One October evening, when the sun was setting, the orchestra of the birdsongs she would usually hear every day was replaced by an uncanny silence. Then, muffled laughter from behind the door of the gol kamra. “Anoop… Anoop… Come out from behind the door,” she called out in an edgy voice.
The fresh coat of paint exuded an aura of warmth in the rooms of the Phoolbari bungalow of Leesh River TE. Vibrant flowers spoke of a delightful welcome as one entered through the gate into the compound. The rock garden on the lawn was an attraction that surely stood out for its time. Meera had spent her energy and countless hours to which the bungalow owed this transformation. She finally began to feel at “home”. She marvelled at how this place had turned so grand in such a short time! Before they knew it, Meera and Anoop were celebrating their son – Monu’s first birthday here on the 8th of March 1980.
It was no wonder that Meera took the hardest blow when they got the news that they needed to shift to the Hope Bungalow in the same garden. Their bada saab Mr S Mehta, who had come to appreciate Meera’s skills cajoled her, “Come on Meera, I’m sure you’ll turn even this bungalow into a haven with your magical brains and hands.” Though disappointed, she took it in her stride after encouragement and support from her colleagues and husband and accepted that this was just a way of life in the tea estates.
The driveway of the Hope bungalow was flanked with untended plants on either side. The vines had completely covered the beautiful Eucalyptus trees next to the fence. Immediately, Meera felt a pang of longing for her beautiful rock garden but bracing her heart, she willed herself to walk into the bungalow. Cardboard boxes scrawled in black marker were strewn all over the place. Her eyes fixated on the bare walls devoid of the picture frames, as though they held a deep dark secret that was waiting to be unveiled. Wooden crates and iron trunks lay stacked up against the wall of the gol kamra. Too tired to unpack that evening, the family retired after an early dinner. Even the master bedroom had a deserted look and feel to it. “Are you sure we can call this home soon?” she questioned her husband who lovingly reassured her.
By daylight, she realized that the place did have an allure to it and perhaps there was hope after all. The family began settling in gradually. Meera would often sing rhymes and her favourite Kishore Kumar songs to her son. Monu was one for surprises each day and these antics filled Meera’s days. In addition to these adventures, she had her hands full with giving this bungalow a makeover as well. But in the evenings, she would find the place to be eerily quiet. As if someone was casting a spell upon her soul.
On the nights when Anoop would be late at work, she would listen to the jackals howling in the distance, piercing the still silence of the night. The rhythmic ticking of the wall clock would be interspersed with the scuttling of the mice and civet cats scampering in the habitat that they had found in the false ceiling. Meera looked up to see the high ceilings that rose ever upwards as far as her head could lift. She tried to put on a brave front and focus on her reading and music. But on some evenings, it was unbearable. She shared her qualms with Anoop, “When the jackals start howling in the evenings, I feel like I’m in some forsaken haunted house.” “Meera, it’s all in the mind,” her husband said and suggested that the cook and bearer could stay back and keep her company when Anoop was caught up late at work. So it was settled. But the irony was that even the cook – Birsa would narrate ghost stories to her!
That October evening as Meera sat on the carpet of the gol kamra, singing to her son – “aanchal ke taley...” she heard a muffled laugh from behind the door. Anoop, who had returned from his kaamjaari a wee bit early that day, headed upstairs for his bath. Meera took a silver spoonful of khichdi towards the partly open mouth of her son. He gobbled the bite and bounced up and down on his bottom. Then he started his celebratory clap, stammering "mama ko papa se..." mouthing the lyrics of the song with a cute stutter, that Meera had been singing to him while feeding.
Exhilarated, Meera summoned the bearer to call saab as quickly as possible. She wanted to share Monu’s achievement with his father as well. After all, Monu – her little baby had turned her evening into fascination and love. “Ji, saab gussal mein hai,” reported the bearer.
Out of the blue, she heard a husky laughter from behind the door. Anoop, come out from there she reprimanded. “Come and hear Monu sing! What melody,” she exclaimed. But there was a pin-drop silence. “Anoop… Anoop…” she called out louder this time, brushing aside her nervousness. Birsa the cook stood there, “Memsaab, saab gussal khana mein hai.” Then who is behind the door she asked.
Now, the cook had an apprehensive expression on his face and anxiously whispered, “memsaab iss bungalow mein bhoot hai,” and he called for the bearer from the kitchen. “Ji memsaab, bhoot kabhi bakri ka bhi awaaz nikalta hai, kabhi hasta hai!” the bearer added “and its presence can be felt all over.”
Anoop walked into the dining room just as the cook and bearer had finished explaining the mystery of the anonymous laugh. Upon hearing a recap of what the bungalow staff had been saying, he admonished them and told Meera to take these stories to be just stories as they were a part and parcel of each tea bungalow.
By now Meera knew that the staff believed with conviction that these stories were true. But she had also come to realise that each place came with its own unique set of characteristics and charm, that had to be embraced and the returns were always high and earnest.
Meera and Anoop Capoor - Then and Now
Glossary:
Gol kamra - Drawing room
Ji, saab gussal mein hai - Saab is in the bathroom
memsaab iss bungalow mein bhoot hai - memsaab, there is a ghost in the bungalow
bhoot kabhi bakri ka bhi awaaz nikalta hai, kabhi hasta hai - At times the ghost mimics a goat and other times laughs!