My Father the Warrior: Remembering Him and His Battles With Ghosts!

Peace: Joyce Singha

For many years, my father suffered from a ‘ghost problem’. When he first told me about the nightly battles he'd been having with various creatures, I shuddered, laughed, and quickly shuddered again lest those creatures came upon me as well. Such is the fear of ghosts in the Indian culture! This is what my dad told me. He said those guys wanted to sit on top of his head and did so; he said they were pinching him, he said they were blowing air on him, he said they whistled at him, he also said they were pushing him from his bed. I was shocked that any creature could be so rude as to push a man from his own bed. My Dad threw different things at the creatures: shoes, slippers, pillows, spoons, sticks, mud, water, anything he could lay his hands on.

Nonetheless, it all amounted to a lot of activity so I asked my dad to be less dramatic and a little more reasonable. My Dad said that when they bared their teeth, he had enough and that is the time he whipped out his Bible and whacked the life out of them. Then he did his favorite thing, which is to let out choice curses in Hindi. Believe me, some of the curse words in Hindi can be very scary. On a side note, when my dad used profanity, it was not gentle at all; he could really grind it out good.

It seems with the Bible in one hand, a shoe in the other, and a mouth full of curses my father was successful in scaring those creatures, for a while. Most likely they retreated for a while. My Dad also saw a Maulvi (Muslim priest) who wrote few powerful stanzas on bits of paper, which my father stuck all over his house. Unfortunately, in the ensuing weeks, bits of paper and my father’s curses were not potent enough to keep wily creatures away; they were back to torment my father. I requested my father see his doctor before the situation got completely out of hand.

Dad duly headed for his PCP who happens to be a benign Jewish fellow complete with cap, keys, and threads; jingle-jangle of Doctor’s keys usually informed of his arrival. In the monthly or weekly meetings, my father and doctor usually discussed various political situations and rarely my father’s troubles, which fortunately had remained unchanged and hence no need of changing of the guard. Kind Doctor diagnosed my father’s battles with ghosts as sleep disorder/ anxiety/ depression, and recommended anti-depressants, which my dad refused to take just in case they interfered with his heart medicines. Then the doctor suggested maybe he should see a psychiatrist at which my dad went completely ballistic. When the doctor seemed exasperated, my dad came to his rescue and said he would get some priests to wipe out those night creatures! Medicine and juju somehow never went together.

As rescue-from-ghosts mission began, the group comprised of two priests, one designated priest and another one for added support, my Mum, my Mum's two friends, Dad, Dad's friend, and me. The idea was to present a very formidable group just in case any of those creatures were hiding under the carpet or in the walls or something. The priest soaked the house with holy water and read numerous Bible chapters to banish the creatures to depths of hell. The group lead by the priest made a few rounds of the house making sure all bases had been covered. My father was satisfied, slept peacefully for a few days till a few days later when his troubles started again.

I decided to take matters in my hand, fished out my Homeopathic books and read all the troubling symptoms. Voila I had the right remedy for Dad. He was given Stramonium. Dad became well, slept well and even gave advice to all and sundry about how to tackle ghosts! My Dad also told me about a certain distant relative who had regular sessions of boxing with some local nocturnal creatures as well! My mind began to whirr and I thought could this thing run in the family? Could God be so unkind as to allow generations to be troubled by these restless creatures? Should I get ready with some shoes and slippers? Or should I just keep some Stramonium nearby for myself? May my father rest in peace and those creatures as well; he was a true warrior, fought with ghosts and all.

Notes: Author is a Homeopath; Stramonium is a Homeopathic remedy to ease the mind among other things.

There is Always Time to Feel Blue

Why do I say there is always time to feel blue because just like the inevitability of seasons, my time for descending into the realm of feeling blue is here. This is not about troubles of deep depression but more with oscillating human emotions at certain times of day or week or month or year. Perhaps it has to do with changing of guard when Spring ushers in Summer which leads to Fall and that eventually brings us to closer to winter. Everything must give way to the next and change is inevitable. Yet the Earth spins, Sun rises, tides ebb and flow, birds sing; it's strangely unwavering, steady and comforting. Amidst this chaos and wonder, we struggle to find one unchanging point within rest of chaos. Some call it Life. Some call it the Dance of Shiva.

For the past week, it has been gloomy, doomy and glum; hence I have become glum. Just keepin' pace with the weather. Southern gentleman, JJ Cale sang ain't no change in the weather, ain't no change in me. But, there is a change in weather. It is turning dark before time, days are getting shorter by minutes and weather permitting, I am allowing myself to feel blue. It is not the deep envelope of mourning; it is not the heavy covers of depression I am hiding under; it is also not the debilitating mode which renders everything redundant; this is a blue hue brought on by none other than the weather. 

I must hear mournful music of which there is plenty; I must hear one song on a loop till the loop itself is ready to loop around itself. I must stop what I am doing, stand still, close my eyes, listen to the strings that tug at the heart. Everything moves in slow motion. My walk is slow, my thoughts are slow, my driving is slow; impatient car horns come at me in gentle waves. I am fretting with Landreth's guitar frets, agreeing with Sufis' plaintive cries to their beloved whether earthly or heavenly; savoring the poignancy of moments, once gone will never come back in the same form.

There is a sense of longing and loss and desire, for what, I do not know. Poets got consumed by this question and died of consumption. Philosophers lost their minds and wrote volumes about it; Scientists were able to sort out some then quickly dismissed it with God does not play dice. The Buddha found it under a tree. So, if Saints can suffer voluntarily and the world can cause suffering, why can't I give myself the luxury of feeling blue especially when things are not actually blue. A friend Rob Gunter from Yahoo asked whether something of beauty could at least imperceptibly ratchet the cosmic wheel toward a setting less blue? To which I say, who has been able to stop the wheel from going into its own direction, of a color of its own choosing? Blue is beautiful; to feel the cosmic wheel spinning in a sea of blue, is beautiful; to see blue shifting to black and specks of  red and orange streaking across its face is also beautiful. I will be steeped in the blues for a while.

Recommended Books for reading and enjoying:
After Lives of the Saints by Colin Dickey
I loved Jesus in the Night by Paul Murray.