Stories are social glue. And this one about the haunted, abandoned society proved to be quite adhesive when I first arrived in India.
The ghost story took place in a large colony of green spaces, buildings, and winding roads nestled in Mumbai’s suburbia. A group of hostels, in one corner of the colony, was a hotbed for supernatural tales and had been left to nature’s whims. From the looks of it, it had been forgotten a while ago; desolate facades, vines growing haphazardly, broken windows.
It had a menacing aura, and a blanket of mist hung over it in dramatic affectation.
It had first surprised me that no one had bulldozed it and recreated a livable society. Mumbai, after all, is one of the most populous cities in the world, and space is coveted like gold. But even the homeless stayed clear of it. Evidently, superstitions are formidable.
I’d been in Mumbai for 6 months when I first heard the story. I’d made a few friends and was learning to enjoy university, but I still stuck out like a sore thumb. I was Indian, but not enough. I was a foreigner, but not exactly. My Hindi was broken, and my English sounded unfamiliar. I knew the pop culture, but the local jokes never landed with me. When this story found me, it was like a souvenir from the gods of camaraderie.
My friends and I realised that we had a common curiosity about urban legends. And I got sucked in.
As most ghost stories go, this one had an assortment of bone-chilling activities. Restless spirits from a plane crash, a vengeful murder victim, and an angry ‘Lady in White’ hitchhiker. Dogs screamed if they ventured in unwittingly, and people were chased by unearthly energy.
It had all the spooky ingredients of a Stephen King novel.
One late night, our courage fortified by spicy street food, we decided to visit the creepy colony. We’d come up with an alternative narrative to why the spirits chased anyone who dared to pass by. They weren’t spiteful; they were lonely. They weren’t hunting you; they were trying to be buddies.
At this point in the story, I have to pause and remind you that it’s easy to be stupid when you’re 17. But it’s also easy to be brave. As an adult, almost twice as old now, I’m probably more terrified of ghosts and won’t venture into the dark without a light, prayer, or garlic. Somehow, aspects of play and adventure have dimmed with age.
Anyway, we hopped onto our bikes and rode to Aarey Colony, huddling closely for both warmth and valour. It was close to midnight, but that didn’t mean the streets were empty. Night shift workers, couples out for a stroll, families on moonlit drives, and sleepless students like us dotted most laneways. Mumbai is the city that never sleeps for a reason.
As we approached the colony, the groups waned, and murmurs waxed. The air was cool, or maybe I had imagined it, and the street lamps buzzed with a palpable charge; likely due to age, but my mind nevertheless noted the warning.
We cycled to the mouth of the winding road and paused. Nursing sweaty palms and erratic breaths, we waited for our cold feet to catch up. But one of us pedelled on, and the rest followed. The road grew darker, and the sounds of the suburb faded to a fuzzy white noise.
We told jokes, loudly. An invitation and hint to any spirits pondering our intention. We were there to make friends. We took shortcuts between buildings, kept one eye out for escape routes, but clowned around for a good half hour nevertheless. Even after emphatic comedy, no one (or nothing) joined in; no hitchhiker clad in white or ominous wails.
Soon, we began to laugh, for real. We were having fun chasing ghost stories, especially when there were no ghosts around. The tail of the road came into view, and the suburb emerged in the distance.
Suddenly, a loud noise echoed behind us. I still can’t describe what it sounded like, but I vividly remember the sudden buckshot of horror I felt.
‘Shit,’ my friend muttered and raced down the road.
We heeded his urgency and pedalled until our hearts threatened to give out. And then, we burst into laughter once again.
I recall this night from time to time with special fondness. Not only had I forged a deeper connection with my friends, but for the first time, I’d done something ludicrious. And I had fun.
I never broke the rules as a kid, well, apart from the tiny ones that cost you nothing more than a scowl from your teacher. But the wonder of being silly is that it teaches you to be audacious, a little reckless even. And that night was proof that I could be bold. And over the next few years of university, I collected more evidence of my goofiness.
But as time passed, that playfulness mellowed. My traditional brand of caution seeped back in, and I took comfort in colouring within the lines. And so, my sense of play has been dormant for a while now. Adults often forget what it’s like to be childish; to tap into spontaneity and experiment for the sake of fun.
Maybe I’ve been missing that side of me; I’ve been recounting such memories more often these days. My days feel too structured and my goals, too heavy. I think I’ve unintentionally given up on goals.
So, I’m going to start tapping into my sense of play more. Dance often, make things for no reason, play pretend, roll on the sand with my dog, learn to skate—I‘m going to pay attention to when I connect most with my inner child, and I’m not going to hold back.
I’m curious, what brings out your childlike sensibilities?
xx
Smriti
If this post gave you something to think about, subscribe to receive an essay a week, always free. And if you’d like to support the work, the first 20 founding members get a 1:1 creative conversation with me. 💌
To show support without another subscription, you can buy me a coffee. ☕️
Love this story, and the captivating way you've brought the memory, time and place alive. Thank you for sharing it! This reminds me so much of my parkour days - something I only discovered in my 20s. As someone who also grew up very much following the rules, and not very sporty, parkour was a huge lesson in not only learning to trust myself but also in being playful in life. I don't train in any way like I used to, but the parkour mindset has altered me forever. So excited for you learning to skate! Play is very underrated in adulthood.