An initiative by Readings in the Shed.
Tale teller: Nikhil Katara
“I don’t believe it.” he said as he sat in the slightly lit, slightly dark part of Taftoon Bar and kitchen, munching on a rather delicious dahi kachori.
“Why wouldn’t you?” she asked.
He breathed in heavily. “So you are telling me, you saw her… that friend of yours, what’s her name? Sneha, who died TEN MONTHS ago… You saw her in the supermarket today?”
“Yes I did.”
“And she had a casual conversation with you?”
“Yes, she did.”
“Ok so what did she say? How are you?” he laughed his sarcastic laugh and looked thoroughly amused as he waited for her to speak.
“She told me that if you scream or shout, or raise your hand at me once again. She will…”
“Is there any reason why I shouldn’t take you to the asylum, and throw you in there… YOU NEED HELP.”
“I thought about this too, and I knew you wouldn’t understand…So.” she said.
“I got her with me.”
He held his breath. This wasn’t funny anymore.
“She is standing behind you. Now.”
The dahi kachori crumbled into the plate as it fell from his shivering hands and his eyes travelled a full three sixty to look around. No one stood there… just silence.
“Is this your idea of a joke?” he screamed.
As he looked at her again, he froze. She didn’t stand alone. Her friend was there smiling at him, unblinking.