Something that scares me sometimes.

Paranormal – one of my favoriteacan’t say completely that I believe in it nor I can say that I don’t believe but it amuses me. I mean the topic.

Well leaving behind all the debate of I believe or I don’t, let me tell you a story. A story which occured years ago in my ancestral home.

It goes like this, one of the men working at our mansion, had always trouble sleeping in his quarter. As I mentioned it was ancestral so was centuries old. And being so, it had it’s own share of spooky stories. But,now don’t let me embrangle you from the main story. Well,I think I should not call it a story but true incident. So, this guy, who worked for my grandfather was given a quarter in the outer portion of the mansion. There were others also in his neighbouring quarters but they never said a thing about some sort of disturbances.

This guy alone had a problem, so we all thought either he is imagining things or hallucinating under the influence of cheap alcohol. But every morning he used to wake up with sores on his face and shoulders. In the evenings when he used to come up with cowmilk for the household, we used to surround him to tell us the story of his ‘brave’ encounters. May be from there my interest in paranormal and horror genre started.

Well, coming back to my experience, yes my experience as now I can own the incident bravely. One day he was supposed to go to his village and return by the night. That evening another house help who was assisting him, came to deliver milk and gave the keys to his quarter, saying sorry as he couldnot stay in there. First we thought this guy is influenced by the stories but then he showed a slap mark on his left cheek, which he had covered from a cloth, used to tie on head to save from heat.

Next day, we children planned to go and see in the quarter, what the mystery was? So, without telling elders and the nannies and specially the governess, we sneaked out. Six of us, a whole bunch of screaming and shouting children, full of excitement, reached the outer garden and then crossed the garage areas and there was the outer line of the house helps’ quarters.

The keys were with the eldest cousin. At time he used to be very weak hearted. And I was the bravest one. All the others in the group encouraged me to take the keys and open the door. And being a good loving elder cousin to rest of them, I did what they wanted me to. We entered in and to my surprise, the bulb which one of us switched on, went off with a blast. And imagine who was the first to escape? No, it was not my eldest cousin, but me! Yes me. Because I have acoustic startle reflex. May be some of you might be laughing at me or questioning me over the claim of being bravest of the bunch, but believe me I know what the hell I deal with when I say ASR. Enough of my side story, I will tell you what happened next.

The moment I jumped out of the room, everyone followed the suit. I gathered my wit and entered again followed by rest. We stayed in there for about half an hour but nothing happened. Apart from one of my younger cousin, who actually was scared, felt cold and heard something. Looking at his condition we left the room and locked it again. Kept the keys back in place and didn’t utter a word about our expedition.

The guy returned in the evening instead of previous night. And we were eager to see if he notices something in room. He stayed the whole time out of it and after dinner retired to his room. We were watching him from the main gate to the main mansion.

Next day it was sunday, yet we woke up soon and gathered in the common verandah. Before elders could question us, we all ran from there towards the quarters and what we saw was unbelievable. The guy with his bed and bedding, was lying outside with the bed atop him. Rest of the men and their families had come out and surrounded him. He woke up and took all his belongings back in the room, came out shutting the door behind him. We asked him what had happened to which he shrugged his shoulders and told us that it was nothing new as every night someone threw him off his bed, only this time it’s out of the room with his bed. Then he went back to his work and we came back inside.

We didn’t say anything about our expedition and never spoke about this experience with anyone. Today, decades have passed but this is the second time I am mentioning this incident. Prior to this time I mentioned it to my hubby some two years ago, I think.

For now this is all. May be in next post I will share some other such experiences from my home and other places, that too if you like. Thank you for reading till end and if you didn’t then also for bearing with me.

DURIAN.

The image above is from Lhairton Kelvin Costa at Pexels.

He lay still like a stone, with palms open and the ancient key lying in it. The question is, did he find the lock or the curse found him first? Seeing him for the first time hinted that he might be not so lucky that his death found him at the crucial moment of the discovery. The ancient lock is said to be hiding a large precious treasure of the then warrior clan, in a hidden temple of Durian, the lost city. He used to say that only a true Durian can find and unlock the temple’s treasure. He found the rusty key somewhere unexpected, thus believed he was true descendant of the long lost clan and would unearth the treasure for the benefit of his other brothers and sisters. The shocking fact is, that he was not one of them but only the bearer of the key. Which he was supposed to deliver to the rightful person. All this was written clearly in the old manuscript he clenched in his another hand which lay across his chest. May be he realised it too late. But now the question is, who is the rightful owner or does the person actually exist. The common knowledge says, the Durians are long extinct clan. But the finding of key, says something else and the key bearer according to the manuscript, suggests there is some truth in the legend. There must be a true Durian. The right time is come for them to raise and shine. But the question still remains unanswered, ‘ who is or where is? ‘

Cake making

It was her idea to bake a cake. But my heart didn’t agree to permit her to do so. She is so small, how could she accomplish such a nasty job.

But then I had to give up against her constant nagging to do a cake all by herself.

So, finally today she assembled everything needed for her cake. With so much enthusiasm and happy mood, she started her work, but two ingredients fell short. My heart broke thinking she might feel bad, but to my surprise in a very cool manner she asked for the substitutes. And I was a proud happy mommy to oblige.

The initial idea was to bake a chocolate cake, but as we were short of adequate amount of chocolate we made chocolate, vanilla and the icing was divided into two parts. One for the inner layer and the other for top layer.

The cake took 25 to 30 minutes to bake on the gas, till then I asked her to finish her lunch. But her excitement was so much that every now and then she wanted to check on its progress. Finally, when it was done her excitement was on top. While cutting the cake she told the family members that it’s her birthday, so, everyone should sing a birthday song for her which we did happily. And my heart swelled with love for the child, seeing her face glowing with pride of accomplishment.

Well, I didn’t mention her age.. she is in grade 4 and 8 years old.

Thanks for reading a proud mommy’s little girl’s beautiful accomplishment.

There is no second chance, always.

McDonald’s opened at the regular timings. It was less crowded then evening timings, when youngsters flooded the place. The door opened and a sophistic man entered. The air round him, said about his arrogance. He looked around. There on the corner table; their usual pick in this McD, since their courting days, she was sitting. He strolled towards her. On reaching her, he stood like a tower behind her. For a couple of seconds he gazed her then putting his hand into his coat pockets, juggled the car keys. She looked up and with her eyes pointed towards the chair opposite to her. Releasing a sigh while sitting down, he asked, ” What do you want me to say? ” and waited for her to answer. She started ” You remember when we first met, it w…” He interrupted in middle ” Living with you, drama queen was like having my own personal tv reality show.” He continued, ” I can’t. I don’t want to go through this again.” She lost her control and a sob escaped her mouth. With teary voice she said, ” How many times do you think a heart can break?” His reply was immediate, ” When are you going to realise that I don’t care.” “You are the reason I am on medication.” and with this a tear welling up in the eye rolled down her cheeks and kissing her lips fell onto her open palm, placed on table. ” This is all your fault.” He said looking round him to find service boy waiting for their order. ” I hope so.” She said dabbing her face with a handkerchief. Before she could say anything he declared, ” This isn’t the right time.” ” Will it ever be?” She asked and jerked her chair back to get up and go. She opened the door and stepped outside. There was no going back now she knew. ” Where are you going?” He asked. ” Somewhere that isn’t here.” She said.

FOWC with Fandango – Rately

I am always in a hurry when writing something or drawing and even painting. Why? I had no idea but it made my hand writing and written work look awful.
Once my friend told me to alow down my thought process so that the ideas have time get processed and be refined. And when I tried this it did make change in both, my work and handwriting.
Today when I was looking for an image for my post I found out why I face that problem. May be I am not alone and all the creative people suffer with the mess building up in their mind and are afraid of loosing the idea, for which they apply various methods to hold on. So, the fact that creative minds are rarely tidy is true to its core.
So many ideas keep on jumping up and down in my mind to come out on the paper, that I get confused. The problem with me is that I tend to forget some of the points running in my mind. I am not able to hold on to them, even though I keep repeating them and finally when I jot them down I notice it’s slightly different from my original idea or thought. The final product then is different from what I initially had in mind.
Sometimes I feel so hochpoch in there that just don’t wanna tread in my mind. The mix soup of my thoughts starts boiling at a point and then I can’t help but let it out of the pot. The mess of my mind looks beautiful or thoughtful on the paper.