Tales From Firozsha Baag

The Ghost of Firozsha Baag

I always believed in ghosts. When I was little I saw them in my father’s small field in Goa. That was very long ago, before I came to Bombay to work as ayah.

Father also saw them, mostly by the well, drawing water. He would come in and tell us, the bhoot is thirsty again. But it never scared us. Most people in our village had seen ghosts. Everyone believed in them.

Not like in Firozsha Baag. First time I saw a ghost here and people found out, how much fun they made of me. Calling me crazy, saying it is time for old ayah to go back to Goa, back to her muluk, she is seeing things.

Two years ago on Christmas Eve I first saw the bhoot. No, it was really Christmas Day. At ten o’clock on Christmas Eve I went to Cooperage Stadium for midnight mass. Every year all of us Catholic ayahs from Firozsha Baag go for mass. But this time I came home alone, the others went somewhere with their boyfriends. Must have been two o’clock in the morning. Lift in B Block was out of order, so I started up slowly. Thinking how easy to climb three floors when I was younger, even with a full bazaar-bag.

After reaching first floor I stopped to rest. My breath was coming fast-fast. Fast-fast, like it does nowadays when I grind curry masala on the stone. Jaakaylee, my bai calls out, Jaakaylee, is masala ready? Thinks a sixty-three-year-old ayah can make masala as quick as she used to when she was fifteen. Yes, fifteen. The day after my fourteenth birthday I came by bus from Goa to Bombay. All day and night I rode the bus. I still remember when my father took me to bus station in Panjim. Now it is called Panaji. Joseph Uncle, who was mechanic in Mazagaon, met me at Bombay Central Station. So crowded it was, people running all around, shouting, screaming, and coolies with big-big trunks on their heads. Never will I forget that first day in Bombay. I just stood in one place, not knowing what to do, till Joseph Uncle saw me. Now it has been forty-nine years in this house as ayah, believe or don’t believe. Forty-nine years in Firozsha Baag’s B Block and they still don’t say my name right. Is it so difficult to say Jacqueline? But they always say Jaakaylee. Or worse, Jaakayl.

All the fault is of old bai who died ten years ago. She was in charge till her son brought a wife, the new bai of the house. Old bai took English words and made them Parsi words. Easy chair was igeechur, French beans was ferach beech, and Jacqueline became Jaakaylee. Later I found out that all old Parsis did this, it was like they made their own private language.

So then new bai called me Jaakaylee also, and children do the same. I don’t care about it now. If someone asks my name I say Jaakaylee. And I talk Parsi-Gujarati all the time instead of Konkani, even with other ayahs. Sometimes also little bits of English.

But I was saying. My breath was fast-fast when I reached first floor and stopped for rest. And then I noticed someone, looked like in a white gown. Like a man, but I could not see the face, just body shape. Kaun hai? I asked in Hindi. Believe or don’t believe, he vanished. Completely! I shook my head and started for second floor. Carefully, holding the railing, because the steps are so old, all slanting and crooked.

Then same thing happened. At the top of second floor he was waiting. And when I said, kya hai? believe or don’t believe, he vanished again! Now I knew it must be a bhoot. I knew he would be on third floor also, and I was right. But I was not scared or anything.

I reached the third floor entrance and found my bedding which I had put outside before leaving. After midnight mass I always sleep outside, by the stairs, because bat and seth must not be woken up at two A.M., and they never give me a key. No ayah gets key to a flat. It is something I have learned, like I learned forty-nine years ago that life as ayah means living close to floor. All work I do, I do on floors, like grinding masala, cutting vegetables, cleaning rice. Food also is eaten sitting on floor, after serving them at dining-table. And my bedding is rolled out at night in kitchen-passage, on floor. No cot for me. Nowadays, my weight is much more than it used to be, and is getting very difficult to get up from floor. But I am managing.

So Christmas morning at two o’clock I opened my bedding and spread out my saterunjee by the stairs. Then stopped. The bhoot had vanished, and I was not scared or anything. But my father used to say some ghosts play mischief. The ghost of our field never did, he only took water from our well, but if this ghost of the stairs played mischief he might roll me downstairs, who was to say. So I thought about it and rang the doorbell.

After many, many rings bai opened, looking very mean. Mostly she looks okay, and when she dresses in nice sari for a wedding or something, and puts on all bangles and necklace, she looks really pretty, I must say. But now she looked so mean. Like she was going to bite somebody. Same kind of look she has every morning when she has just woken up, but this was much worse and meaner because it was so early in the morning. She was very angry, said I was going crazy, there was no ghost or anything, I was just telling lies not to sleep outside.

Then seth also woke up. He started laughing, saying he did not want any ghost to roll me downstairs because who would make chai in the morning. He was not angry, his mood was good. They went back to their room, and I knew why he was feeling happy when crrr-crr crrr-crr sound of their bed started coming in the dark.

When he was little I sang Konkani songs for him. Mogacha Mary and Hanv Saiba. Big man now, he’s forgotten them and so have I. Forgetting my name, my language, my songs. But complaining I’m not, don’t make mistake. I’m telling you, to have a job I was very lucky because in Goa there was nothing to do. From Panjim to Bombay on the bus I cried, leaving behind my brothers and sisters and parents, and all my village friends. But I knew leaving was best thing. My father had eleven children and very small field. Coming to Bombay was only thing to do. Even schooling I got first year, at night. Then bai said I must stop because who would serve dinner when seth came home from work, and who would carry away dirty dishes? But that was not the real reason. She thought I stole her eggs. There were six eggs yesterday evening, she would say, only five this morning, what happened to one? She used to think I took it with me to school to give to someone.

I was saying, it was very lucky for me to become ayah in Parsi house, and never will I forget that. Especially because Im Goan Catholic and very dark skin colour. Parsis prefer Manglorean Catholics, they have light skin colour. For themselves also Parsis like light skin, and when Parsi baby is born that is the first and most important thing. If it is fair they say, O how nice light skin just like parents. But if it is dark skin they say, arré what is this ayah no chhokro, ayah’s child.

All this doing was more in olden days, mostly among very rich bais and seths. They thought they were like British only, ruling India side by side. But don’t make mistake, not just rich Parsis. Even all Marathi people in low class Tar Gully made fun of me when I went to buy grocery from bunya. Blackie, blackie, they would call out. Nowadays it does not happen because very dark skin colour is common in Bombay, so many people from south are coming here, Tamils and Keralites, with their funny illay illay poe poe language. Now people more used to different colours.

But still not to ghosts. Everybody in B Block found out about the bhoot of the stairs. They made so much fun of me all the time, children and grown-up people also.

And believe or don’t believe, that was a ghost of mischief. Because just before Easter he came back. Not on the stairs this time but right in my bed. I’m telling you, he was sitting on my chest and bouncing up and down, and I couldn’t push him off, so weak I was feeling (I’m a proper Catholic, I was fasting), couldn’t even scream or anything (not because I was scared — he was choking me). Then someone woke up to go to WC and put on a light in the passage where I sleep. Only then did the rascal bhoot jump off and vanish.

This time I did not tell anyone. Already they were making so much fun of me. Children in Firozsha Baag would shout, ayah bhoot! a yah bhoot! every time they saw me. And a new Hindi film had come out, Bhoot Bungla, about a haunted house, so they would say, like the man on the radio, in a loud voice: SEE TODAY, at APSARA CINEMA, R. K. Anand’s NEW fillum Bhoooot Bungla, starring JAAKAYLEE of BLOCK B! Just like that! O they made a lot of fun of me, but I did not care, I knew what I had seen.

Jaakaylee, bai calls out, is it ready yet? She wants to check curry masala. Too thick, she always says, grind it again, make it smoother. And she is right, I leave it thick purposely. Before, when I did it fine, she used to send me back anyway. O it pains in my old shoulders, grinding this masala, but they will never buy the automatic machine. Very rich people, my bai-seth. He is a chartered accountant. He has a nice motorcar, just like A Block priest, and like the one Dr. Mody used to drive, which has not moved from the compound since the day he died. Bai says they should buy it from Mrs. Mody, she wants it to go shopping. But a masala machine they will not buy. Jaakaylee must keep on doing it till her arms fall out from shoulders.

How much teasing everyone was doing to me about the bhoot. It became a great game among boys, pretending to be ghosts. One who started it all was Dr. Mody’s son, from third floor of C Block. The one they call Pesi paadmaroo because he makes dirty wind all the time. Good thing he is in boarding-school now. That family came to Firozsha Baag only few years ago, he was doctor for animals, a really nice man. But what a terrible boy. Must have been so shameful for Dr. Mody. Such a kind man, what a shock everybody got when he died. But I’m telling you, that boy did a bad thing one night.

Vera and Dolly, the two fashionable sisters from C Block’s first floor, went to nightshow at Eros Cinema, and Pesi knew. After nightshow was over, tock-tock they came in their high-heel shoes. It was when mini-skirts had just come out, and that is what they were wearing. Very esskey-messkey, so short I don’t know how their maibaap allowed it. They said their daughters were going to foreign for studies, so maybe this kind of dressing was practice for over there. Anyway, they started up, the stairs were very dark. Then Pesi, wearing a white bedsheet and waiting under the staircase, jumped out shouting bowe ré. Vera and Dolly screamed so loudly, I’m telling you, and they started running.

Then Pesi did a really shameful thing. God knows where he got the idea from. Inside his sheet he had a torch, and he took it out and shined up into the girls’ mini-skirts. Yes! He ran after them with his big torch shining in their skirts. And when Vera and Dolly reached the top they tripped and fell. That shameless boy just stood there with his light shining between their legs, seeing undies and everything, I’m telling you.

He ran away when all neighbours started opening their doors to see what is the matter, because everyone heard them screaming. All the men had good time with Vera and Dolly, pretending to be like concerned grown-up people, saying, it is all right, dears, don’t worry, dears, just some bad boy, not a real ghost. And all the time petting-squeezing them as if to comfort them! Sheeh, these men!

Next day Pesi was telling his friends about it, how he shone the torch up their skirts and how they fell, and everything he saw. That boy, sheeh, terrible.

Afterwards, parents in Firozsha Baag made a very strict rule that no one plays the fool about ghosts because it can cause serious accident if sometime some old person is made scared and falls downstairs and breaks a bone or something or has heart attack. So there was no more ghost games and no more making fun of me. But I’m telling you, the bhoot kept coming every Friday night.

Curry is boiling nicely, smells very tasty. Bai tells me don’t forget about curry, don’t burn the dinner. How many times have I burned the dinner in forty-nine years, I should ask her. Believe or don’t believe, not one time.

Yes, the bhoot came but he did not bounce any more upon my chest. Sometimes he just sat next to the bedding, other times he lay down beside me with his head on my chest, and if I tried to push him away he would hold me tighter. Or would try to put his hand up my gown or down from the neck. But I sleep with buttons up to my collar, so it was difficult for the rascal. O what a ghost of mischief he was! Reminded me of Cajetan back in Panjim always trying to do same thing with girls at the cinema or beach. His parents’ house was not far from Church of St. Cajetan for whom he was named, but this boy was no saint, I’m telling you.

Calunqute and Anjuna beaches in those days were very quiet and beautiful. It was before foreigners all started coming, and no hippie-bippie business with charas and ganja, and no big-big hotels or nothing. Cajetan said to me once, let us go and see the fishermen. And we went, and started to wade a little, up to ankles, and Cajetan said let us go more. He rolled up his pants over the knees and I pulled up my skirt, and we went in deeper. Then a big wave made everything wet. We ran out and sat on the beach for my skirt to dry.

Us two were only ones there, fishermen were still out in boats. Sitting on the sand he made all funny eyes at me, like Hindi film hero, and put his hand on my thigh. I told him to stop or I would tell my father who would give him solid pasting and throw him in the well where the bhoot would take care of him. But he didn’t stop. Not till the fishermen came. Sheeh, what a boy that was.

Back to kitchen. To make good curry needs lots of stirring while boiling.

I’m telling you, that Cajetan! Once, it was feast of St. Francis Xavier, and the body was to be in a glass case at Church of Bom Jesus. Once every ten years is this very big event for Catholics. They were not going to do it any more because, believe or don’t believe, many years back some poor crazy woman took a bite from toe of St. Francis Xavier. But then they changed their minds. Poor St. Francis, it is not his luck to have a whole body — one day, Pope asked for a bone from the right arm, for people in Rome to see, and never sent it back; that is where it is till today.

But I was saying about Cajetan. All boys and girls from my village were going to Bom Jesus by bus. In church it was so crowded, and a long long line to walk by St. Francis Xavier’s glass case. Cajetan was standing behind my friend Lily, he had finished his fun with me, now it was Lily’s turn. And I’m telling you, he kept bumping her and letting his hand touch her body like it was by accident in the crowd. Sheeh, even in church that boy could not behave.

And the ghost reminded me of Cajetan, whom I have not seen since I came to Bombay — what did I say, forty-nine years ago. Once a week the ghost came, and always on Friday. On Fridays I eat fish, so I started thinking, maybe he likes smell of fish. Then I just ate vegetarian, and yet he came. For almost a whole year the ghost slept with me, every Friday night, and Christmas was not far away.

And still no one knew about it, how he came to my bed, lay down with me, tried to touch me. There was one thing I was feeling so terrible about — even to Father D’Silva at Byculla Church I had not told anything for the whole year. Every time in confession I would keep completely quiet about it. But now Christmas was coming and I was feeling very bad, so first Sunday in December I told Father D’Silva everything and then I was feeling much better. Father D’Silva said I was blameless because it was not my wish to have the bhoot sleeping with me. But he gave three Hail Marys, and said eating fish again was okay if I wanted.

So on Friday of that week I had fish curry-rice and went to bed. And believe or don’t believe, the bhoot did not come. After midnight, first I thought maybe he is late, maybe he has somewhere else to go. Then the clock in bats room went three times and I was really worried. Was he going to come in early morning while I was making tea? That would be terrible.

But he did not come. Why, I wondered. If he came to the bedding of a fat and ugly ayah all this time, now what was the matter? I could not understand. But then I said to myself, what are you thinking Jaakaylee, where is your head, do you really want the ghost to come sleep with you and touch you so shamefully?

After drinking my tea that morning I knew what had happened. The ghost did not come because of my confession. He was ashamed now. Because Father D’Silva knew about what he had been doing to me in the darkness every Friday night.

Next Friday night also there was no ghost. Now I was completely sure my confession had got rid of him and his shameless habits. But in a few days it would be Christmas Eve and time for midnight mass. I thought, maybe if he is ashamed to come into my bed, he could wait for me on the stairs like last year.

Time to cook rice now, time for seth to come home. Best quality Basmati rice we use, always, makes such a lovely fragrance while cooking, so tasty.

For midnight mass I left my bedding outside, and when I returned it was two A.M. But for worrying there was no reason. No ghost on any floor this time. I opened the bedding by the stairs, thinking about Cajetan, how scared he was when I said I would tell my father about his touching me. Did not ask me to go anywhere after that, no beaches, no cinema. Now same thing with the ghost. How scared men are of fathers.

And next morning bat opened the door, saying, good thing ghost took a holiday this year, if you had woken us again I would have killed you. I laughed a little and said Merry Christmas, bat, and she said same to me.

When seth woke up he also made a little joke. If they only knew that in one week they would say I had been right. Yes, on New Year’s Day they would start believing, when there was really no ghost. Never has been since the day I told Father D’Silva in confession. But I was not going to tell them they were mistaken, after such fun they made of me. Let them feel sorry now for saying Jaakaylee was crazy.

Bat and seth were going to New Year’s Eve dance, somewhere in Bandra, for first time since children were born. She used to say they were too small to leave alone with ayah, but that year he kept saying please, now children were bigger. So she agreed. She kept telling me what to do and gave telephone number to call in case of emergency. Such fuss she made, I’m telling you, when they left for Bandra I was so nervous.

I said special prayer that nothing goes wrong, that children would eat dinner properly, not spill anything, go to bed without crying or trouble. If bat found out she would say, what did I tell you, children cannot be left with ayah. And then she would give poor seth hell for it. He gets a lot anyway.

Everything went right and children went to sleep. I opened my bedding, but I was going to wait till they came home. Spreading out the saterunjee, I saw a tear in the white bedsheet used for covering — maybe from all pulling and pushing with the ghost — and was going to repair it next morning. I put off the light and lay down just to rest.

Then cockroach sounds started. I lay quietly in the dark, first to decide where it was. If you put a light on they stop singing and then you don’t know where to look. So I listened carefully. It was coming from the gas stove table. I put on the light now and took my chappal. There were two of them, sitting next to cylinder. I lifted my chappal, very slowly and quietly, then phut! phut! Must say I am expert at cockroach-killing. The poison which seth puts out is really not doing much good, my chappal is much better.

I picked up the two dead ones and threw them outside, in Baag’s backyard. Two cockroaches would make nice little snack for some rat in the yard, I thought. Then I lay down again after switching off light.

Clock in bai-seth’s room went twelve times. They would all be giving kiss now and saying Happy New Year. When I was little in Panjim, my parents, before all the money went, always gave a party on New Year’s Eve. I lay on my bedding, thinking of those days. It is so strange that so much of your life you can remember if you think quietly in the darkness.

Must not forget rice on stove. With rice, especially Basmati, one minute more or one minute less, one spoon extra water or less water, and it will spoil, it will not he light and every grain separate.

So there I was in the darkness remembering my father and mother, Panjim and Cajetan, nice beaches and boats. Suddenly it was very sad, so I got up and put a light on. In bai-seth’s room their clock said two o’clock. I wished they would come home soon. I checked children’s room, they were sleeping.

Back to my passage I went, and started mending the torn sheet. Sewing, thinking about my mother, how hard she used to work, how she would repair clothes for my brothers and sisters. Not only sewing to mend but also to alter. When my big brother’s pants would not fit, she would open out the waist and undo trouser cuffs to make longer legs. Then when he grew so big that even with alterations it did not fit, she sewed same pants again, making a smaller waist, shorter legs, so little brother could wear. How much work my mother did, sometimes even helping my father outside in the small field, especially if he was visiting a taverna the night before.

But sewing and remembering brought me more sadness. I put away the needle and thread and went outside by the stairs. There is a little balcony there. It was so nice and dark and quiet, I just stood there. Then it became a little chilly. I wondered if the ghost was coming again. My father used to say that whenever a ghost is around it feels chilly, it is a sign. He said he always did in the field when the bhoot came to the well.

There was no ghost or anything so I must be chilly, I thought, because it is so early morning. I went in and brought my white bedsheet. Shivering a little, I put it over my head, covering up my ears. There was a full moon, and it looked so good. In Panjim sometimes we used to go to the beach at night when there was a full moon, and father would tell us about when he was little, and the old days when Portuguese ruled Goa, and about grandfather who had been to Portugal in a big ship.

Then I saw bai-seth’s car come in the compound. I leaned over the balcony, thinking to wave if they looked up, let them know I had not gone to sleep. Then I thought, no, it is better if I go in quietly before they see me, or bai might get angry and say, what are you doing outside in middle of night, leaving children alone inside. But she looked up suddenly. I thought, O my Jesus, she has already seen me.

And then she screamed. I’m telling you, she screamed so loudly I almost fell down faint. It was not angry screaming, it was frightened screaming, bhoot! bhoot! and I understood. I quickly went inside and lay down on my bedding.

It took some time for them to come up because she sat inside the car and locked all doors. Would not come out until he climbed upstairs, put on every staircase light to make sure the ghost was gone, and then went back for her.

She came in the house at last and straight to my passage, shaking me, saying wake up, Jaakaylee, wake up! I pretended to be sleeping deeply, then turned around and said, Happy New Year, bat, everything is okay, children are okay.

She said, yes yes, but the bhoot is on the stairs! I saw him, the one you saw last year at Christmas, he is back, I saw him with my own eyes!

I wanted so much to laugh, but I just said, don’t be afraid, bai, he will not do any harm, he is not a ghost of mischief, he must have just lost his way.

Then she said, Jaakaylee, you were telling the truth and I was angry with you. I will tell everyone in B Block you were right, there really is a bhoot.

I said bai, let it be now, everyone has forgotten about it, and no one will believe anyway. But she said, when I tell them, they will believe.

And after that many people in Firozsha Baag started to believe in the ghost. One was dustoorji in A Block. He came one day and taught bai a prayer, saykasté saykasté sataan, to say it every time she was on the stairs. He told her, because you have seen a bhoot on the balcony by the stairs, it is better to have a special Parsi prayer ceremony there so he does not come again and cause any trouble. He said, many years ago, near Marine Lines where Hindus have their funerals and burn bodies, a bhoot walked at midnight in the middle of the road, scaring motorists and causing many accidents. Hindu priests said prayers to make him stop. But no use. Bhoot kept walking at midnight, motorists kept having accidents. So Hindu priests called me to do a jashan, they knew Parsi priest has most powerful prayers of all. And after I did a jashan right in the middle of the road, everything was all right.

Bai listened to all this talk of dustoorji from A Block, then said she would check with seth and let him know if they wanted a balcony jashan. Now seth says yes to everything, so he told her, sure sure, let dustoorji do it. It will be fun to see the exkoriseesum, he said, some big English word like that.

Dustoorji was pleased, and he checked his Parsi calendar for a good day. On that morning I had to wash whole balcony floor specially, then dustoorji came, spread a white sheet, and put all prayer items on it, a silver thing in which he made fire with sandalwood and loban, a big silver dish, a loata full of water, flowers, and some fruit.

When it was time to start saying prayers dustoorji told me to go inside. Later, bai told me that was because Parsi prayers are so powerful, only a Parsi can listen to them. Everyone else can be badly damaged inside their soul if they listen.

So jashan was done and dustoorji went home with all his prayer things. But when people in Firozsha Baag who did not believe in the ghost heard about prayer ceremony, they began talking and mocking.

Some said Jaakaylee’s bai has gone crazy, first the ayah was seeing things, and now she has made her bai go mad. Bai will not talk to those people in the Baag. She is really angry, says she does not want friends who think she is crazy. She hopes jashan was not very powerful, so the ghost can come again. She wants everyone to see him and know the truth like her.

Busy eating, bai-seth are. Curry is hot, they are blowing whoosh-whoosh on their tongues but still eating, they love it hot. Secret of good curry is not only what spices to put, but also what goes in first, what goes in second, and third, and so on. And never cook curry with lid on pot, always leave it open, stir it often, stir it to urge the flavour to come out.

So bat is hoping the ghost will come again. She keeps asking me about ghosts, what they do, why they come. She thinks because I saw the ghost first in Firozsha Baag, it must be my speciality or something. Especially since I am from village — she says village people know more about such things than city people. So I tell her about the bhoot we used to see in the small field, and what my father said when he saw the bhoot near the well. Bai enjoys it, even asks me to sit with her at table, bring my separate mug, and pours a cup for me, listening to my ghost-talk. She does not treat me like servant all the time.

One night she came to my passage when I was saying my rosary and sat down with me on the bedding. I could not believe it, I stopped my rosary. She said, Jaakaylee, what is it Catholics say when they touch their head and stomach and both sides of chest? So I told her, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Right right! she said, I remember it now, when I went to St. Anne’s High School there were many Catholic girls and they used to say it always before and after class prayer, yes, Holy Ghost. Jaakaylee, you don’t think this is that Holy Ghost you pray to, do you? And I said, no bai, that Holy Ghost has a different meaning, it is not like the bhoot you and I saw.

Yesterday she said, Jaakaylee, will you help me with something? All morning she was looking restless, so I said, yes bai. She left the table and came back with her big scissors and the flat cane soopra I use for winnowing rice and wheat. She said, my granny showed me a little magic once, she told me to keep it for important things only. The bhoot is, so I am going to use it. If you help me. It needs two Parsis, but I’ll do it with you.

I just sat quietly, a little worried, wondering what she was up to now. First, she covered her head with a white mathoobanoo, and gave me one for mine, she said to put it over my head like a scarf. Then, the two points of scissors she poked through one side of soopra, really tight, so it could hang from the scissors. On two chairs we sat face to face. She made me balance one ring of scissors on my finger, and she balanced the other ring on hers. And we sat like that, with soopra hanging from scissors between us, our heads covered with white cloth. Believe or don’t believe, it looked funny and scary at the same time. When soopra became still and stopped swinging around she said, now close your eyes and don’t think of anything, just keep your hand steady. So I closed my eyes, wondering if seth knew what was going on.

Then she started to speak, in a voice I had never heard before. It seemed to come from very far away, very soft, all scary. My hair was standing, I felt chilly, as if a bhoot was about to come. This is what she said: if the ghost is going to appear again, then soopra must turn.

Nothing happened. But I’m telling you, I was so afraid I just kept my eyes shut tight, like she told me to do. I wanted to see nothing which I was not supposed to see. All this was something completely new for me. Even in my village, where everyone knew so much about ghosts, magic with soopra and scissors was unknown.

Then bai spoke once more, in that same scary voice: if the ghost is going to appear again, upstairs or downstairs, on balcony or inside the house, this year or next year, in daylight or in darkness, for good purpose or for bad purpose, then soopra must surely turn.

Believe or don’t believe, this time it started to turn, I could feel the ring of the scissors moving on my finger. I screamed and pulled away my hand, there was a loud crash, and bai also screamed.

Slowly, I opened my eyes. Everything was on the floor, scissors were broken, and I said to bai, I’m very sorry I was so frightened, bau and for breaking your big scissors, you can take it from my pay.

She said, you scared me with your scream, Jaakaylee, but it is all right now, nothing to be scared about, I’m here with you. All the worry was gone from her face. She took off her mathoobanoo and patted my shoulder, picked up the broken scissors and soopra, and took it back to kitchen.

Bai was looking very pleased. She came back and said to me, don’t worry about broken scissors, come, bring your mug, I’m making tea for both of us, forget about soopra and ghost for now. So I removed my mathoobanoo and went with her.

Jaakaylee, O Jaakaylee, she is calling from dining-room. They must want more curry. Good thing I took some out for my dinner, they will finish the whole pot. Whenever I make Goan curry, nothing is left over. At the end seth always takes a piece of bread and rubs it round and round in the pot, wiping every little bit. They always joke, Jaakaylee, no need today for washing pot, all cleaned out. Yes, it is one thing I really enjoy, cooking my Goan curry, stirring and stirring, taking the aroma as it boils and cooks, stirring it again and again, watching it bubbling and steaming, stirring and stirring till it is ready to eat.