Rohinton Mistry - Tales From Firozsha Baag

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.