1. Waiting for the Ghost
A zigzag path through life feels utterly restless in the hot summer afternoon. A heavy lunch lulls the body into a nap on a holiday, only to trade it later for a sleepless night. I pounded the pillow, blaming it for failing to offer the comfort that might lead me to sound sleep. Outside, the streetlights on the college campus glowed dully beneath a gloomy sky. Barking dogs and wandering wild boars were the only witnesses to my wakefulness.
There’s always a game between the dogs and the boars; a midnight drama that oddly reassures me. I’m not alone in my insomnia; I have companions. The dogs, like opposition party members, bark loudly at the royal procession of boars. And true to the proverb, “a barking dog seldom bites”, their howls hold little power. The boars, majestic and unmoved, cross the road masterfully, ignoring the coarse barks hurled at them.
Among the chaos, a naive puppy; too young to understand the tension follows his mother, not to chase the boars but for a few precious drops of milk to fill his empty belly. Once the boars disappear into the deep shrubs, the dogs fall silent. At that very moment, a second gang of dogs; those from the canteen try to join forces with the dogs from the quarters. But the male, stalwart black dog, the gang’s leader, growls in protest. Not because of turf war or boars. No, his fear is more personal that these newcomers might charm the mother of his pup.
The five-day holiday has dehumanized the campus. Only a few like me remain tucked away in their quarters. This humanlessness emboldens the beasts, letting them rise with posture and purpose. Alas, there are no stars in the sky tonight, only drowsiness in my eyes. Sleep has no power to chain my lids. Cupid holds no charm to lure them shut with romantic dreams. Only the dazzling, man-made streetlights provoke my fingers to tap on the keyboard, capturing the sweetest scent of this dark night.
The breeze touches every sense, except taste. My tongue is otherwise engaged, sipping a cold strawberry milkshake. The beautiful sight of the Walden Pond surrounded by wildflowers, where I often imagine the Raas-Leela of Lord Krishna and Radha at dawn, is invisible in this shadowed hour.
Suddenly, all movement ceases: the boars, the dogs, the breeze, gone. What is there now to gaze at? A creeping feeling rises within me; a curiosity to see a ghost. Beyond the streetlights, beneath dense bushes, my eyes fix on a tomb. No ghost appears. But hope lingers to see a glimpse of that so-called terror. Seconds pass. Then minutes. Then hours. No one, and nothing, emerges. I begin to feel like Didi and Gogo in Waiting for Godot.
Perhaps this nothingness is the presence of ghosts in everything. My little eyes grow fatigued. My big belly, famished. I drift into drowsiness, still clinging to the hope of spotting a ghost among the shrubs. Waiting. Hoping. For another sleepless night. To catch the Godot-like ghost.
2. The Crisis Within
Where to begin, and what to begin, I truly don’t know. It’s no exaggeration to say that life is not a bed of roses. Ironically, nobody cares much about someone’s biography, yet everyone is deeply interested in the private affairs of their neighbours, colleagues, friends and especially their exes. They rarely celebrate others’ growth or goodness. But a downfall? That becomes a feast of gossip.
The more we advance in the outer world, the more we seem to decay inwardly. If a wife escapes a brutal marriage and reaches the zenith of fame, her abuser may shoot her in the dead of a winter night. Our society has become so modern that it has forgotten its inner core. We often remain unaware of the person living right next door until they take their own life.
Ironically, our minds are like Wikipedia; overflowing with details of what’s happening across the globe, yet completely blank about the life unfolding just meters away. When a celebrity is murdered, we march, strike, and protest until the culprit is caught. But when a thief robs and kills a man in our own neighbourhood, how many of us react the same way?
I felt strangely hollow when my neighbour asked my name six months after I had moved in. I wondered: was she truly that busy, or did she simply not see me as a person worth noticing? Look back at the battlefield of Kurukshetra; good and evil stood clearly defined. Now glance at modern society. You might find the very person who once plotted to sabotage your job riding joyfully behind you on your motorbike, as if you were lifelong friends.
This crab mentality not only degrades the individual but poisons the generation that follows. Emotional growth has stagnated. The word emotion itself is facing an identity crisis. The sacred bond between husband and wife has become the birthplace of something disturbing; an existential crisis. A father selling his daughter for a bottle of rum. A mother crossing lines with her son in pursuit of physical pleasure. These are not fictions. They are grotesque truths reflected in the mirror of our society.
Much is said about how people in Western countries face higher rates of depression and alienation. But the media often overlooks the emotional alienation suffered by people in the East; those who appear happy within families but feel empty and abandoned inside. To fill this inner void, many turn to religion or spiritual paths. Sometimes, it brings peace. Yet even in that silence, a question detonates like a nuclear bomb: “Who am I? What is the purpose of my life? For whom am I earning? What exactly am I living for?”
3. A Deal with Destiny
It begins with a man speeding through the bustling streets of Hyderabad on his Yamaha RX100, his wife seated behind him. He’s in a rush, not just to get somewhere, but to avoid being stopped by the police. Weaving through heavy traffic, he ignores speed breakers, driven by urgency. Suddenly, a shout pierces the chaos: “Hey, stop! She fell off, pick her up!” He slams the brakes and turns in disbelief. His wife is no longer on the bike. Frozen, he stares as her white saree, now soaked in red, lies crumpled on the road behind him. His name is Nikhil; a small-time businessman caught in a moment that will change everything.
They were a family of five: Nikhil; his wife, Neha; their two daughters, Navya and Nivedita; and their youngest, a son named Nagesh. The girls were pursuing higher education, while Nagesh was still in upper primary school. Neha was a devoted homemaker, deeply rooted in her faith. Every morning, before the rest of the family left for work or school, she made sure everything was in place; meals prepared, clothes ready, the house spotless. She took pride in keeping a tidy home, celebrating every festival with joy, and sharing warm moments with the neighbours. Neha was the heart of the household; cheerful, caring, and full of life.
One afternoon, Nikhil returned home, an unusual time for him to be back. He looked deeply troubled, weighed down by the pressure of finding money for a major investment. His mind was clearly elsewhere, lost in thought. Neha, sensing something was off, offered him a glass of water and gently urged him to join her for lunch. He declined with a shake of his head, retreating straight to the bedroom. There, he switched off the lights, turned on the air conditioner, and lay down. With business strategy reels playing softly from Instagram, he eventually drifted into sleep, his mind still racing.
Meanwhile, Purva dropped by for her usual afternoon visit. She was Neha’s neighbour and close friend, a regular presence in the house. As they chatted and exchanged the latest gossip, Neha began eating her lunch. Purva was Neha’s personal “News26”, the source of all colony updates, rumours, and local happenings. Two hours slipped by in their easy conversation. By then, all three of Neha’s children had returned from school and college. Their faces lit up as they rushed in, hugging her tightly and asking eagerly for food. Smiling, Neha served them a delicious meal, her heart full as she watched them eat.
After a heavy lunch around 4:00 p.m., the three children went to their respective rooms. The two girls began working on their assignments, while Nagesh, the youngest, got absorbed in watching YouTube Shorts. Meanwhile, Nikhil woke up from his nap. Neha greeted him with a warm cup of coffee, which he accepted gratefully and drank with satisfaction. He seemed refreshed, as if the nap had cleared his mind and revived his spirit. Smiling, he kissed Neha on the forehead, a rare gesture of affection, and then stepped out to meet his friends.
At a local tea stall, Nikhil met with his friends; Praveen, Jagan, and Janardan. As they sipped the hot, aromatic tea served by Rama, the well-known chaiwallah, the group dove into a discussion about potential investment opportunities. One by one, the others pitched their ideas, the steam rising from their cups as conversation buzzed with ambition. When it was Nikhil’s turn, he confidently laid out his plan. The three-hour nap had clearly done wonders, his thoughts were sharper, his strategy compelling. By the time he finished, the group erupted in applause, thoroughly impressed by his vision. Each of them pledged ₹10 lakh without hesitation. Together, they had pooled ₹40 lakh to invest in real estate.
Nikhil’s joy knew no bounds when his friends agreed to invest in his new project. It felt as though nothing could stand in his way now, the path to becoming a successful businessman finally seemed clear. On his way home, he stopped to pick up a jasmine garland for Neha, chocolates for Nagesh, and something extra special for his daughters: two brand-new laptops. For over a year, the girls had been requesting them, needing the devices for their project work. They were both studying at a government engineering university, and until now, Nikhil hadn’t been able to fulfil their wish. Today, he could.
That night, Nikhil slept the sleep of a millennium; deep, peaceful, and well-earned, knowing that once the sun rose, a whirlwind of work awaited him. The next morning, Neha was already immersed in her daily chores, moving about the house with her usual quiet efficiency. After a hearty breakfast, Nikhil set out in his car to meet his new business partner. The deal was sealed with signed papers, an exchange of funds, and a firm handshake, the beginning of a new chapter.
That evening, he returned to the same tea stall and excitedly shared the day’s events with his friends. Their faces lit up as they listened. After five years of saving and planning, they were finally on the brink of something big, an investment that promised to triple their money. The night ended in celebration, filled with laughter, chai, and the warmth of shared dreams.
The next morning, Nikhil honked impatiently as he navigated through dense traffic, a herd of cattle had suddenly blocked the road, bringing everything to a standstill. Frustrated, he veered off to take a shortcut. What should have been a quick detour ended up costing him four long hours. When he finally arrived at the office building, his heart sank. A large lock hung from the entrance gate and main door. All the signs of their business; hoardings, billboards, advertisements, the display board, everything that had been there just the previous evening had vanished without a trace.
Panic set in. He stood frozen, stunned. With trembling hands, he dialed his new partner’s number. “Not reachable,” the message repeated. Desperate, he questioned a few people nearby. One man casually responded, “Oh, that? It was a drama company shooting a short film. They packed up and left last night.” Nikhil felt the ground slip beneath him.
Hearing the truth, Nikhil felt the world collapse beneath him. Every rupee of his savings, along with the loans he had taken from his friends had vanished into a lie. Shaken, he called his friends and told them everything, hoping they would stand by him in the face of this cruel deception. But instead of believing him, they turned on him. Convinced that Nikhil himself had orchestrated the entire scheme to cheat them, they accused him of betrayal. Fuelled by anger and suspicion, they marched to the nearest police station and filed an FIR. Within hours, a formal case was registered against Nikhil; charges of money laundering and fraud.
Gripped by the fear of arrest, Nikhil made the painful decision to flee. In a hurried whisper, he handed some cash to his elder daughter and instructed her to take her siblings by bus to their grandmother’s house; Neha’s mother, where he believed they’d be safe. Then, with heavy hearts, he and Neha locked up their home, carrying only the most essential documents and a few belongings. Without a clear plan or destination, they set off, two weary souls on the run, heading into the unknown, chased by uncertainty and the weight of shattered trust.
After covering barely a few kilometres under the scorching sun, Nikhil’s phone rang. As always, he answered through his Bluetooth headset. It was a neighbour, their voice tense and hurried. A police van had just arrived at his house, asking questions, inquiring about his whereabouts. The moment sent a jolt through Nikhil’s veins, adrenaline surged. Panic took over. He twisted the throttle, accelerating to a reckless speed, forgetting everything, even that his wife was seated behind him on the bike.
At a busy traffic intersection, a red light flashed. But instead of slowing down and waiting, Nikhil made a split-second decision to keep going. He sped over a speed breaker without braking and that one moment cost him everything. Neha was thrown from the bike. Her body hit the edge of the speed bump with devastating force. Her once-radiant face froze in a look of shock and pain. Blood streamed from a deep crack in her skull, pooling around her head. Her eyes remained wide open, her mouth slightly parted but no scream escaped. It all happened so fast that time itself seemed to fail her. In just one moment, the vibrant woman who held the family together became still, her body fragile, broken.
She couldn’t cry out but a passerby did. The stranger’s frantic shout somehow pierced through the noise and reached Nikhil’s nearly deafened ears. He slammed the brakes and turned, only to see the unimaginable: Neha, his Neha, lying motionless in the middle of the sun-drenched road. Her white saree, once a symbol of peace and grace, was now drenched in red soaked with the blood still oozing from the deep wound on her skull. The sight shattered him. In that moment, time seemed to collapse. He ran to her, knelt beside her, trembling, broken.
Though some part of him already knew she was gone that her silence was final, he couldn’t accept it. Clinging to the smallest shred of hope, he rushed her to the nearest private hospital. But all he received in return was a solemn shake of the head… a quiet, devastating “No” from the doctor.
That evening, Nikhil carried Neha’s mortal remains to her mother’s house. Grief hung heavy in the air as he, along with their three children and mother-in-law, performed the final rites, a heartbreaking farewell to the woman who had been the heart of their family. The very next morning, before the first light could touch his face, the police arrived. Without delay, they arrested him under Section 420 charges of fraud and forgery. There was no chance to explain, no room for mercy. In one swift blow, his children lost not just their mother, but their father too, left behind in a world that no longer felt like home.
Six years have passed since that day.
Today, both of Nikhil’s daughters are working in the software industry. They’ve built stable lives for themselves and are now waiting for the right suitors to begin new chapters, they’re shaped by resilience, not tragedy. But their younger brother, Nagesh, wasn’t as fortunate. The trauma of losing both parents in such a short span proved too much for his tender mind to bear. Over time, it unravelled him. Though his body has grown into a young man, his mind remains frozen at nine. He spends his days on the ground outside, lost in a world of innocence, still playing with dolls, untouched by time, untouched by healing.
Greed, senseless and unchecked, has the power to destroy a family. It can lead to death, imprisonment, madness, and the complete breakdown of everything once held dear. This painful story was narrated to me by my niece, Aiswarya, during a brisk walk after dinner. We had paused near a large, deserted house, its broken windows and crumbling walls gave it a haunted look. As she spoke, I found myself slowly absorbing the deeper truth behind her words. Greed is insatiable, and often, fatal. As humans, we are meant to dream and wish, it’s what keeps us moving forward. But we must remain vigilant, ensuring those wishes don’t grow fangs and turn into greed. Wishes can be fulfilled. Greed, never.
