It's been more than an year since we moved to this house in Bangalore. But your ghost still lives here. Every single day that I have sat on my comp in this room, I have had a visitor clanking the gate asking for you.
'Excuse me, Madam, is Mr. Shivkumar at home?'
The first few months I showed them my finger pointing up, then I realized that my landlord has some other name.
'Mr. Shivkumar used to live here. I don't know where he has gone now.' said the owner, again and again, every single day, till he told me not to send them up please, he naps in the afternoons.
Since then I have learn t a thing or two about you, Mr. Shivkumar. You are, were a cunning fellow. You swindled quite a few fellas in your time here and somehow they wake up long after you made yourself scarce. They keep waking up, oh so late.
What amazes me is that these fellows come every single day, mostly in the afternoons, and ask for you, in a slightly fearful tone, like they are not sure they wanna meet you, but what to do, you owe them too much money.
Today morning, Hubby finally blew his fuse.
'Just get lost, ok?' he shouted at the poor fellow at the door.
'There is nobody here called Shiv kumar. There never was. There never will be. My name is not Mr. Shivkumar. And why should I prove it to you? Are you a police wala? Why cant you go to the police if you have any proof? Just go. And dont come back.'
I had an eerie feeling that moment that you are around, very near. And I found myself hunting for the envelopes addressed to you (on my address) and throwing them in the trash.
Agar tune maa ka doodh piya hai, to show your face. Or just disappear. In the trash.