taprial's Blog

This incident happened twenty years back but is still fresh in my memory like it was yesterday. I lived in a hostel that time, sharing the room with Sanjay, both of us studying for our engineering degree.
One evening, while Sanjay was out, there were three of us; self, Ravi and Anil sitting in my outer room and generally gossiping when Ram walked in. Ram had lost a large sum of money from his room that day and had been pretty sad throughout.
“I have it,” he announced dramatically, “We will find out who stole the money.”
“Who’s we?” I asked
“We, all of us.” Ram replied. “We will do Planchett.”
None of us knew whether to agree or scoff at the idea. Ravi was the religious type amongst us and the most learned at the spiritual and mystical aspects of nature. He said, “Why not? Let’s do it. It will be fun.”
I had, in the past, openly conveyed my disbelief in ghosts and the likes as also the entire process of Planchett. Although I did not want it to happen in my room, I didn’t know how to convey it to them without losing face.
While I was still thinking, these other guys had been going around doing stuff, preparing for the exercise and were very soon ready. There was a chart (a makeshift Ouija Board) on which one of them had written all the alphabets and numbers zero to nine around the edges on all sides. In the center there was a one rupee coin. On either side of the coin on the chart were the words yes and no.
I made it clear that I was not taking any part in the process.
“You are a non believer. Your participation will anyway hinder the process,” Ravi said and started giving instructions to the other two.
The chart was placed in the center of the room. All the windows and doors were shut and curtains drawn. The fans were switched off. Ravi lit up a candle and kept it next to the chart. All the lights were also then switched off. There was a steel box lying just below the window of the room. I went and sat on it.
The three boys touched the coin on the chart with there index fingers and Ravi started chanting, “If there is any holy spirit passing by, please stop and give us a sign.” Nothing. He repeated it again. And then about eight more times. I was thinking it was a waste of time. Then suddenly I felt the curtain behind me move. It brushed my back as it would, when moved by the wind coming through the window. Then I remembered the window was closed and the fan, switched off. A shiver ran up my spine. Not wanting to offend the spirit I moved forward on the box without looking back.
Immediately thereafter, Ravi said, “It’s here. I can feel it. Concentrate.” While all of them concentrated, I was telling myself that it was just my imagination.
Ravi said, “Holy spirit, if you are here give us a sign. Will you help us?”
In the dim light I could see the coin start moving slowly on the chart towards ‘Yes’. It took a lot of time but it did make it to ‘Yes’. Then Ravi said, “I think it is pretty weak. We should not keep it here. What do you say Ram?”
“What ever you say. If it weakens any further, it may not be able to leave. Let’s send it off.”
Another session of chanting started begging rather requesting the Holy Spirit to leave. Unfortunately there was no way to know confirm whether the spirit had left since if it was not there, it could not move the coin. When I asked Ravi about it, he solemnly replied, “You know, it may not have actually left fully.”
I thought he was joking and told him about the curtain moving. Ravi said, “A spirit does not need to move a curtain to get inside. Must have been your imagination.”
We all went for dinner and then retreated to our respective rooms. I and Sanjay had our beds in the inner room positioned so that our legs faced the windows. We used to keep the windows, which opened inwards, open for better ventilation. Sanjay was sitting on the bed studying. A pen in one hand and a cigarette in another. I told him about the evening. He scoffed, “It’s all bullshit. Let me study.”
I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes. The moment I did that I felt someone was standing at the window. I opened my eyes. Nothing. I closed my eyes again. Same feeling. Someone’s there. I opened my eyes yet again to find nothing. The third time I closed my eyes and had the same feeling, I used my leg to close the window. It closed with a bang and Sanjay, the courageous man that he was, jumped from the bed, his pen flying in one direction and his cigarette in the other, ready to run away. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. Sanjay realizing what had happened smiled back. That was the last time we both smiled inside that room.
I continued to visualize someone at the window till the time Sanjay stopped studying and switched off the light. Then it started. My bed was shaking. I thought I was dreaming. I held on to the sides of the bed. The bed was still shaking. I reached for the light switch and switched it on. The shaking stopped. Sanjay asked, “What happened?” I said nothing and switched off the light. I tried to sleep.
After some time I heard the light switch being thrown on again. It was Sanjay. He was sweating. I asked him what had happened. He said, “Nothing.”
I wondered if he also experienced the same vibrations in the bed and asked him, “Was your bed shaking?”
“How do you know?” he asked.
“Because, it happened to me also.”
That night was the most terrible and the longest we had. We kept awake that night. We told a lot of people about it but no one believed us. Just like, we would not believe anyone. The next night was the same and after it had continued for a week, both of us took recourse to drinking. The beds still shook, but then we would talk and laugh and wait for it to stop. We supported each other through those miserable days and by and by we got used to it. The spirit, if it was that, turned out to be a decent one and restricted her antics to two or three times a night, never bothered us during the daytime and never shook both our beds at the same time. We endured it all for the next ten months after which we passed out of college. We kept in touch with each other. Both of us have never experienced the shaking of our beds again. Though we always wonder who must be going through it in that room.

Once upon a time there lived a Potter in a place called Phoenix. Phoenix was an imaginary place and so was the potter. Notwithstanding all that, the Potter was a good Potter, in fact he was the best potter in Phoenix which did not have many Potters. The good thing about this Potter was that he knew magic. He was actually better at making magic than at making pots. He was also good at weaving. Unlike potters there were many weavers in Phoenix, but none could match the Potter's skills in weaving stories.

One day a boy called Harry came to the Potter and told him to make a pot. The design of the pot was very complex. The Potter was doubtful he could make it. So was Harry, but Harry did not have a choice. The Potter also had a reputation to preserve and could not say no. He took the order and called Harry after nine days.

Not knowing what to do. The Potter did what he did best which was neither making pots or magic and nor weaving stories. He had heard a long time back that behind every successful man was a woman who was going to be very successful after the man became successful. He started hunting for a woman who could help him.

There was a massive wind blowing as he went to a friends place. The Potter saw the friend and told him of his problem. The friend did not have a clue. He was very dumb. As the Potter was leaving the friend got a brilliant idea. He shouted from a distance "Go on howling". The Potter, besides his other natural talents, was also hard of hearing. The wind did not help any. He shouted his thanks to his friend for giving him a name. He walked on and  started looking for Joanne Rowling. He found her. She had never made apot in her life, but she had made stories, many of them. After listening to the potter she agreed to help him and told the potter that he should get harry to her place after nine days.
On the ninth day the potter took harry to Ms Rowling who told him to wait while the finishing touches were being given to the pot. In the meanwhile, she told harry, she would tell him a story to keep him busy. Nine years on, Harry is still there. Waiting for his pot. Miss rowling has told him that he would soon get his pot. Harry is still waiting. Ms Rowling has become very successful. The Potter? I told you he was just imaginary.