First hunt

     Growing up in the edge of the woods is such a distinct experience like no other. Far away from the noisy world, where pollution and population is a daily phenomenon (and not a bother at all), we live in the edge of the woods, where the daily phenomenon is creepy crawlies. And a large amount of leaves too. Instead of all the digital wonders, you get to put up with the flora and fauna. Ugh! The life here is quiet. (And I literally hate it). The Sun comes and along with it, the town awakes, and it falls asleep along with the Sun. It is considered a bad omen to even stay awake after gloaming. The non residents of our place call it a bliss, but I call it, well, boring? I love the bustling city life where you just hang out in food outlets at night, go shopping, browse your time away, be a fashion diva and become a part of the modern world. I call that a bliss! I feel that our town is way beyond the modern civilization.

      Well, the above was my perspective until…  let us just say my first hunt. Yeah, you read it right. Hunt. You will understand it as I finish my story.

      Our family was a very regular family in the town (or, that was what I thought). Nothing new or amusing happens. As far as my knowledge goes, I have never seen my father go to work. My mother is the sole bread winner who has to put up with me, my younger sister and my jobless father. As a result, the reins are also in my mother's hands. What she says happens in the house. And my dad, well, he does nothing but sleep, watch sports, eat and then sleep. He doesn't even talk much. Surprisingly, I have never heard my mom complain. 

      This was my family as I saw it till my sixth grade. It is not that my family changed after that, my perspective changed.
      I often had to visit the Principal’s office. Not because I was doltish or delinquent, but because I support Shannon McLeone. He is the most bullied boy in our class. Reninton Wolsorley is the head bully. He always claims himself as the pure blood descendant of Viocrent Wolsorley (I have never understood what is there to be proud of). He boasts often that his family has got their very own coat of arms. A hunting wolf surrounded by teaks and olives. He is the third person in his family with the same name it seems for his name comes along with the tag “the third”. Although he adds “the third” with much pride, I personally find it funny. The richness of his raising is always reflected in his behaviour. The way he ill-treats other students, the way he wastes his food, the way he orders everyone around are a few examples worthy of mention. You can always find him whining that it was fate that brought him to this poor school while he ought to be enjoying the luxuries of private schooling.

       I have never understood what his problem is with Shannon McLeone. At every interval, Shannon automatically becomes his gang’s punching bag.

       As soon as the class was over, I ran down the corridor to get my little sister. While crossing the store room, I heard soft whimpers from inside. I had to strain my ears to hear it.

       I forced the door open. Inside I saw Shannon tied up completely. His nose was bleeding profusely. The sight of blood made me angry. I don't remember getting that angry ever before. As I began untying the rope, I heard Reninton’s voice from behind.

       “Such a dedication!” he smirked showing his milky white teeth. “All for a son of loner.”

       “You find it amusing huh? To tie and hit?” I felt a rise in my voice as I spoke. A part of my brain started to wonder what a loner was and the rest of it was teeming with anger.

      That was all I remembered when I woke up. My body ached terribly. My dress was all dirty and at places soaked in blood. Wait a minute. Where did that blood come from? And how did I reach home? Where was my sister now?

      I climbed downstairs. I could hear my parents whisper. What? They were whispering inside a locked room and I could hear it so well! Nervously, I started to bite my nail. Surprise! My nail was already broken and bleeding. From somewhere, I could hear my sister's sobs.

     My thoughts shifted back to my parents. “We need to tell her soon.” I guessed that voice to be my mom’s. It was heavily laden with concern.

     “I am afraid to start. I am not sure how she will take it.” said my dad's voice.

     “It doesn't matter. You will have to tell her anyway. That is what who she is now.”

     That was a little pause. I could almost hear my father breathe.

     “Oona!” he called in a whisper.

     I did not respond. I did not want to give myself away.

     “It’s okay. Come in.” my father called again.

     I went in. I felt very terrible. I felt as if I committed a huge crime and couldn't remember what.

     My mom had a container in her hand. In spite of the fact it was airtight, a horrible stench came from it.

     “Wolfsbane.” my father explained as I stared at it. I nodded. All of a sudden, everything made sense. Why my father never went to work, why I wasn't permitted out of the woods or into the woods, why I was in such an inexplicable state. I understood all of them.

     “You will become the alpha after your father.” my mom said proudly.

     I had to drink the wolfsbane. It tasted worse than it smelled.

     “Mixture of arnica, aconitum, thyme and sage fermented underground.” my mom explained in her usual fashion just to let us know how much effort she put in. “Helps you to retain your consciousness even during the transformation.”

     “So I am a werewolf?” I had at last found my tongue.

     “Yes. Just like your father before you, and his father before him, and all ancestors before them.” she suppressed a laugh. I could sense the tension even as she joked.

     “You?” I asked my mom.

     “No dear. Not me.” she replied.

     “Why didn't you tell me before?” I sensed my voice rise. “Did I turn today evening at school?”

     “Yes.” my mom replied with a sigh.

     I felt more terrible. “Why is Lokwa sobbing?”

     “She saw you turn.” my father said bluntly.

     A part of my brain recalled the entire situation. Another part was feeling… quenched. Vaguely I remembered Reninton and Shannon.

     “What happened to Shannon?” I asked. I had the least worries for Reninton.

     “He is good. Get ready. The pack will be here soon.” my father said in a hurry and left.

     “Why didn't you tell me before?” I asked again.

     “We wanted you to have a normal childhood.” my mom replied. “We did not want to terrorise you.”

     I made a mental note to research all about this.

     

     An odd group of people arrived. Among them I saw only two familiar faces. Shannon and his elder brother. Something made sense.

     “Thank you for standing by Shannon's side.” I recognised him as Mr.McLeone.

     “What is a loner?” I asked Shannon in almost a whisper.

     “A wolf without a pack. My father was a loner when he first came to this city. It was your father who joined him in our pack.” Shannon explained. I noticed the way he stressed ‘our pack’.

    

     After all the chatter, the party got ready. The place was completely devoid of light and nobody seemed to want it. I was gradually getting accustomed to the darkness. The sky was bright and clear. A perfect ball of moonlight streamed steadily all through the night.

     From a distance, I heard howls. Our pack howled in reply. “The Wolsorleys.” Shannon explained.

  

     Reninton and I stood opposite to each other. “To the future alpha wolves.” a man from their pack read. “As per the pact of ancient times, the west of the woods belong to the family of Wolsorleys and the east to the pack of Carlinleys…”

     I noticed how they didn't add “family” to our name.

     “...And the middle longitude shall be common to both. It also includes whatever is in it...”

     That explained why Reninton had to put up with our school. I turned and smiled dryly at Shannon. Certainly, Reninton knew a lot more than I did.

     “...as per the ancient pact, we shall live in harmony and respect each other’s borders and join together in times of trouble.” he completed at last.

     We were made to promise to abide by the terms of the pact.

     “You should not hurt Shannon anymore.” I said.

     “Agreed.” he said with his usual crooked smile.

     “Nor any members of the pack.” I added hastily.

     He nodded slowly. “As for your part, try not to add any more loners.” he said as he left.

     “That is none of your business.” I cried back.

     

     The entire pack hailed me. The claimed that I possessed all the qualities of an alpha.

     The hunt began. For the first time, I saw my town in the eyes of a wolf. I loved the way it was. I loved my pack. A kind of inexplicable respect for my father reflected from within. I saw the same respect in the eyes of all our pack. I had my first hunt.

     Pack is not about whose blood runs in your veins. Pack is all about the love and compassion that runs deeper in your veins. I learned that day this important lesson.

A spooky encounter

           It literally took me years to convince myself that nothing bad will happen if I write about this incident. Even as I recall the day this happened, it sends chills down my spine. I often wonder whether it was all true. Though my brain says no, my heart believes every word of it.
          It happened in my high school days. One of my cousins came over for holidays. He wanted a particular type of wild rabbit for his project work and he was told that the rabbit variety was very abundant in the forests of the nearby village. And so we packed our foods and set out early the next day morning.
          We got into a bus and started the journey. Bus travel usually makes me very sleepy and I slept midway. And I had this peculiar dream. In my dream, I saw a very old man whose back was so bent that I could see only the back of his balding head. He kept repeating "Tubaad! Tubaad!"
          "What is it old man?" I asked. Yet he kept repeating the same word.
           "Is it a name? Or is it a place?"
           "Baad! Tubaad!" he repeated.
           At last I understood. "Did you say Bad? Too bad?"
           "Yus! Baad! Goo buck." That was the last of what he said. The dream came to an end. Images of the bald head of the old man fulled my mind.
           The more I tried to recall, the more afraid I became. Then, having quite a lengthy conversation with myself, I came to a conclusion that it was not wise to share it with my cousin.
           We got down when the bus came to a halt and started asking for directions. Each and every person to whom we asked for the directions gave us puzzling looks and asked what we youngsters had to do with the forest. They just laughed in our faces when we said about the project and the need for the rabbit. We at last found a store that hires bicycles and hired two for us.
          It was almost afternoon when we reached the outskirts of the village. Throughout the cycle tour, we suffered the ruthlessness of the harsh sun. After taking many a twist and turn, we reached the forest. It lay before us like a great green giant. The very sight of the forest was very peculiar. The trees looked very evergreen and swampy inspite of its temperate location, giving absolutely no clue about the heat waves that we had experienced just before. We could smell it's dampness as we stood in front of it. Maybe my ears had became deaf I thought; for not even a tiny sound was heard from it. Now I consider myself very brave then for having come to such a terrible place.
          We saw a very old house with an overgrown garden in front of it. The house was old fashioned, with half of its roof missing.  It's walls were green with moss. The house showed no sign of life at all. We wandered for sometime around the house, hoping to find someone. As we came to a conclusion that it had no occupants, a weird looking man came out of nowhere. His choice of fashion was ever weirder. His shirt was of bright orange with large black lines that ran chaotically all around it. His pants were of baby pink. He wore a pointed hat that made me remember wizards.
         "I wonder what brings toddlers here?" he said.
         And my cousin explained his need for the rabbit.
         "Ha! It's been a long time since I have heard people hunting it." he said "as if it's foot brings any better luck than the ordinary ones. Unlucky people. If only they had lived to see the fate of the rabbit." he laughed out aloud.
         We both exchanged looks wondering what he meant.
         "Those were the old times. Those full of superstitions." he said "Now, how are you planning to catch it."
         "Sir, I have a snare and a net with me." my cousin replied.
         "That will do." he said "Why don't you guys come in and have some biscuits and tea?"
         "Would like to but we have to catch it as soon as possible." my cousin replied.
         "Well, that would be upto you. But still I advise you to leave the little girl here. The forest is not too safe." the old man replied.
         To be more truthful, I did not want to stay there. But my cousin agree with him and decided to leave me there inspite of my protests. And... he left me there with the old man.
        The old man started to explain me, the history of the place. It seemed to have been the home of a troll. Yes, troll. That was what he said.
        "Have a seat as you listen to the story of the troll." he said.
        As I sat down, he continued with the story. "The story is that, the troll was very angry one. They say his heart was of gold and his body was of fire." he sniggered "He roamed from place to place. Some say that he was Adam's son. The fellow named Cain. But I do not know about that. After decades of roaming, it is said that, he found a friend. Like the human occupants of the world, he too started to treasure it. He was not versed in agriculture. The seeds he touched, refused to grow. The animals ran away at the very sight of him.
         "Yet, in this very town, he found a friend. A parson. The two became very inseparable. The troll reached a stage in which he couldn't live without him. So, he gathered all his riches, came to this very place and settled here. It is said that, the troll wanted it very lavish complete with turrets and minarets. But the parson, being a humble man, wanted it to be very simple. Surprisingly, the troll obeyed every word of the parson. He built this small house, and gave away most of his treasures to the poor.
        "It was his charity, that brought many an eye of envy. People started to think that, he had infallible treasure collected from the very beginning of the earth. But he, on the other hand, invited every thive home and gave him a grand banquet and sent him home with many a gift.
       "The troll's fame spread far and wide. There was a young and daring thief who came from a distant land. He was as foolish as brave he was. He wanted the entire lot for himself. So, he came on a twilight just like this." as he said that, I noticed that it was almost twilight already. "A beautiful one. The sun looked like a round red ball of fire. It looked as if it was ready to bounce on the surface of the earth and back to the sky. The foolish thief came. He chuckled at his own intelligence. He came armed with a knife. He thought of sliding the knife right into the troll's heart. But as he reached the place, the troll welcomed him with open arms and showed him his heart. 'I have lived long my friend' he said 'I have seen death very near and very often. I was afraid of him once. But not now. I am ready to embrace him.' he said. And the foolish fellow killed him. He watched death at close quarters for the first time. This very garden in which we sit was filled with blood. The very garden which he tried to make but with no success. As his blood flowed through the ground, every seed which he planted grew and became wild but beautiful. It became what you see now. Too wild to tend by a mere human. The troll's very blood runs in the veins of these plants.
         But the garden was nothing when compared to the love that ran through the ground. The parson came running and he bent right over the troll and he died. Death came riding the clouds. His chariot, was a black ray of light. One would wonder, if a light would have black colour. He came riding with all his majesty and took the friends and bound them with the cord of love. As he was about to leave, he turned and gave a weak smile to the young lad and left." he smiled as he said it. "You are lucky to have come on the very same day this occurred."
         "What happened to the young man?" I stammered.
         "Oh! He died. Mysteriously. No one knows how. The house lies desolate since. But some believe that, the man became a wild mad wanderer just like the troll and still lives around. But mark my words, no one knows. Word also runs around that, one day, the fellow will find a friend and settle at last." he said dreamily "It is also said that, he was cursed by the Ancient of days and his curse would be seven times as worse as that of the troll."
         I felt the clouds darken and saw a black ray of light. It came from the sky and touched the canopy of the wild garden. I gulped. As I watched it, my cousin came with a white fluffy rabbit. I turned around to look at the old man, and there was no trace of him. There was not even a single indication that he was there a few minutes ago.
        I became more confused than before. We left the city but the trouble at my heart never left. Who was the old man? Did he tell his own story?

Train of curiosity

I got into the extremely crowded railway station. Chennai central. I checked my ticket thrice. Got there an hour early. Platform number 4. Good. Now, I got to find a place for me to sit. After a roaming twice around the crowded platform, with all my heavy luggage, I found a place near a small family. Just mother, father and two toddlers. Even better. Maybe I will just interact with them.

With a smiling face, I set my luggage in front of me and sat down. The afternoon sun was getting the worst out of me. My T-shirt was already soaked in sweat. I looked at my watch once again. Fifty minutes more. I straightened my hair a bit. Maybe I will interact with the elder toddler.

"Hey what's your name?" I asked.
"Never talk with strangers." a horrible voice came from my backside. As soon as the words were spoken, the little girl jerked away as if I were a terrible disease.

I turned back and saw an old mother whose mouth was completely red with tobacco. As I looked, she spit it on the concrete floor in front of her. Indian style. Yuck.
Her face was highly creased. Her ear lobes were enlarged due to the weight of her earrings. Her bright coloured cotton sari was carelessly draped. She was looking at me with her angry eyes.

Apparently, I had mistaken. The entire family, (along with a half dozen, that sat behind me which I had failed to notice before) was looking at me with angry eyes.

Now, I felt too guilty to sit there. From when did "what's your name" become a sinful approach? Maybe I should switch seats. I got up, rushed through the crowd and reached another spot.

Forty minutes more. A group of youngsters were swarming around a pillar. I squinted my eyes and read "Mobile charging point". That explains it.

I wiped the sweat out of my brows. A scholarly gentleman was now sitting next to me. He was reading some book. Maybe I will try to talk with him about the book. I tried to peep into his book. He did the most unexpected thing. He closed his book with a bang and walked away. Great. Thirty minutes more.

I went to the nearby tea stall and had a cup of tea and then got back to my place. With complete emptiness at heart, I stared at the bright yellow cyclop that was painted on the opposite wall.

I do not remember when or how I fell asleep. I was awakened by the train arrival announcement. Within a few minutes, the train started.

Our compartment was a bit lonely. The train was dirty as usual. Sunlight filled the room with it's ruthless heat. The fan above, fulfilled it's duty by circulating the hot air around. I looked at the ceiling. It needed some good painting. The walls were completely covered with advertisement posters and doodles.

An elderly man sat opposite to me reading an English daily. His rectangular spectacles sat at the end on his long crooked nose. His spectacles were thick were badly scratched with age. But he did not seem to mind it a bit. His black eyes were bloodshot and had dark circles under them. His wavy hair almost reached his shoulders and it was half black and half grey. His hairline was receding fast. His face was starting to wrinkle almost everywhere. He wore a neatly ironed white kurta paired with white pants.

I sat there trying to calculate his age. Maybe he was as old as my father. Around 55. Once in a while, he put his paper down, closed his eyes, folded his hands and sat just like that. Maybe meditation? Well, I do not know what he thought or did for he sat doing almost nothing.

With two awkward conversations just before boarding the train, I was a bit hesitant to make another one. Maybe I should talk about some neutral topic. Like what? Weather would be good I decided.

"Such a hot weather, isn't it?" I asked.
"What else do you expect in summer?" he responded with a little curl at the end of his mouth. Just a curl. Not a complete smile.

In such a world where people complain almost about everything, he accepted life as it was. Such a good thing I thought.

"Where are you going, sir?" I asked.
To this, he put his paper down and glared at me. His eyes were peering above his spectacles. Sharp eyes I noticed.

"To some place interesting." he replied.
 I did not expect such an answer.
"And where is that place supposed to be?" I asked.

Now, he smiled.
"You are such a curious fellow, aren't you?"he asked.
"Huh?"
"I noticed the way you looked around." he said.
"I hope curiosity is not a bad thing." I said.
"No. Not at all." he said "If necessity is the mother of invention, then curiosity is the mother of discovery."

He stared at me for sometime and then continued.

"Curiosity is like a little child. Knows no good and no evil." Now, he turned and stared at the window smiling. His smile spread to his eyes. With the smile, his eyes looked much better and younger.

"It never knows what the box holds." he said.
"What box?" I asked.
"Pandora's box. What else?" Now, he was laughing.
I remembered Adam's apple. Or should I say, Eve's apple?

"Just like Eve eating the fruit of good and evil." I said.
"You are smart too. They contain the same moral don't they?" he said.
"So, is it better not to be curious?" I asked.
"No. The moral is, curiosity may bring evil too. But it is a God given blessing. We got to nurture it and never be afraid of what we may find." he laughed again. "Aren't the most worst things already found? I believe that we can never find something even worse."

Now, I was immersed in deep thoughts. I do not know how time fleeted. It was almost night now. He made a proposal.

"Would you like to see this interesting place I spoke about?" he asked.
"Would love to." I replied.
"Then why don't you come with me?" he asked.

For some time, I thought of my destination. And then said "Yes."

I later learned that, he used to book his tickets to unknown places, go there, find friends, learn new things and enjoy life as it is.

----------------

It is now almost years since we both met. Now, I have been to many places. Grew up learning things from different perspectives. Above all, nurtured my curiosity. 

Four dots

       Jose woke up from his bed completely drenched in sweat. Except for a ray of moonlight that escaped from the half closed window, his room was completely dark. His thoughts wandered back to the dream that woke him up.

     He had often had absurd meaningless dreams and horror nightmares. But this was nothing like those. He saw something that happened years ago. It was like a replay from the past. ‘Funny! I didn't even remember that happened until I saw this dream.’ he thought wearily and fumbled from his bed for a glass of water.

     Almost eight years ago, after his high school graduation, he joined a summer camp to perfect his writing skills. There was this girl named Adeline. She, on the account of her weird behaviour and dark makeup, soon became the detestable thing in the entire camp. People made fun of her every time she passed. The worst part was, she sat beside Jose in class. Just for a day. The very first day. The camp lasted for almost a month and she attended the camp only one day. And not a single soul missed her after that. 

     Jose drank his water, wiped the sweat off his face, opened the window completely, stared at the moon for sometime and came back to his bed.

     The dream continued. A tall bearded man maybe in his late sixties walked into the classroom. Except for a tuft of black hair on his forehead, his head was a complete silvery grey. His clothes were neatly ironed and tailored to fit even his paunch.

     “He looks full of wisdom! What do you think?” said Adeline unable to contain her excitement.

     “Huh?!” said Jose unable to find any word to reply.

     “It is my esteemed pleasure to meet the writers of tomorrow. In order to induce a regular writing habit, we will ask you to submit whatever you write on a daily basis. We will evaluate it and give away prizes as an encouragement at the end of the day. So, if you have any articles penned by you on an earlier date, you can feel free to submit it here. We will let you know what your weaknesses and strengths are so that you will be able to make yourselves better.” he said.

     The first to rush to the dais was Adeline. Soon the entire class was there except for a few shy ones.

     “Mine is called as Four dots.” started Adeline “What is your’s called?”

     Before Jose could answer, she continued again.

     “I actually conceived that idea in my second grade.” she said as she tucked her dirty bangs behind her ear. “I wrote it down in my third grade. ‘Four dots’ you know, in the form of a square?”

     She drew four dots on the paper in front of her. Maybe she took Jose for a dunce.

     “The speciality of the four dots is that, you don't connect them.” she gave a half laugh. “You probably know that already. They are the second perfect thing in the world. The first is a circle - way too obvious! The circle is the embodiment of perfection. No beginning and no end. Unlike the circle, the four dots have got a major problem. They are not connected.” she laughed. This time it was a complete laugh. It somehow sounded more genuine than the last one. “But I would say this is where the perfection lies. They are not connected by a visible line yet they are connected. Just like our souls. They mean more than we actually see or perceive. They run deep. Deeper than one can ever imagine. You can never ignore or deny the presence of the four dots.”

      Jose snapped back just in time as she finished her lecture. He felt like a dimwit sitting right in front of Socrates, trying to comprehend but still unable on the account of his simple understanding.

     “But why four? Three is also a good number I think.” he stammered.

     “Of course not!” she replied in such a tone that made Jose feel as if he had offended her great grand ancestors. “Three is an odd number first of all. Secondly, it is not a square number. But four on the other hand, is a perfect number. A perfect among the perfects. Yet again, you cannot consider one as perfect because, one is the square of one. You get the flow, right?”

      In his dream, Jose fell into a dark pit filled with fours and squares. And four dots, of course.

      The next teacher came in and started the grammar class.

      Classes continued but his dream skipped all those and came right to the end of the day. It was as if somebody had a dream machine in their hands and controlled what should be played next.

      Once again, the bearded man came. He announced the prizes for the day. Adeline was visibly disappointed that she did not win any.

      The bearded man continued. “I also have these articles as an example of how not to write.” he showed a bunch of papers. “The first one is called ‘Four dots’ by Adeline Edelweiss.” Adeline’s face was visibly flushed as she stood up. At the very sight of her, the class was in a laughing fit. The teacher continued. “‘I am Bobby Marker. But I am not a marker pen. I am a detective. I find bad things.’ seriously Adeline? Couldn't you find a better way to start?” Adeline was in the verge of tears. “I was in my third grade.” she muttered under her breath.

       “Third grade? What do you think we are doing here? Teaching toddlers?” he continued. “Now we will read something from the middle. ‘He received a letter. It had four dots. It was not a square but it was a square. It was a murder note. He was murdered tomorrow.’ Murdered tomorrow? Four dots? You couldn't possibly think of a better murder plot?” the class was laughing hysterically as the bearded man mashed up the paper and aimed for the trash can. Adeline ran to the bin and pulled the paper out. She straightened it as she walked back. Her face was now a complete mess with all those tears mixed with her makeup.

       Jose felt as if he sat next to an ugly toad. He cringed away as if she had a contagious disease.

       The class was over and Jose walked away as soon as possible. Adeline stood there as the rest of the class passed by, making faces at her.

       Jose woke up from his sleep. He had had the worst dream ever. He felt pain in his heart as if it had been connected to Adeline’s soul. It was after all Adeline who told him that souls were connected.

       Jose glanced at his watch. Half past seven. He tried to forget his dream as he got ready for work.

       He fixed his breakfast and switched on the TV.

       A pretty girl was in the middle of her report. “...he was an octogenarian writer living alone in his villa. He had penned several award winning articles…” The face was immediately recognisable. It was the same bearded man from his dream. “...nothing suspicious was found at the crime scene except a piece of paper with four dots marked in it…”

      Jose was shocked beyond words. His immediate thought was to report it to the police. But again, he thought the better of it. He thought it would be fun to watch the investigation progress and get to know if the police found the real killer or not. He was proud of his own ingeniosity.

      Jose entered his office with a smirk pasted to his face.

      The office boy came rushing towards him and gave him an envelope. It was not addressed. Inside, there was a dirty paper with four dots.

Living house

       As a civil engineer and as a being with the sixth sense, I have my own little theories. Theories especially about houses, stack of houses, shops, in general almost all buildings. I mostly avoid discussing it with other people lest they enquire about my mental well being.

      Being a civil engineer in a non metro city tends to leave one jobless whenever the economy goes down or stagnates or whenever the people in it are content. In order to overcome this joblessness, I started working as a broker, helping people to get houses for rents, leases, or forever. This way, I came to know about houses of all age groups and kinds. Young, old, too vintage, too old to be demolished, half demolished, somewhere in between, keeps updating, retains the the way it was built, seen many wars, withstood many dynasties, seen too many good occasions, seen too many bad occasions, took many years to build, was built too quick, young and foolish, old and wise, economical, prosperous, killer ones, nature lovers, nature haters, only trees tolerant, full of creepers, human haters, non occupant haters, open book, anything you name it. So, whenever I suggest a house, I try my maximum to match the house with it's occupants so as to reduce the conflict level.

      It is my belief that, as long as the connection between the living mother Earth and the houses exist, houses too have lives. The have their own feelings. They have creaky wooden planks that can never be set right, windows that cannot be closed, chirping of insects at night, damp walls whose water source can never be found, hollow tiles, holes whose origin and depth can never be contemplated, above all these, the smell. Yes, smell. Smell of the house is something one tends to notice immediately. Most of the time, it smells like it's occupants. Just shut the house for a few days and you will know the real smell of the house. The smell of it's original inhabitants. Maybe it's of the early owners or the ones who built it with their sweat and blood.

      Almost a month ago, an old lady in the neighbourhood passed away. I was there at her funeral. I pitied her much. There was not a living soul of her blood who attended the funeral. It was said that her two sons were abroad and there was no way to contact them. The old lady was very respected in the city and so it was surprising that she maintained no contact with her sons nor they with her. After the funeral, most of her belongings were auctioned except for the house and the furniture. There was quite a lot of toys. Most of them from the 50's. Rubber toys, dolls with rubber face and plush bodies, hand stitched dolls with scary faces, mechanical toys, rocking chairs, the entire potato head family, mechanical music boxes, slinky dogs, barbies in plaid skirts, and many more. More surprising was the fact that they were all in good condition. I thanked my mom within my heart. If it wasn't for her yard sales, I believe that, at day of my funeral, there would be another coffin besides mine for all my broken and disfigured toys! After the auction, the keys to the old lady’s mansion was handed over to me. It was decided to use the revenue from the mansion for the well being of the city's inhabitants.

       Months later, a considerably young fellow came to the city on the account of his job. As there was no house at hand, I had to take to the old lady’s mansion. We passed through the overgrown lawn into the house. As I opened the door, I felt a wave of awe pass through me. The house smelled old and of roses. Maybe the old lady’s favourite perfume. I toured the house for my client. I was extremely surprised by the stillness of the house. It felt as if the house was holding back it's breath. It made me wonder how the house was going to take it’s new inhabitant. I have it as my policy, not to speak of the previous owners to the succeeding ones. The fellow liked the mansion. And so the deal was made. The transactions were complete. Still, the stillness prevailed. I watched him for sometime as he unpacked his belongings. Then with a word of goodbye, I left.

      The very next day, he called me, the first thing in the morning. I rushed there immediately. His eyes showed every sign of sleeplessness.

      “Did an old lady occupy this house before me?” he asked way too anxious.

      “Yes.” I replied with a doubtful tone.

      “Thought so.” he murmured.

      “Is something wrong, sir?”

      “Everything is! This house behaved like a monster. Drafts of air came in from all directions. Insects were chirping inside my ears. Above all, I had only a few minutes sleep. Even in that, I kept seeing a faceless old woman!” he uttered in a single breath.

       I had to make him some coffee, cool him down, talk to him as scientifically as possible. (Yeah, I do not bring my personal beliefs into business. I tend to keep them separate.) I convinced him at last. Wished him the best and walked towards the door. The house was somewhat normal in comparison to the previous day. A gentle breeze blew through the house.

     As I opened the door, I heard the soft music of a mechanical music box. I somehow felt like patting the house and whispering to it, ‘I know how it feels, I have lost my dear ones too. He will take good care of you! Don't cry.’

    I didn't do it as it would be considered ridiculous. I walked towards my car with a heavy heart.