Bhulo

His plans sounded crazy, crazy enough to work …

“Buta!”

I groaned. That single call hurtled like a missile into my flight of fancy and brought me crash-landing back into the harsh and cruel world of reality and Sunday morning chores. The hero was just about to launch an offensive against the villain …

I sighed heavily. My mother’s timing was implacable.

“Buta!”

I grumbled and roused myself to answer her urgent summon. I had a shrewd suspicion that this was a plot to tear me from my spot in the sofa, my book and my hero (who I am convinced has a Hritwik Roshan physique) and dispatch me on a quest to procure milk and vegetables.

Two minutes in my Mother’s company and I knew that I was correct. I was to go and procure milk and vegetables.

Everything that was inside me protested. Nothing, I mean nothing, was going to rob from me my right of being an utter slob on Sunday. It did not matter that the said articles could be procured from the shops in the street behind my house, a mere five minute walk from my front door.

I was not going to move an inch.

I said so.

Two seconds later, I was on the road contemplating on the futility of clashing with a much, much higher authority.

Oh well, there was nothing much I could do at this stage except get the said articles quickly and return home where my spot on the sofa and my hero eagerly awaited my return.

I bought the milk from a small shop owned by my father’s friend but it was usually his wife, Shikha, who looked after the store. She and I shared some small talk concerning the latest romances in the area, the secrets to loosing weight and rising prices. Then I proceeded to the vegetable seller. He and I haggled over the prices and by the time I was done I tried to convince myself that I had driven a hard bargain.

Disposing of these two mundane everyday activities I was now ready to return triumphant. Of course there was also this feeling in the pit of my stomach that I created too much of a fuss over something really trivial, through naturally, I would never admit it.

“Did you forget something?”

I blinked, startled. I was standing in front of Shikha’s shop.

“Uhh… No.” The words came instinctually. I even managed to smile politely at Shikha.

She nodded and returned to attend her other customers.

Talk about embarrassing. I was probably just standing there, gazing into nothingness and looking like a total mental case.

I frowned. What was I doing standing in front of her shop and gazing into nothingness anyway? Sure, I have an overactive imagination and sometimes I do gaze into nothingness, thereby driving my mother and sister into distraction … But, that’s only when I am inspired.

“What? Brinjal doesn’t cost twenty rupees a kilo! This is daylight robbery I say!”

Very true. I nodded in agreement and was about to move ahead when my legs stilled of their own account. I was standing beside the vegetable seller again.

I shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs that seemed to have accumulated in the recesses of my cranium.

Something just didn’t make sense.

I was pretty sure that I did not come this way. In fact, I was pretty damn sure that I turned in the opposite direction from Shikha’s shop and headed home. Yeah, sometimes I was absent minded but I was certainly not that absent minded.

Shaking my head, I turned my legs in the direction of my home again.

“Eggs?” Shikha’s voice made me freeze in my tracks. “Poultry?”

What the hell!

It was like someone hit a rewind button and I was back where I started!

What the hell was going on?

It was broad daylight, I had a two kilo bag in my hand and no matter how inspired I am I do not traverse the same pathway over and over again … and not know it.

Like I said, something doesn’t make sense.

I was aware of my heart hammering in my chest and a knotty feeling in my stomach. Taking a deep breath I forced myself to calm down.

Now, I was going to walk slowly and notice where I am going. Oh … and I was going to be systematic about it.

Deliberately, I turned in the opposite direction, facing towards my house and started walking, counting every step I took.

“Give me half a kilo of potatoes.”

I felt a tide of cold dread rise flood me. I was beside the vegetable seller … again.

And then I had a strange sort of premonition that if I was to take another step now, I would find myself back in front of Shikha’s shop. So, I took the step.

“Which biscuit did you want, Britannia Marie or Briskfarm Marie?”

Nothing could describe what I felt. There was a sick sensation inside my stomach and I felt that my intestines were coiling up in knots, just like the time before my EM theory test.

It was … unreal.

I really could find no other words to describe the situation.

And I was … beyond scared.

Yet, there was this feeling inside me that forbade me to show my fears and I agreed. It seemed … unwise.

I gulped and decided to give it one more try…

And then another …

And then another …

No matter what I did, no matter how I tried, I would end up in the same spot outside Shikha’s shop and then walk past the vegetable seller and then back again to Shikha’s shop.

Every time, I moved past these too familiar landmarks, I could see new customers in their stores. People came and people went and it seemed that in this dynamic world I was the only constant, cursed to travel in some infinite loop, over and over again.

It was like I was stuck in a never ending nightmare.

And then it occurred to me.

I had to wake up.

There was a small pencil knife in my purse. I usually used it to sharpen my pencils (though I like to say that I keep it for the purpose of self defense).

Standing beside the vegetable seller, I could vaguely hear somebody haggling over the price of capsicum.

Taking a deep breath, I poked the knife rather violently into the fleshy part of my palm as I took the next step.

As a flash of excruciating pain filled my body, I felt like some circuit had been switched on in my head. I also had this really, really indescribable sensation. It was like I was being bodily released from some bond.

I stumbled forward, clutching my bleeding hand.

And then I realized that I was not standing in front of Shikha’s shop. I was standing at the juncture where the road which moved past her store and the vegetable seller met the G.T. Road. It was quite another matter that I was standing in the middle of the road and very narrowly missed coming to grief under the wheels of an approaching cycle and various other vehicles.

I stood at the side of the road, repeating to myself. ‘I am out. I am out.’

I was out … out of whatever I was stuck in. To say that I was deliriously happy is the understatement of the century.

I was drenched in sweat and my legs felt like jelly. My hands very cold, clammy and bloody and I had no idea where the vegetable bag fell and frankly, I didn’t care.

There was a small tea shop in the corner. It has been there like forever, manned by the same wrinkled old man, whose appearance doesn’t change. At least that’s what my father says. I was of the opinion that he couldn’t possibly age any more and everybody agrees that he makes superb tea.

Well, I can’t, since I’ve never stepped inside his headquarters but today it appeared to me in a heavenly light. I forced myself towards it. Sinking on one of the lopsided benches I ordered tea.

As I sat there trying to quench the flow of blood from the wound in my hand I realized that I had been going around in circles. It was like my vision was impaired or something, I was passing right in front of my house over and over again and never once realizing it.

Is that even possible?

“Is everything okay?”

No! Everything is not okay!

I looked up at the old man, unsure of what to say. He urged me to accept the steaming cup from his hand. I did, experimentally taking a sip. Caffeine flowed into my system and under its rejuvenating effect I began to recover a little.

“Is everything okay?”

The old man asked again. I thought his voice sounded kind and his eyes sympathetic. For some reason I felt that he would not laugh if I told him what happened.

I told him.

He did not laugh. In fact he looked really grave. When he spoke at last his voice was quite grim.

“Have you heard of anything called Bhulo Bhoot?”

I stared. Of course I heard of them. They were ghosts who loved to confuse travelers, leading them into some kind of trouble or another …

But such things happened only on lonely roads or moors or somewhere that was not bang in the middle of the city. Oh yeah … and such things never happened in broad daylight.

I must have looked as openly disbelieving as I felt because he started to laugh.

“You know, this place wasn’t always like this.” He said gently, allowing me to digest his words. “It was pretty much like a jungle. People were afraid to walk through here after dark. There were wild animals, thieves … and then there was them.”

He paused for a while before continuing. “The city expanded itself and now, you have this.” He waved a hand around. “Now, we have a concrete jungle.” He favored me with a toothless smile. “What is that thing you have to do if don’t want to die out when circumstances change?”

Comprehension dawned on me like a bolt from the blue. “Evolve?” I offered tentatively. “Adapt?”

“Ah.” He agreed. “Adapt.” He patted my hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry. They don’t always do this, only now and then when they feel that they need to remind people of their existence or … when they are bored.”

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