It was during one of those dinner parties we used to have. With a few close friends and their families coming together in one home, complete with good drinks and delicious food. But the best part of these parties was the conversations, the little stories, and the honest humor, which comes out of people when they are with others they are very familiar with.
The monsoon had just started in Kerala. And as the evening progressed, the weather outside became heavier, darker and the smell of distant rains slowly wafted into the rooms. You should experience that feeling sometimes; for me, it evokes nostalgia, a certain whiff of sadness, and memories of things past.
Very soon the rains began and the lights started flickering, hinting at a brief spell of darkness. The host and his wife assured us that the generator will start automatically. But by then the mood in the room had changed and became a bit somber, creating the perfect ambiance for some delicious ghost stories. This, as you know better, happens in such situations. The excellent single malt definitely helped, giving us warmth and courage to withstand any horrors coming our way.
The host, a remarkable storyteller (by the way), who had regaled us with some spicy stories in the past, curled his legs up onto the sofa and placed a cushion on his lap. Clearly signaling that another one of his fine yarns is slowly going to spiral our way. Taking a sip from his glass and after a pregnant pause, as if he was recollecting something very painful, he started on a story which to this day I can only recollect with a shudder of horror and some disbelief. Putting down his glass slowly he began "It was an evening in our ancestral family house in the distant suburbs of Cochin, a few years ago, where the family members have come together for a religious function in memory of a departed elder. The house, fairly old, with dimly lit rooms, was set amidst a sprawling compound replete with trees and the ubiquitous pond, as befitting a traditional Kerala tharavad (spacious family house). After a light dinner a few of our family members, including myself, sat in the front portion of the house, chatting and reminiscing about the departed soul. The mood was heavy and the talk soon veered to where souls go after their mortal life. Philosophical and religious theories were contemplated and explanations on why souls wandered on earth till their sins were absolved were also discussed, much to my discomfort."
Taking another sip from his glass as if to fortify his resolve he continued, "As a rational thinker I took all these discourses with a pinch of salt. Getting increasingly bored and badly needing a smoke and a leak, I excused myself and stepped out into the familiar darkness, lit in patches by a subdued moon. Moving away from the house to avoid the elders seeing me smoke, I walked towards a tall tree with low branches and hanging creepers of a parasite plant. It was a pleasant night, with a gentle breeze and enough moonlight for decent visibility. Drawing deeply on the cigarette I set about doing my thing. The slight breeze was blowing the smoke from the cigarette up to my nostrils, so after each drag, I had to raise my face to evade the smoke. There was a tender touch on my face whenever I lifted it and I soon understood that it was the tendrils of the hangings. Placing the cigarette on my lips I reached up with my hand to move the tendrils away. I did it again and had a strange feeling that it felt much like hair and did I detect a faint fragrance, much like jasmine. Slightly startled I looked up into the moonlit darkness and found that something was swinging from an upper branch from which the tendrils were flowing down."
"Looking deeply, I found to my horror that it was a woman hanging upside down with her legs hooked on the branch, with her long and lustrous hair flowing down, caressing my face gently in the breeze. Screaming, I turned quickly, with a smatter of urine on my feet, and ran with wooden steps back to the house. Nobody inside believed the story, assigning it to my imagination. But to my credit nobody ventured outside also, to check. It was a bad night and the morning did not reveal anything other than the innocent hanging creepers on the tree."
"Consequent to that I had to undergo psychiatric treatment for some time and gradually recovered, though still date the memory has not offered any explanation for the horrifying sight I experienced that night. "
"Was it the tendrils of the creeper or was it tendrils of hair. And the fragrance?
Who knows?"
