Random Ramblings of a Reluctant Blogger

One of the hazards of a job that involves graveyard shifts, like that of a journalist, is the extreme possibility of encountering fear – fear of and from the unexplained. Paranormal you might call it. And no matter how practical, rational or fearless you are, there are moments that leave you rattled.

One such event transpired in the very early days of my career. It was just about a week when I had moved to Vijayawada to join The Indian Express as a probationer. A place completely new to me and a language of which I had but a very very rudimentary knowledge. I found a place to stay, a room and a half on the terrace of a two-story building. The half room designated as a kitchen by the owner was but an appendage covered with an asbestos roof and the only redeeming feature of the livable room was its huge windows, French windows you might say.

I was barely a week into the job, when I was asked to report for the night shift. To say I was stunned would be an understatement. I was learning from some of the best hands and their style was to just throw someone into the water and let them learn to swim. Of course there was always a guiding hand and to this day I feel it is one of the best ways to learn.

I digress. So to get back, the first hurdle for me was to convince the de-facto landlord, who stayed on the first floor, to leave the gate open. For he would lock the gates promptly at eight, once the office on the ground floor shut shop. That apart there was a small ‘gate’ on the stairs, which led me to my room, which too was locked at eight. So with all the language at my command and plenty of gestures and body language I explained that I would be returning at some unearthly hour. All we finally agreed on was that I should knock, bang would be the right word, on the gate and he would open it. Exasperated at not making any headway I left hoping I wouldn’t have to spend a whole night outside. Ah! If only I had known!

The first night at the office (Yes the perennial first night joke had to be around) seemed to go off rather well. And as we put the final edition to bed it was well past 2 a.m., or to be precise 2.35 as entered in the record.

I set off for my ‘room with a view’, which was less than half a kilometre from the office. A few furlongs covered when I encountered my first shock _ bandicoots. Not that I hadn’t seen bandicoots before, but these were huge, each almost the size of piglets. There were not one but scores of them, each running between drains. Even the stray dogs avoided them. I had a few stones in my pockets, as advised by a colleague to deter stray dogs. However, I was not sure if it would have been useful in this case and what if I was attacked?. I tread on with trepidation with my eyes wide open. The fact that street lamps were reluctant to show their bright side made things difficult.

I thought I should head back and stay in the office till dawn breaks. No sooner than I thought so, I heard a faint noise of anklets from behind me, a faint rhythmic sound, the rhythm of someone walking with anklets. I froze. It did not help that there was a discussion about ghosts and witches in the office. I had no heart to look back and I hastened my steps without making it apparent. With some relief I spotted the lane where my house was, but just then two huge bandicoots, right in the middle of the lane, went at each other, screeching, clawing and pawing. It seemed like a fight to finish. I was not sure how to get past them nor did I want to wait. There were no living souls on the road except the fighting bandicoots, myself and of course the approaching apparition. Almost on cue the fighting bandicoots suddenly looked at me, or perhaps past me, and scooted. What had they witnessed that frightened them? I was not keen on any more investigation and I ran, and to hell with appearances. The rhythmic sound still kept pace.

I scaled over the locked gate, certainly was not going to knock and wait for it to be opened, and bolted over the small gate at the steps and unlocked the door of my room and got it. Once in, I heaved a sigh of relief, and in the safety of my room my curiosity piqued. So I leaned over the window to see the source of the sound. And there it was.

Riding past my house was a cycle rickshaw. And the rhythmic sound that had me terrified, emanated from the anklets that were tied to the tyres.!

And boy, did I smile! A night to remember? Certainly.!