After reaching first floor I stopped to rest. My breath was coming fast-fast. Fast-fast, like it does nowadays when I grind curry masala on the stone. Jaakaylee, my bai calls out, Jaakaylee, is masala ready? Thinks a sixty-three-year-old ayah can make masala as quick as she used to when she was fifteen. Yes, fifteen. The day after my fourteenth birthday I came by bus from Goa to Bombay. All day and night I rode the bus. I still remember when my father took me to bus station in Panjim. Now it is called Panaji. Joseph Uncle, who was mechanic in Mazagaon, met me at Bombay Central Station. So crowded it was, people running all around, shouting, screaming, and coolies with big-big trunks on their heads. Never will I forget that first day in Bombay. I just stood in one place, not knowing what to do, till Joseph Uncle saw me. Now it has been forty-nine years in this house as ayah, believe or don’t believe. Forty-nine years in Firozsha Baag’s B Block and they still don’t say my name right. Is it so difficult to say Jacqueline? But they always say Jaakaylee. Or worse, Jaakayl.
All the fault is of old bai who died ten years ago. She was in charge till her son brought a wife, the new bai of the house. Old bai took English words and made them Parsi words. Easy chair was igeechur, French beans was ferach beech, and Jacqueline became Jaakaylee. Later I found out that all old Parsis did this, it was like they made their own private language.
So then new bai called me Jaakaylee also, and children do the same. I don’t care about it now. If someone asks my name I say Jaakaylee. And I talk Parsi-Gujarati all the time instead of Konkani, even with other ayahs. Sometimes also little bits of English.
But I was saying. My breath was fast-fast when I reached first floor and stopped for rest. And then I noticed someone, looked like in a white gown. Like a man, but I could not see the face, just body shape. Kaun hai? I asked in Hindi. Believe or don’t believe, he vanished. Completely! I shook my head and started for second floor. Carefully, holding the railing, because the steps are so old, all slanting and crooked.
Then same thing happened. At the top of second floor he was waiting. And when I said, kya hai? believe or don’t believe, he vanished again! Now I knew it must be a bhoot. I knew he would be on third floor also, and I was right. But I was not scared or anything.
I reached the third floor entrance and found my bedding which I had put outside before leaving. After midnight mass I always sleep outside, by the stairs, because bat and seth must not be woken up at two A.M., and they never give me a key. No ayah gets key to a flat. It is something I have learned, like I learned forty-nine years ago that life as ayah means living close to floor. All work I do, I do on floors, like grinding masala, cutting vegetables, cleaning rice. Food also is eaten sitting on floor, after serving them at dining-table. And my bedding is rolled out at night in kitchen-passage, on floor. No cot for me. Nowadays, my weight is much more than it used to be, and is getting very difficult to get up from floor. But I am managing.
So Christmas morning at two o’clock I opened my bedding and spread out my saterunjee by the stairs. Then stopped. The bhoot had vanished, and I was not scared or anything. But my father used to say some ghosts play mischief. The ghost of our field never did, he only took water from our well, but if this ghost of the stairs played mischief he might roll me downstairs, who was to say. So I thought about it and rang the doorbell.
After many, many rings bai opened, looking very mean. Mostly she looks okay, and when she dresses in nice sari for a wedding or something, and puts on all bangles and necklace, she looks really pretty, I must say. But now she looked so mean. Like she was going to bite somebody. Same kind of look she has every morning when she has just woken up, but this was much worse and meaner because it was so early in the morning. She was very angry, said I was going crazy, there was no ghost or anything, I was just telling lies not to sleep outside.
Then seth also woke up. He started laughing, saying he did not want any ghost to roll me downstairs because who would make chai in the morning. He was not angry, his mood was good. They went back to their room, and I knew why he was feeling happy when crrr-crr crrr-crr sound of their bed started coming in the dark.
When he was little I sang Konkani songs for him. Mogacha Mary and Hanv Saiba. Big man now, he’s forgotten them and so have I. Forgetting my name, my language, my songs. But complaining I’m not, don’t make mistake. I’m telling you, to have a job I was very lucky because in Goa there was nothing to do. From Panjim to Bombay on the bus I cried, leaving behind my brothers and sisters and parents, and all my village friends. But I knew leaving was best thing. My father had eleven children and very small field. Coming to Bombay was only thing to do. Even schooling I got first year, at night. Then bai said I must stop because who would serve dinner when seth came home from work, and who would carry away dirty dishes? But that was not the real reason. She thought I stole her eggs. There were six eggs yesterday evening, she would say, only five this morning, what happened to one? She used to think I took it with me to school to give to someone.
I was saying, it was very lucky for me to become ayah in Parsi house, and never will I forget that. Especially because Im Goan Catholic and very dark skin colour. Parsis prefer Manglorean Catholics, they have light skin colour. For themselves also Parsis like light skin, and when Parsi baby is born that is the first and most important thing. If it is fair they say, O how nice light skin just like parents. But if it is dark skin they say, arré what is this ayah no chhokro, ayah’s child.
All this doing was more in olden days, mostly among very rich bais and seths. They thought they were like British only, ruling India side by side. But don’t make mistake, not just rich Parsis. Even all Marathi people in low class Tar Gully made fun of me when I went to buy grocery from bunya. Blackie, blackie, they would call out. Nowadays it does not happen because very dark skin colour is common in Bombay, so many people from south are coming here, Tamils and Keralites, with their funny illay illay poe poe language. Now people more used to different colours.
But still not to ghosts. Everybody in B Block found out about the bhoot of the stairs. They made so much fun of me all the time, children and grown-up people also.
And believe or don’t believe, that was a ghost of mischief. Because just before Easter he came back. Not on the stairs this time but right in my bed. I’m telling you, he was sitting on my chest and bouncing up and down, and I couldn’t push him off, so weak I was feeling (I’m a proper Catholic, I was fasting), couldn’t even scream or anything (not because I was scared – he was choking me). Then someone woke up to go to WC and put on a light in the passage where I sleep. Only then did the rascal bhoot jump off and vanish.
This time I did not tell anyone. Already they were making so much fun of me. Children in Firozsha Baag would shout, ayah bhoot! a yah bhoot! every time they saw me. And a new Hindi film had come out, Bhoot Bungla, about a haunted house, so they would say, like the man on the radio, in a loud voice: SEE TODAY, at APSARA CINEMA, R. K. Anand’s NEW fillum Bhoooot Bungla, starring JAAKAYLEE of BLOCK B! Just like that! O they made a lot of fun of me, but I did not care, I knew what I had seen.
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.
But he did not come. Why, I wondered. If he came to the bedding of a fat and ugly ayah all this time, now what was the matter? I could not understand. But then I said to myself, what are you thinking Jaakaylee, where is your head, do you really want the ghost to come sleep with you and touch you so shamefully?
After drinking my tea that morning I knew what had happened. The ghost did not come because of my confession. He was ashamed now. Because Father D’Silva knew about what he had been doing to me in the darkness every Friday night.
Next Friday night also there was no ghost. Now I was completely sure my confession had got rid of him and his shameless habits. But in a few days it would be Christmas Eve and time for midnight mass. I thought, maybe if he is ashamed to come into my bed, he could wait for me on the stairs like last year.
Time to cook rice now, time for seth to come home. Best quality Basmati rice we use, always, makes such a lovely fragrance while cooking, so tasty.
For midnight mass I left my bedding outside, and when I returned it was two A.M. But for worrying there was no reason. No ghost on any floor this time. I opened the bedding by the stairs, thinking about Cajetan, how scared he was when I said I would tell my father about his touching me. Did not ask me to go anywhere after that, no beaches, no cinema. Now same thing with the ghost. How scared men are of fathers.
And next morning bat opened the door, saying, good thing ghost took a holiday this year, if you had woken us again I would have killed you. I laughed a little and said Merry Christmas, bat, and she said same to me.
When seth woke up he also made a little joke. If they only knew that in one week they would say I had been right. Yes, on New Year’s Day they would start believing, when there was really no ghost. Never has been since the day I told Father D’Silva in conf
ession. But I was not going to tell them they were mistaken, after such fun they made of me. Let them feel sorry now for saying Jaakaylee was crazy.
Bat and seth were going to New Year’s Eve dance, somewhere in Bandra, for first time since children were born. She used to say they were too small to leave alone with ayah, but that year he kept saying please, now children were bigger. So she agreed. She kept telling me what to do and gave telephone number to call in case of emergency. Such fuss she made, I’m telling you, when they left for Bandra I was so nervous.
I said special prayer that nothing goes wrong, that children would eat dinner properly, not spill anything, go to bed without crying or trouble. If bat found out she would say, what did I tell you, children cannot be left with ayah. And then she would give poor seth hell for it. He gets a lot anyway.
Everything went right and children went to sleep. I opened my bedding, but I was going to wait till they came home. Spreading out the saterunjee, I saw a tear in the white bedsheet used for covering – maybe from all pulling and pushing with the ghost – and was going to repair it next morning. I put off the light and lay down just to rest.
Then cockroach sounds started. I lay quietly in the dark, first to decide where it was. If you put a light on they stop singing and then you don’t know where to look. So I listened carefully. It was coming from the gas stove table. I put on the light now and took my chappal. There were two of them, sitting next to cylinder. I lifted my chappal, very slowly and quietly, then phut! phut! Must say I am expert at cockroach-killing. The poison which seth puts out is really not doing much good, my chappal is much better.
I picked up the two dead ones and threw them outside, in Baag’s backyard. Two cockroaches would make nice little snack for some rat in the yard, I thought. Then I lay down again after switching off light.
Clock in bai-seth’s room went twelve times. They would all be giving kiss now and saying Happy New Year. When I was little in Panjim, my parents, before all the money went, always gave a party on New Year’s Eve. I lay on my bedding, thinking of those days. It is so strange that so much of your life you can remember if you think quietly in the darkness.
Tales From Firozsha Baag Page 5