Mr. Macaulay\'s Clerical Agency

Mr. Macaulay's Welfare Agency
Debraj Bhattacharya

Mr. Tarun Tapadar is as ordinary a person as you can possibly imagine.
Every morning he takes a bus to his office, which is a branch of a public
sector bank, he sits in his counter either clearing cheques or giving money
to the customers. A clerk and as typical as one can possibly be. He is
about five feet four, has a nondescript face with a double chin, is clean-
shaven and has a hairline that is receding almost every day. He is forty-
five and wears minus four point five lenses.

You must have guessed by now that I am about to mention something strange
about Mr. Tapadar. May be he has some sort of a secret talent, maybe he is
actually a detective, or maybe he had the largest collection of matchboxes
in the world. Surely he is something quite extraordinary in some way? Well
he is, but not really in the sense that he is especially talented at
something and maybe it is by no means something very exciting either. It is
just that once in a while Mr. Tapadar is visited by ghosts who stay with
him for some time and then they disappear.

As I said earlier Mr. Tapadar is now forty five and ghosts have been
visiting him for quite some time now, ever since he was a child of about
six or so, so there is nothing very unusual about ghosts visiting him.
Contrary to popular belief a ghost visiting is nothing extraordinary, it
does not make Mr. Tapadar suddenly behave in some strange way – it does not
make him grow a beard or nurture secret ambitions of killing his wife or
any other gory acts. Just a mild headache on the upper left side of the
skull, nothing more. As long as you are willing to talk with the lonely
ghosts they are happy, at times they are frivolous but hardly ever rude.
Ghosts are a vulnerable lot. They need humans more than humans need them.
Tapadar never had any problem with them, he enjoys talking to them and
knows very well that they are going stay inside him for a while and then
leave. So if you see Mr. Tapadar in a bus on his way to the office the only
unusual thing that you will see when he is visited by a ghost is that you
would see his lips moving, not really a pronounced movement at that. You
will probably feel that there is nothing unusual about it as there are lots
of people who have the habit of talking to themselves.

Sometimes Mr.Tapadar felt that he would keep a diary of the ghosts that had
visited him over the years but he was too lazy to do that. There has been a
few interesting ones for sure. And needless to say some were somewhat
boring. A mixed bag you may say. The first one, who visited him when he was
about six or seven, was indeed quite interesting. He was a boy of about six
or seven as well who died in a car accident some thirty years ago. He
stayed with Tapadar for a while, well about ten days or so. Tapadar was
somewhat puzzled by his presence as he was also of the same age and
therefore he had become somewhat confused as to who he really was. When the
ghost told him that he was a ghost then Tapadar's confusions were cleared
up. This boy was quite a character. Tapadar was a quiet, shy, sickly boy,
whereas the ghost was a gregarious character and up to all sorts of
tantrums. Tapadar's parents were surprised to find that Tapadar was all of
a sudden talking to himself. Otherwise there was no external manifestation
of the visit of the ghost. For Tapadar also it was not much of a problem
except for a mild headache. After all carrying a ghost in your head can be
somewhat heavy at times. On the other hand the advantage was that he could
close his eyes and talk to another person, visit the world he lived in,
share the life of another person living in another place at another time.
Not much fuss involved, quite a good deal actually. Thanks to the ghosts
who had visited him he had visited strange places on the planet during
strange times, for example there was once a pirate who was the terror of
the North Sea some five hundred years ago (actually he was quite a
vulnerable person, quite nice in fact). Similarly there was a revolutionary
from Paris whose head was chopped off and he in fact didn't have a head but
being a ghost he didn't have a problem. The only problem that Tapadar had
with him was that he used to crack nasty jokes which were not always
Tapadar's cup of tea.

Tapadar sometimes wondered why the ghosts visited him so often. The answer
probably was that he didn't ask too many questions, did not mind them
staying with him for a while, and didn't get too excited about the whole
thing. After all it was nothing earth shattering, only some ghosts visited
him once in a while, taking a little bit of rest and then pushing off. For
the ghosts it has always been a very pleasant experience.

This time however it was slightly complicated. After all she was young,
perhaps about 22-23 and she was a memsahib. Quite attractive in fact.
Tapadar could feel that he was slightly tenser than he usually is. He woke
on a Sunday a little early, his wife was still lying beside him, came out
of the mosquito net. He could feel a somewhat disturbed digestive system.
The problem was that there was no way in which he could decide who would
enter his head and who wouldn't. Till now it didn't bother him much but if
he had the choice then he would have preferred not to allow this woman
inside her head.

Tapadar tried to ignore the whole issue. He went through the usual morning
rituals but he realised that he was nervous, he was unnecessarily
preoccupied with the new visitor.

Ghosts are however pretty good at reading minds. It is almost impossible to
hide anything from them. The Memsahib had managed to read Tapadar's mind.
As he was shaving his face tilted upwards, his razor trying to negotiate
the complex area under the jaw, the memsahib suddenly appeared in the
mirror and asked him, "Do you want me to go away?"

Tapadar was so surprised that he cut his skin and ended up saying "No". It
was a moment of pure horror. It was a very surprising appearance,
completely out of the prescribed norms, in broad day light; in fact there
was a chance of someone else actually getting a glimpse. He turned around
to see if his wife was around or not. Fortunately she was not. Recovering
slightly, he took care of the cut in the skin by rubbing some antiseptic.

He sat down on his chair in the verandah trying to read the newspaper. This
is grossly irregular, he thought, ghosts normally never make such public
appearances. They stay inside him, he talks with them usually just before
he goes to sleep and then after he falls asleep they usually take him to
some remote time in the past when they were alive and he spends some time
with them. Next morning he takes his bus to the office and watches
television in the evening. In other words leads a normal life. Then after
some time they go away. A very neat arrangement. Why all of a sudden this
strange disturbance? Being used to keeping ledger, he didn't like it at
all. Besides there was a strange problem here. Even though she was a ghost
she was still a woman, and a pretty attractive one at that and after all he
was a married man.

That evening Tapadar sat at the Dhakuria Lake and gave it a serious
thought. On the one hand he had a wife who did not care much for him, on
the other hand he was a married man. Then again no one has said anywhere
that a married man cannot have a fling with a young female ghost. He was
confused. Ledger keeping was so much easier.

- "Are you afraid of me?" The memsahib ghost suddenly asked.

Tapadar was once again startled. This is one of the problems of having a
ghost in your head. You don't have any privacy whatsoever. He realised that
this memsahib was definitely a very intelligent ghost. Perhaps very well
educated as well. So there is no point in trying to be clever.

- "No madam, I mean madam, just a little nervous".

-Don't be nervous Tapadar, am I not your guest? But if you want me to go
away then I will go away. But it is so pleasant to stay inside you. You are
such a nice man.

Tapadar blushed. Fortunately it was dark at the Dhakuria Lake and no one
was able to see him.

-"Would you mind if I come out of you and sit beside you?" The Memsahib
ghost asked.

-"How can you do that? You can't come out of my head and just sit beside me
like any other person!"

-"No, you are right I can't but you can imagine me sitting next to you and
if you imagine me sitting next to me then I would be there."

Tapadar could feel that there was sweat on his forehead. He wasn't sure
what was going to happen next. Any way he tried to imagine that the
memsahib was sitting right next to him. He made a quick calculation of the
possible dangers. He felt that there was a risk involved but it was worth
taking. After all no one would be able to see her sitting next to him.

-"So here I am, Tapadar, sitting here right next to you. Do you like it?"

Tapadar couldn't say that he didn't. After all a beautiful young memsahib
was sitting right next to him. And the best part of it was that the corrupt
policemen who regularly bully couples sitting there and extort money from
them did not understand that he was not sitting alone. Otherwise they would
have charged at least five hundred rupees.

Yes madam, he said.

Tapadar, please stop calling me madam! I am Celestine. Do you like my
name?

Yes madam, no I mean madam I wanted to say yes.

Oh, Tapadar you are so sweet!

Tapadar felt a kiss landing on his cheek.

Within a couple of days Tapadar managed to get rid of some of his
inhibitions. He worked out that not only was he enjoying the fact he was
going around with a beautiful memsahib, but on top of that there were
certain definite advantages to the situation. First, he did not need to buy
her anything which in an age of inflation was important. Second, no one
could see that he was sitting with a memsahib and that again was of great
help to him being a married man.

He took a casual leave from office and took Celestine around for a tour of
Calcutta. He showed her the Victoria Memorial, The Indian Museum and the
Marble Palace. At the end of a long day they sat down at the Coffee House
at College Street. Once again he realised the advantage of going around
with a ghost, he needed only one chair, getting two would have been very
difficult. The waiter was somewhat puzzled when he ordered two cups of
coffee instead of one, but then the Coffee House is frequented by all sorts
of weird people.

After finishing two cups of infusion and two Chicken Afghanis, Tapadar
became reflective. It was one of those moments in life when you feel like
pouring your heart to someone. The advantage of being in an crowded Coffee
shop is that you can keep talking to yourself and no one would notice.
Tapadar told Celestine that his secret ambition was always to become an
intellectual. You know write in journals and little magazines on important
issues, do film reviews, comment on the political condition of the state,
that kind of stuff. But then he got married and a lot of time was wasted.
And today the situation is such that even his son does not respect his
intellect.

-"Don't worry, Tapadar, may be in your next life you would be able to
become one." Celestine said.

-"Who knows! Life is strange you know Celestine".

-"Yes it is, but you know, you can become one in your next life! If you put
in an application early enough, then there is a chance that you would be
able to become an intellectual."

-"Really!" Tapadar said. "No, you must be joking".

-"Oh! Tapadar, do you think I will crack such nasty jokes on you?"

Tapadar blushed.

-"I will see that your application gets processed quickly." Celelstine said
in a very caring voice. "And I shall let you know when you have to apply.
But you know application for becoming an intellectual is very common among
Bengalis, so it takes some time. At times there are so many applications
that things are resolved through lottery."

Tapadar's eyes lit up. "Are you a Memsahib or are you Ma Durga?" he asked.

Tapadar's imagination started to run wild. He saw himself giving lectures,
writing books, visiting Oxford, visiting Cambridge, then when he would die
there would be obituaries and memorial lectures, may be even a street in
Calcutta would be named after him!

Tapadar wasn't sure whether to hug Celestine or to touch her feet.

Suddenly he realised that within a very short while he had come very close
to the memsahib ghost. She had become extremely important to him, almost as
if life didn't make sense without her. For the first time in his life he
met someone who really cared for him.

Next day Tapadar took another casual leave. He and Celestine went to the
Park Street Cemetery where Celestine showed her where she lay. 'Here lie
Celestine Maria Rothchild 1752 – 1775.' That's all.

-"How did you die Celestine?" Tapadar asked, his eyes full of tears.

Celestine said, "Oh I was the wife of one of the Company servants. We used
to have wild parties, you know, lot of wine, lot of dancing, lot of food.
One evening I had too much of it and fell off the Balcony".

-"How sad Celestine! Tapadar was trying to hold his tears".

-"Well I don't regret it you know. Life can be a lot better if you hang out
in Calcutta as a ghost. You don't feel the heat at all. Besides I am
enjoying my job as well although I have to say that I have enjoyed my
vacation a lot this time".

-"So you are a working ghost. How wonderful! What kind of job is it?"

-"Well, I work for a welfare agency started by a certain Lord Macaulay.
During his life time he became famous for making clerks. After he died he
decided to set up an agency that would transform clerks into what they want
to be. We offer several attractive packages, but the most popular is the
one that I told you – helping clerks in one life to become intellectuals in
the next."

Tapadar didn't quite understand everything she said. But he was trying to
come to terms with the sorrow of Celestine's inevitable departure.

Next morning, it was cold and misty and Tapadar went to the Princep Ghat to
bid Celestine farewell.

As she was about to disappear into the morning mist gliding across the
river Hoogly, Tapadar asked her, "How long do I have to wait Celestine?"

She smiled and said "Relax."