his knives, put it in a piece of leather and hid it in his jacket pocket.

30 Minutes Later: Coffee Shop: Attempt 1

He didn’t like the coffee. He looked around for the waiter. He called him.

“Hey.”

The guy turned around. He was wearing a white shirt. He had a big ink stain near his shirt pocket. He looked tired.

“What’s wrong with your shirt?”

“Ink. Sir, do you need more coffee?”

“No.”

The knife in his jacket pocket was poking him. He looked at the waiter and looked at his stain again. He didn’t seem to like it.

“It’s your lucky day. Here take this money.” The knife remained in his pocket. He hated the waiter. That was the motivation. He couldn’t kill him. He would be caught. He walked out of the coffee shop and stood on the road looking for a sign.

He looked up. A few bats flew ferociously towards some trees. He smiled.

“Taxi!”

“Where sir?”

“To the airport.”

12 Minutes Later: In The Taxi: Attempt 2

He looked at the driver. The driver drove at snail pace. He tried to like him. He couldn’t. He tried to hate him. He couldn’t. He was blank. He had his prey. He would ask him to stop the taxi for a leak and stab him. He moved his hand towards the jacket pocket.

“Sir, I need to take a leak. You please be seated inside the car. Lot of murders happening around I hear. I’m a news reporter but only during day. You are not safe outside.”

“Ok.” The knife remained in the pocket.

The driver stopped the car and went out. He came back after 3 minutes. He drove again at normal speed. The taxi reached the airport.

“Lucky man number 2! Here is your tip. Also don’t drive at night in the city, there are killers everywhere.” He winked at the driver and walked into the airport.

“One ticket to Stych please.”

5 Minutes Before

“Give me a map.”

“5 bucks sir.”

“Okay here.”

He studied the map carefully and looked for a city he hadn’t heard about. Stych. He found his answer. Nobody knew him in Stych. He would go to Stych without any motivation. He would kill a stranger without any reason and he would get back here the next morning.

Present

He carefully managed to find a gap in the glass and slid the knife through it to escape the security. They checked him. They found nothing. He smiled.

He picked his knife and boarded the plane. He found a window seat and looked outside the plane as it took off. He didn’t like asking questions to himself but the expression on his face showed he did. It was a 3 hour flight. He slept.

4 hours later: Stcyh: Attempt 3

He got out of the airport and took out his coin. He flipped and decided to the road to his left side. He checked his pocket again, he had the knife. He felt something in his left pocket.

THE RED SMALL NOTE BOOK.

He read what he had written before, smiled and kept it back. He walked 2 miles and took 16 rights and 7 lefts in between. He reached a deserted road. The roads didn’t know him. The air that blew there didn’t know him. The closed shops didn’t know him. He walked with a hand in his right pocket.

There was somebody walking towards him. Somebody he didn’t know. Somebody who didn’t know him. He said to himself,

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the first victim of a perfect crime!”

He walked towards the man. The man walked towards him. He got a grip on his knife. The man did nothing.

40 meters. 30 meters. 20 meters. 10 meters.

They must have been around half a meter apart when in a flash he took out his knife. In a flash. Like a reflection of mirror the other man took out a knife from his left pocket.

 Both the men stabbed each other.

They looked into each other’s eyes. Both of them had a question. The same question. They fell down. They died.

9 hours later.

He was the smartest cop in Stych. He observed both the men lying in a pool of blood with sharp knifes. He searched them.

He found 2 passports, some cash and 2 little note books – a red and a black one. He flipped through the pages of the Red Little Book first.

“MURDER WITHOUT A MOTIVATION OR BENEFIT = PERFECT CRIME.”

“Hmmm.” He said.

He took out the Black Little Book and read.

“PERFECT CRIME = MURDER WITHOUT A MOTIVATION OR BENEFIT.”

“What do you think Mr Keat?”

“Sir, like they say in a romantic movie, they met each other once and it changed their lives forever.”

“What do you mean?”

Mr Keat, the smart cop smiled. He stood up and looked into his colleague’s eye.

“In search of a perfect crime Mr Hastings, in search of a perfect crime.”

Why are we scared?

The feeling of getting scared of a thing that is going to hurt you is quite common. You fear a snake,you fear driving next to a speeding Volvo on Bengaluru roads, you also fear certain things which others dont
but you still do. Last night I slept late after watching "The Da Vinci Code". It had nothing that I would get scared of. Jesus Christ was mortal, ordinary but special.Got the point, but it set me thinking. I started thinking and I got
scared.

We go to temples and pray to God. It gives us peace. The temple closes down and the priest locks the main door and leaves. Somehow you are left behind and you are alone in a huge temple at night(let's say).The room is dimly lit. Will you slowly start feeling creepy? Although you are in a temple and there are no "things" around you that would make you get scared, will that feeling of being in an old temple(let's say again) alone, with nobody except a superpower(let's assume), make you sweat? People in villages talk of daring stunts where somebody is challenged to go to a graveyard and do stuff. But can you go and be alone in an old temple for a whole night and not get scared? If you even in some corner of your mind think that is creepy, then man oh man isn't that weird!

P.S.:I would also recommend you watch "The Man from Earth". Long after you've watched the movie you will still ask yourself - Could that be possible?

Ghosts and their Children.

4. We are here for you!

His legs and hands were tied firmly to the bed as Amit cried in an old woman’s tone.It was 2 hours 50 minutes since he was tied  by Prakash, Aarti and Kumar. There was no Amit in Amit anymore. All one could see was the unsatisfied crying voice of Kumar’s grandma. Amit was possessed, or at least it seemed like.

“Get me some water” ordered the doctor. Aarti ran in. It was not the first time this happened. Amit dressed up in Grandma’s green saree, wore all her ornaments and walked across the whole house giggling and talking to himself. Such was the severity of the issue, that Prakash now stayed at Kumar’s place. He had to.

It started with the possession and ended with the doctor’s violent protests against the spirit’s demands in that closed room. The couple was now fed up.

Aarti came in running with the water bottle. The doctor now seemed to have total control over Amit and shouted at him.

“Tell me your name?”

Amit started giggling and looked at Kumar.

“Kumar beta yeh sab kya hai?”

The doctor slapped Amit. Aarti crumpled the bedsheet with her hands. The boy started crying.

“Tell me your name?”

“Renuka Devi, see my jewellery, see.. “ Amit tried to show the doctor his necklace.

Prakash now could not resist. He ordered the couple to move out of the room and locked the door.

15 Mins Later

“See Kumar, Amit’s mind right now is totally disturbed by the facts of this house and that has made a permanent damage to his memory. He will not lead a normal life ever, as long as he sees you, because you are Renuka Devi’s grandson. As a doctor my duty is to give you a solution here and since he is adopted I think you should leave him back to the place from where he was picked up”

That made Aarti cry. She looked at Kumar with overflowing motherhood but that was not going to help. Kumar had to decide. He did.

“Okay doctor, I will do it.”

“In that case let me, help you do it” said the doctor. Kumar agreed.

The trio drove with Amit back to Dharma Anathashrama.The doctor had his own car. Kumar carried out the formalities and thanked Prakash for his help.

“No problem Kumar, I’m glad helped. One last thing, can you tell me where is the loo here?” asked Prakash smiling.

“Oh!there. Straight and second right” replied Kumar.

“Thanks! see you! And take care Aarti” said the doctor.

Kumar and Aarti left. Prakash went straight but took the first right. Kumar and Aarti started their vehicle. Prakash went in, opened a door and closed it tightly. Kumar accelerated. Prakash whistled and 3 men appeared.

“How much is it?” said one of the guys. He was bald and he was Deen Sankar, the the person who ran the Ashrama.

“4 necklaces, 5 bangles and a jhumka” said somebody in an old woman kind of voice. It was Amit. He was hugging the doctor. The Doctor hugged him.

“Must be around 80 lakhs. Amit deserves more for all the slaps that I gave and for making sure he wore the jewellery everytime I came to steal a piece behind that closed door!”

Somewhere far Kumar and Aarti cried. Somewhere far 4 men laughed. As the gates of the Ashrama opened again, a couple came in.

“We are looking to adopt.”

“We are here for you.”

Ghosts and their Children.

Chapter 3: Grandpa is waiting.


At 2:00 AM on a frightening night in Kupnur 3 distinct voices were heard. A man screaming, a woman screaming and an old woman laughing. The couple ran down. The voices from the top floor now stopped. Kumar reached for the switch and put the bulb on.

Aarti hid her face in Kumar’s chest as he slowly moved towards the staircase again.

Suddenly they heard a boy cried somewhere far.

“Maa, where are you, Maa...” The voice was from their bedroom. It was Amit’s. Aarti hesitated, but Kumar went in. He switched on the bulb in the bedroom. Amit looked at Kumar from the corner of the bed. He had that same innocent look. Kumar went and hugged Amit. He was cold. Aarti followed.

“Where were you people? I got so scared.” said Amit rubbing his eyes vigorously as he tried to wake up. Aarti was shocked and silent.

“There was a cat in the kitchen Amit, we were there” said Kumar, but Amit abruptly spoke out, cutting him, “Ok. Maa why are you standing there? Can we sleep?”

Something was wrong. Amit spoke as if he never got out of the bed, as if he never climbed the staircase, as if he never giggled at his great Grandma. Something was definitely wrong.

3 Nights Later.

Kumar felt thirsty. He reached for the water bottle kept on the table but found it empty. He hated to get up but his thirst didn't let him sleep. He went to the kitchen, switched on the light and opened the fridge.

As he started drinking, he suddenly saw a shadow walking at a fast pace on the kitchen wall. He turned back, dropping some water on himself in the process. The curtains moved but there was no one there.

He ignored it. The last 72 hours had gone talking to Aarti about the incident that happened. He walked back to the bedroom. Aarti looked at him. Something was wrong, again.

Amit was not in the bed.

The couple knew this time where he would be. They went towards the corner in that room. The door was closed. Kumar tried opening the door and looked in. There was just the portrait, no Amit. The couple dint have the courage to turn and go back.

Suddenly someone shouted, “Kumar, Kumar beta, where are you?” Kumar started sweating. Someone called out his name. They turned back and stood at the beginning of the staircase looking below.

A long shadow was seen. As it came closer , it was clear that the person was wearing a saree. Aarti tried to scream but there was no sound. It was Amit, in his Grandma’s saree, wearing her ornaments, all the ones on the picture. Slowly he moved up, talking to himself in a female voice. The couple could not move.

As Amit came closer, Kumar tried to move away.

“Kumar, where were you? Grandpa is looking for you. Go down. And who is she?” said Amit and walked  the room and closed the door behind. Aarti began to cry in fear. Kumar did not know what to do. Both ran down.

“Hi Dr Prakash, it’s me Kumar here”

Prakash PK was an able doctor. As soon as Kumar told him the problem he knew what happened completely. He arrived after 2 hours with his kit and asked the couple to be downstairs as he went to the room.

There was a lot of screaming for the next ten minutes but everything was calm after that.

“He is fine. He just is imagining things. He is amazed by the house and its history. I’ve given him some medicines. He should be fine.” That sounded convincing for the couple. They thanked him and sent him off.

As Prakash started to drive, Amit looked at him from the window and smiled. Prakash smiled back. He had to.

Ghosts and their Children.

2. That Corner.

Amit’s almost addictive charm and contagious innocence captured the Kumar household. There was noise everywhere; there was the feeling of celebration oozing out of every corner in the house. It seemed the couple’s prayers were answered. For a moment, they were.

Amit not only made them happy but gave them something to live for. for the rest of their lives. The family went out on picnics, visited temples and clicked photographs. They say when everybody is happy, time flies by. It did.

7 Years Later

Amit now studied at St Martha Residential School in which Kumar’s great grandfather had a very big stake. Amit had grown into a tall 11 year old lovable kid, wearing neat uniforms and doing academically very good.

It was the time of May. Amit was away from school, enjoying his summer vacation. It was a hot lazy day. Aarti was going through some magazines and Amit reading a book.

“Amit, how tall are you beta?”

“5’ 6” Mom”

“Ok, you won’t need the chair then.” said Aarti almost swallowing the last few words.She called up Kumar and asked him the exact place and cut the telephone call.

There were a lot of insects and a couple of inches of dust settled when Amit slowly tried to spread his hands on the top of the cupboard desperately trying to find it.

“Got it?”

“No mom, trying trying…”

After a couple of minutes more of vigorously moving his hands across Amit touched it.

“Yeaaaahhh.. here it is” Amit slowly got it down and kept it on the nearby chair.

It was Kumar’s great grandmother’s hand painted picture. It was dusty, old and very very beautiful. She sat on the black chair with a beautiful green and red saree, wearing all her dazzling ornaments and a very shy, yet very commanding smile. She looked straight  and one could still make out the charm in her eyes.

Aarti cleaned the portrait and held it. She thought of all the places in the house where she could put it up but found nothing.

“Maa how about the corner room in the second floor? It was her bedroom right?” said Amit.

Aarti looked at Amit in shock. The place was alright but the information in her son’s little mind, was disturbing. Amit was adopted, she said to herself. He should not have known this.

“I am going to play” he said  almost immediately and left.

Aarti ignored her thoughts after sometime. “Must be Kumar, yes must be him” she said to herself and climbed the stairs to reach the corner room of the second floor. Amit’s words echoed through her ears again. For the first time she felt scared. For the first time she cursed the house. Grandma still smiled as Aarti put her in a corner.

Aarti closed the door tight and hurried back.

That night at the dinner table Kumar was happy to hear the news of Grandma’s portrait being taken out. It was a special picture he said as it was painted when she was carrying his dad.

“Grandma hesitated but Grandpa convinced her. He made her wear all the jewellery and forced her to sit on the black chair. The painter worked on it for 35 hours to get this picture. My dad told me all this when I was as small as you” said Kumar pulling Amit’s cheeks. Aarti smiled.

Amit got up to wash his hands. After he left the table Kumar slowly turned towards Aarti and whispered,

“You know she was murdered a few days after this happened”

Aarti said “oh”. All she could remember was Amit’s words, that afternoon.

She said “Oh” again before disappearing into the bathroom.

That night Aarti could not sleep. She tried to but she could not.

“Bang!!!!” a loud noise shook her entire soul. It came from one of the top floors. She woke Kumar up. He resisted but after the noise came for the second time he woke up too.

“Let Amit sleep, we’ll go and check” said Kumar around to make sure he slept.

Amit was not in bed.

The scared couple now ran shouting painfully. It must be in one of the moments between that - they heard somebody smile. It was a giggle but it repeated. Aarti held Kumar’s hand tightly. They slowly moved up to the second floor.

The tightly closed door was now open. The couple took small yet brave steps towards the room. The room was mostly dark with an exception of a lamp in the corner. That corner.

Amit stood there holding the picture, giggling at it, whispering at it. Aarti screamed.

Amit looked up. The lamp went off.

Ghosts and their Children.

1. The Beginning.

Even as the sun set, she looked out of the window in search of some light. There was a very death-like smell in the wind that blew. The silence was deafening and its infinity scared her. With her hair in disarray and her red crying eyes she looked out, the ruthless afternoons signalling the entry of tragic evenings which made way to the frightening nights. It was two years since she had smiled. Two long years.

She looked outside again. The sun had already set. The clock struck six as the chords echoed through her palatial house. The house was dark but she knew all the things inside it. She perfectly made her way to the bathroom, freshened up and brushed her hair. The lamp for all the strong, powerful Indian gods was lit. The incense sticks spread a disturbingly agonizing yet a beautiful scent in the house. The Indian gods looked angry yet she prayed.

Slowly the devils started settling in. She got into the bath tub, without blinking her eyes. She took bath cleaning every inch of her body with at most care. Completely naked now she stood in front of the window and looked at herself. It was not that she was unattractive, in fact she invited maximum whistles in her college days, but today it did not seem to matter. The arrogance of her beauty today smiled at her devilishly.

She put on the best of her sarees, sprayed the most expensive perfume, sat on the couch like a lady and waited for him to arrive. She wanted a child from him and he couldn’t give her one. Today was like any other day though, a lust born out of hope, a child born out of wait.

He came, he tried, he failed.

It was all happening in Kupnur, a village on the banks of the river Kaveri. Kumar and Aarti lived there since three years. The palatial house they lived in had 3 floors, all hosting a line of unused bedrooms. A dozen more Kumars and Aartis could live there but nobody did. Kumar looked after the family coffee business and Aarti looked after Kumar.

After two years of shameful male existence Kumar decided to give up his ego one fine morning. He looked at his beautiful wife, kept his hands on her's and said.

“I spoke to the Dharma Anathashrama a couple of days back and they told me that there is a 3 year old boy ready to be adopted if you want”

Aarti looked up. The last three words from him had declared her husband’s defeat. It hurt him and it hurt her. But the silence of their house had hurt them more. Kumar knew Aarti would never refuse. There was a confused glow in her eyes, one which depicted her confusing state – to mourn her husband’s defeat or to celebrate her coming motherhood. She chose herself.

They decided to adopt little Amit. Aarti was happy and for the first time in his life Kumar was excited.