Halloween Hobgoblins
Lakshmi Narayan Once upon a time there was a grumpy old lady — actually not grumpy, but timid — who had to leave her home and go live with her daughter in a distant place known as Amreeka. She hated every minute of it there and barricaded herself in their cramped flat when her daughter left for work. They didn’t live in a particularly swish area because her beti didn’t earn much. The one time she had dared to venture out on her own, the neighbourhood kids — little goondas! — had followed her jeering, mocking her sari, her accent and the way she shuffled forward in her chappals. They’d thrown spitballs at her and tried to trip her when she tried to get past them. Worse, instead of chastising them, their mothers stood back and laughed. There was a reason behind this. The old lady prided herself on her green thumb and had managed to grow methi, dhania and sarson ka saag from seeds on her tiny balcony as well as onions, ginger and tomatoes. But the little ruffians when playing a game called baseball, sent a ball speeding in and broke two of her pots. She’d screamed at them in Hindi. But instead of apologizing, they’d stuck their tongues out and run off. When she complained to her daughter that evening, she dismissed it in her newly-acquired drawl, with, “Maa, don’t bother. Kids will be kids”. And now, her daughter was telling her about a ghastly festival called Halloween, when the little horrors would dress up like bhoots and land up at her doorstep, demanding candy! She shuddered at what would happen if she didn’t give them treats. It reminded her uncomfortably of the equally abominable celebration called Holi, back in her village. She used to shiver when she heard revellers bay at each other in hoarse voices, throwing coloured water and slapping each other’s faces with purple, pink, yellow and green powders, making them look like ghouls from hell. What was worse, after drinking their fill of thandai and eating bhang pakoras, her family would be lying supine on their charpoys outside, when a sudden shout — kale muh wale aa gaye (the black faces have come) — would send them scurrying to lock themselves in. To this day she didn’t know who they were or where they came from. But they were goons who would forcibly enter their homes and spray everything with paint if they didn’t pay up. And now it looked like the old shaitan was revisiting them in a new avatar right here! Looking at her stricken face, her daughter reassured her, “Don’t be hassled, Maa. They’ll only come if we invite them.” But the old lady wasn’t ready to take any chances and was determined to keep to herself in her room, with her windows and doors firmly shut. That evening, to occupy herself, she helped her daughter bake a mac ‘n’ cheese burger for dinner and some large biscuits with nuts…
