Testimony of a Ghost Runner

It seemed that I had been waiting for eternity. Annoyed and worried, pacing up and down the room, time and again, I stepped into the balcony and looked down. Except for a drenched family of a stray cat and her kittens, curling up over each others’ body for warmth, beneath the shade of the entrance, there was no spec of life around. The shadow of street light in the shallow pool of rainwater beneath the light post is rippling in wind. A sudden yet very short spell of gusty wind broke a few branches of neem tree in the yard. Faint rumbling of thunder from higher clouds was persistent noise for that half of the day. Was it a knock at my door? I turned back and found Gjuly meddling with Fidgety.

Gjuly happened to be my pet ghost. It used to be so ghostly that it never had a gender. It never thought but acted. That was all I need. But my other pet ghosts were not same. Some of them used to be very argumentative. I kept them mostly for those days when I used to find myself in scarcity of wit that could generate varied opinions spontaneously. In those days, they supplied me with plethora of viewpoints. Otherwise, I used to keep them engaged in playing lazy board games. They did not create a fuss at all about such engagements. They remain complacent in a notion that I have honoured their intellect.

Fidgety happened to be my pet moth. When it came to my place, it was near transparent. I drenched it in ferrous sulphate solution and gave it a pale green colour. Then Gmarc, one of ghosts of strong opinion, protested. To keep everyone happy, I ordered Gsept to burn the borders of Fidgety’s wings. Gsept is efficient and meticulous. A true doer. It first separated the wings from Fidgety’s body. Then it passed outer borders of each of the wings, one after another, over a narrow flame, so quickly that the iron sulphate coat has been oxidized, but no part of wing vain or protein molecule in it was burned. Then Gsept fitted the wings on Fidgety’s body. Thus, Fidgety’s wings got borders of maroon colour.

Both Gjuly and Fidgety used to act silently. They were even able to remain out of sight of most of the people. Fidgety, in presence of guests, always remained stuck to the refrigerator, camouflaging with all other magnets and rubbers. Gjuly used to disseminate its parts into the interstices of any of the curtains. Therefore, whatever Gjuly had done with Fidgety was not the source of that soft knock. I did not see anybody coming.  It was a little perplexing. The other ghosts, too, used to make no sounds while in action, of any sort. They used to move, used to talk, even used to argue silently. Too many sounds were around that night. Yet I did not reach the door, but kept trying to figure out the reason and source of the possible knock.

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This story belongs to an anthology of my short stories, "Ghost Runners & Others". It comprises ten different short stories of ten different tastes, shades and environments. Some set in paranormal India, some in serene forests and mountains. Some are spread from remote villages of Telangana to the United States. Some speaks of a controlled restrictive society and its freedom seeking denizens thriving through odds of politics, corruption and natural disasters. Some are depiction of strife of relationships. Some clings to brighter hopes and joy. Some include contemporary discourse on gender and beyond (what we do not know and are ignoring as a knowledge under peer pressure and scenarios that are waiting for appropriate moments to explode into experience).  In nutshell, it narrates stories of contemporary  Indians and their diversity.

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