I had a very special relationship with the dead. It aways made my flatmates a little scared. No, not little but a lot scared than I had ever thought they would be. And i enjoy it. Immensely. It gives my shattered soul a little comfort that I could scare people. Normal people who are scared to know that there are ghosts around who can talk, walk and ever sleep in the same bed with you. But I was never like this before. I was as scared as they were as a child. My mother was recently widowed and started dating as soon as they set fire to my father's bones. Men came and went in the house and I wondered how my dead father would feel about the situation. Then my grandmother came to live with us and the situation changed a little. From many men, my mother stuck to just one. The man was hideous, clingy and even drunk at times. I thought maybe he was around for money. But he was just around. Always. In front of the TV. Grandma was playing with her doll again. A voodoo doll, she said. She had pins all over the thing and I thought i heard her speaking to it once or twice. It was my sixteenth birthday and as usual the house was dull and a strong scent of kapoor was waving through the air. Since we were not very religious it was strange.
"Playing with the doll again?" I sat beside her. She smelled like kapoor. I guess that explained it all.
"It's not a doll. It's a soul of another person".
"What's that?" I knew that she was going mad, but this mad?
"It's your sixteenth birthday. And I want you to learn what my ancestors knew", she took out a book. A thick one and handed it over to me.
And it was really old. "You know I don't like books. But at least give me a new one".
"You were always a sharp one in our family and your mother was just too ordinary to understand this. Start reading and you will know".
And here is where I learnt about the another world. Where I live now more than I live in this one.