1997, August
It was the 50th year of Indian independence. Every vehicle on the road had a plastic Indian tricolor fastened on a white straw. Three rupees a piece, and an Indian flag made to look like flapping wings appeared on every sticker, every shop and every auto rickshaw. The loud speakers on the road sang of great struggles. Gandhi got back his respect. Nehru was long forgotten. The congress party had agreed to support a less bitter leader and IK Gujaral government had taken nimble steps in the golden years. Everyone talked about politics.
Not everyone. Not these kids. They didn’t care. They were patriotic. More patriotic than their bureaucratic parents. The shortest of them was wearing a khaki uniform. The others were wearing white kurta. One of them lost his Gandhi cap running uphill through the small lane with an old junk shop. The others held onto their caps. The one in khaki had a navy blue cap with two copper buttons. They ran uphill. They ran berserk. They ran to their friend’s house halfway down the hill. The grabbed their cricket bats. They grabbed the cricket ball. They ran like crazy.
The hill was one of the highest points in the area. No one had dared to climb the entire height. The kids knew that this was not all that high. It was not taller than a 4 storey building. But it was covered with thick forest. In the middle of a mad city desperately trying to go metropolitan, a green hill with an old mansion and big trees lay untouched, unexplored and haunted.
A small clearing about 100 yards from their friend’s house was their cricket ground. It was a small plot of land with an incomplete basement. The basement presented an incomplete dream. The kids put their stumps on the edge of the incomplete dream. That’s where the mud is soft. The concrete boundary surrounded it. In no time the place would be dribbling with kids who would jump over walls, climb over papaya trees and chase squirrels around the basement. Above the basement is thick forest. The forest which loved soft tennis balls and never gave it back.
Cricket would burn the rest of the day. The bruised knees and injured finger desperately clutching the ball for an off spin would make them feel freer than Gujarals sppech. The caps were kept on black brick wall seething with mosses and centipede. The Gandhi and its blue counterpart watched the kids play. The kurthas were sodden with mud and green moss. The khaki was still intact. The kid in khaki would say long Hindi dialogues in between. “Give me blood and I will give you freedom “. He played Subash Chandra Bose in the Independence Day celebration drama at) school that very morning. He was still performing. A Subhash Chandra Bose bowling a googly. Excited, surprised and annoyed that it didn’t hit the stumps.
Like every other day the play ended with the ball getting lost in the forest above.
“It’s full of snakes” Kannan would say.
“..And then there is the lady... She kills!!??”
They all knew the lady that he is talking about. The white Mistress and her kid who lived in the bungalow on top of the hill before independence. She died. She haunts. She is searching for her lost kid.
“Have you seen her?” the khaki uniform enquired.
“No... But we all know she is there, we have heard her sing!!”
“Does she sing in English? Does she wear a cape, or does she dress in white sari with her hair spread over her face like the ghost they depict on Doordarshan ??!!”
“She dresses in sari “
An English ghost dressed in white sari, searching for her child. Funny. Not stupid. Kannan’s dad has seen her twice.
“Let’s go up the hill” the guy in khaki stood up with enthusiasm.
“There are snakes ... big ones”.
“Its 3.00 pm. Snakes will be taking their afternoon nap” one of the kid wearing the kurtha tried to make a joke. A small argument arises on whether a snake sleeps with its eyes closed or open and and all of a sudden they decided to climb uphill.The bushes were thick. The trees were a bit too wide. Their roots made the path difficult. They expected a snake to jump out from one of the bushes and bite on their foreheads any time. “If a snake bite on your forehead u will die instantly’)”.
The ground was concealed in a thick layer of scorched leaves. The light was pretty dim. Three minutes and they reached a clearing. An old mansion totally destroyed stood amidst the trees.
They didn’t realize that the only ghost they will ever see is the mansion itself. The khaki wearing guy was scared. The Gandhi capped boy ran to the walls of the mansion and took a piss. A sign that everything is clear or that he is scared to the bottom. The sound of piss on the dry leaves made them feel secured. They felt as if they conquered something. They looked around. In between the trees they could see the city. A city which had lost its soul. Everybody talks about deforestation but as far as they could see there was nothing but coconut trees.
Kannan found some cigarette butts inside the roofless mansion. He found an old port rum bottle and a cheap dirty magazine with a fat lady’s picture on it.
They sat on one of the verandas of that broken mansion. They felt lost. They felt they discovered a paradise. Now they could play hide n seek.
2008 November
There was so much mud. Reddish earth. There was the scent of fresh sod in the air. There were machines with hydraulic arms digging them out. I walked past the machines into the damp earth. My sandals had already befriended the red clay. A bunch of Hindi speaking, golden black haired pan chewing frail guys stared at me. The JCB operator was a Malayali. The other three JCBs lay unattended in one corner of the plot. There was a machine roar in the air. The sky was blazing blue but the hired laborers didn’t care the heat. I stood there and watched the elegance of this heavy machine. A mastermind mechanism. A single handed hulk who could bring down an entire army. I saw a lot of people like me watching the machine dance. My friend who was busy on his phone called me “we’ve got to go!!”
“I thought you were busy on your cell ?”
“I was. We had a fight. She hung up.” he said with a grin. As if he had accomplished something.
“Oh… again?” I didn’t expect an answer but I got one “it’s ok. We will be fine.”
“You look upset. Is it the job thing?” he wanted me to know that my problem of not having a job is greater to his petty fight with his girlfriend. But he cared. Deep down I know he did.
“No...It’s the …never mind. Lets go “
“What? Is it about me asking you not to ride my byke?” He was a little hesitant and a lot confused.
“NO”
“THEN”
“Its about the construction site “
He was totally in dismay “what about it? I never knew that there was such a large plot in this area”
“This is no plot. They cut down a hill. Ouer hill. we used to play there”
“A hill?”
“Yeah. This used to be a hill. The only green hill in this part of the city and the M###er fu##ers tore it open.”
“Yeah? So what? Why do you even care?” He stared at his phone expecting a compromise call any moment as he spoke.
“Do I look like I care? Pfffffft….. Let them kill it and build whatever they please. Its not my property" . And I got in pinion and he road the bike like a maniac.
He dropped me home. I walked into my room silently. noone notices nowadays.
I could think about what they have done to my haunted hill. I could feel sorry about the old bungalaw that was pulled down by the JCBs. I could think about all those tiny creatures, the rats, snakes and feel sorry for their loss. I could think about my childhood days when I used to play hide and seek uphill. I could think about my navy blue cap and the tennis balls that I lost . I could feel sorry for the sari wearing english ghost whose child was still playing hide and seek. I could call Kannan and renew our friendship. I could take my photo album and see the photos of me playactiing Subash Chandra Bose at school. I could remember the good old days at the hills. I didn’t. I didn’t hate the city for the last heaven it took away from me. I lost that hill long back. Way back when I replaced my friends with books and pursuit for grades became more important than the hide and seek game on a green hill with an old mansion and a sari wearing English ghost.
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