The Threshold for Greatness Changes

For decades, 10,000 Test runs was cricket’s sacred line.

Cross it, and you entered a different room in history. It separated the merely excellent from the immortals. Sachin Tendulkar, Rahul Dravid, Jacques Kallis, Ricky Ponting, Alastair Cook - the club itself became shorthand for batting greatness.

But sport evolves. And when sport evolves, the thresholds for greatness evolve with it.

Football once had a similar problem. Before 1995, the Ballon d’Or was restricted to European players. That meant Pelé and Diego Maradona were ineligible for the sport’s biggest individual honour during their primes. The rules eventually changed because excluding names of that magnitude made the criteria look incomplete.

Cinema did the same with Charlie Chaplin. The Oscars eventually had to correct themselves with honorary recognition because history could not seriously tell the story of film while leaving Chaplin outside its highest institutional validation.

Earlier, winning the World Cup was often seen as the final measure of greatness in football. Though he eventually lifted it in 2022, many people already considered Lionel Messi one of the greatest ever because two decades of brilliance mattered more than a single trophy.

Cricket now faces a similar moment with Virat Kohli.

The game he played was not the game previous generations played. Modern cricketers exist in a year-round cycle of Tests, ODIs, T20Is, franchise leagues, travel, media scrutiny, and relentless athletic demands. Batting across formats today is physically and mentally more taxing than it was for most earlier eras.

And yet, despite that burden, Kohli retired with 9,230 Test runs at an elite average, across conditions, eras, and attacks. Any honest list of Test batting greats is incomplete without him.

Which raises the obvious question:

If a threshold excludes someone universally accepted as great, is the threshold still correct?

Maybe the number was never sacred. Maybe it was only symbolic.

For this era, the line can no longer be 10,000 test runs.

Now, the threshold for greatness most certainly is 9,230.

The Person He Left Behind

During his school years, he was known by his given first name. However, when he began his undergraduate studies in 1994, he chose to go by “Vicky,” his nickname. To his parents - the Mehtas - and among close relatives, he had always been Vicky.

For several years, he hated being called by his nickname in public but that changed after the release of the movie Baazigar in 1993. Shah Rukh Khan - whose character’s real name was Ajay Sharma - pretended to be ‘Vicky Malhotra’ in the movie. Vicky Malhotra was stylish and suave, and suddenly, the name ‘Vicky’ was no longer repulsive for the Mehta boy.

Right from his school days, Vicky was a very popular student with an outgoing personality. He did well academically, was reasonably good at sports, and carried himself with an easy confidence that drew people toward him. Sociable and friendly by nature, he was well-liked among his peers, and his charming presence rarely went unnoticed. He also had a noticeable fascination with bikes, and it was no secret among his friends that he dreamed of becoming a biker one day.

During junior college (in Mumbai, unlike many other cities in India, students typically complete their 11th and 12th grades in junior colleges rather than in school), despite being under the legal driving age, he began riding his Yamaha RX-100 to college. It was well known that he wished to own a Harley-Davidson Fat Boy - the same motorcycle used by Arnold Schwarzenegger in Terminator 2: Judgment Day.

During college, Vicky maintained a stylish and modern lifestyle that suited his image, and coming from a financially well-off family only added to his popularity among girls. His father, Kamal Kant Mehta, was a successful businessman involved in the distribution of various products, including FMCG goods, consumer durables, hardware, fire extinguishers, and a three-wheeler goods carrier brand. Kamal Mehta remained completely occupied with his business throughout the day, yet he also knew how to party. He had many friends - something Vicky found extremely fascinating and aspirational.

Kamal Mehta spent most evenings drinking and socializing with friends. He was a heavy drinker and had little time for his wife, Devyani, Vicky’s mother. He possessed a cheerful personality and was often told that he reminded people of the famous actor - Rishi Kapoor.

Kamal’s weekends were reserved for short road trips outside the city, while holidays were devoted to road trips, good food, leisure, and celebration. Unlike Vicky, who was fond of bikes, Kamal Mehta was passionate about cars and owned several of them. However, his prized possession was the Lexus LS400, which he purchased after learning that Harshad Mehta owned the same model. For the uninitiated, Harshad Mehta was a prominent Indian stockbroker in the late 1980s and early 1990s, known for his massive influence on the stock market and for orchestrating one of India’s biggest financial scandals.

Kamal’s weekend and holiday trips were often only with his friends. On the rare occasions when Devyani and Vicky were part of the plan, Kamal’s friends - and their families - would also join. Kamal spent lavishly on his friends. He was a generous man who did not think twice before doing so. He was also extremely trusting. In most of his businesses, he had made his friends his business partners simply to remain close to them and to look after them. He had also loaned large sums of money to an endless list of friends. He neither maintained proper records nor did he concern himself with repayment.

While Kamal appeared largely absorbed in his own world, he loved Vicky and cared for him in his own ways. His relationship with Devyani was complicated. He provided for her generously and often bought her gifts yet rarely spent meaningful time with her. In the early years, drawn by his charm and sociable nature, Devyani suspected that Kamal might be a womanizer, which she believed explained his preference for travelling without his family. Over time, however, she realized this was not true. Kamal was simply a fun-loving man who enjoyed companionship and social life but remained loyal to his family and principled in his conduct. Nevertheless, Devyani remained frustrated with Kamal’s lifestyle and choices, Vicky, on the other hand, admired it deeply and wished to emulate his father.

In early 1997, before Vicky could complete his Bachelor of Commerce degree at Narsee Monjee College of Commerce and Economics, his father, Kamal Mehta, passed away unexpectedly. Vicky was on campus when someone came to inform him. The news left him stunned and shattered.

While his father’s death appeared sudden, Vicky soon came to know that Kamal had been struggling with several lifestyle-related health issues. Kamal had always been slightly overweight and was living with diabetes. His demanding work schedule and frequent social engagements had severely disrupted his sleep cycle, and he was also suffering from Obstructive Sleep Apnea (OSA). Kamal had largely ignored these conditions. Devyani was aware of his health issues, but the details had not been shared with Vicky.

However, his father’s health problems were only the beginning of Vicky’s harsh awakening.

In the days following Kamal’s death, Vicky discovered that much of the life he had grown up believing in had been built on fragile foundations. He realized that most of his father’s money, assets, and above all, his friends, disappeared almost immediately. The friends on whom Kamal had sworn by and on whom he had spent his time and money never came forward to support Vicky and his mother. Since they were also business partners, they took control over most of the assets and funds and told the family that the businesses were riddled with debt and that most of the assets had been used as security for loans. Due to the lack of paperwork and, perhaps, lack of interest or emotional strength to fight, Devyani did not pursue the matter and accepted her fate.

The only friend who stood by the family was Yashvardhan Kumar, a college classmate of Kamal, whom Kamal referred to as ‘Yash’ and whom Vicky called ‘Kumar Uncle’. Yashvardhan Kumar was also a businessman, but he was never part of Kamal’s usual ‘gang’, primarily due to his dislike for Kamal’s other friends. He ensured that Devyani and Vicky were able to retain their house and receive some money and control over a couple of businesses. They also got his father’s deep red colored Lexus LS400. This support ensured that Devyani and Vicky had at least a few things left to help them pick themselves up and move ahead in life.

While all was not lost, Vicky’s life changed completely after his father’s demise. For a few months, he withdrew into a shell; barely talking to anyone and avoiding his usual activities such as riding, going out with friends, and partying. Eventually, he managed to pull himself together and complete his graduation. Throughout this period, Vicky kept thinking about his father. While Kamal had appeared to have everything under control, in reality, he had been reckless with many of his life choices. From idolizing his father, Vicky gradually began almost resenting him and blaming him for putting both him and his mother in such a difficult situation. Perhaps he was also unhappy that he would no longer be able to follow his dreams and would have to lead a life very different from what he had once envisioned.

Vicky was also worried about his mother, who did not show much emotion after Kamal’s death. Upon speaking with her, Vicky realized that although she was indeed heartbroken and missed her husband, not much had changed in her life. She had never cared much for money, the house, or any other luxury. What she had wanted from Kamal was time and togetherness, which she had not received. During their days together, she longed for special moments with him, but Kamal would not even remember their wedding anniversary or her birthday. Now that Kamal was no longer there, her daily life remained largely the same.

Somewhere during those difficult months, Vicky made a silent promise to himself. He decided that he would never live the way his father had. He would not allow ambition, status, or reckless choices to consume his life. He wanted to become someone who valued stability over appearances, loyalty over popularity, and relationships over social prestige. He promised himself that if he ever built a family of his own, he would be present for them in ways Kamal had never been. He would take responsibility for his actions, protect the people who depended on him, and never mistake outward success for true fulfilment.

Vicky started going to the office and reviving his father’s businesses that he had gained control of. He began working immensely hard. He had inherited his father’s business acumen. While he spent long hours at the office, he also ensured that he maintained a healthy lifestyle and work–life balance. He made it a point to go to bed by 10:00 PM every day. Unlike his life prior to his father’s demise, he completely quit partying and drinking. He would wake up at 4:30 AM and practise yoga at 5:00 AM every day. He would go for a jog afterwards and have his breakfast sharp at 8:00 AM. At 9:00 AM, before his office staff arrived, he would reach the office and immerse himself in work. On most days, he left the office at 5:30 PM and went home to spend time with his mother.

Amidst his increasingly busy and disciplined routine, Vicky no longer found time to ride his motorcycle — something he missed deeply, though he rarely admitted it even to himself. Over time, he began convincing himself that riding was an unsafe and impractical passion, a youthful indulgence that no longer had a place in the life he was trying to lead.

In an effort to suppress that lingering attachment, he sold his Yamaha RX-100.

He also had the option of using his father’s Lexus LS400, but by then, the car had come to symbolise much more than luxury. To him, it represented many of the choices and excesses that had defined Kamal Mehta’s life — choices he had consciously decided to move away from. He sold the Lexus as well and bought a far more modest and practical Opel Astra.

The car’s registration number was MH04X7431.

He specifically chose the number 7431 because it had once belonged to his Yamaha RX-100 — a quiet reminder of a part of himself he had tried hard to leave behind, yet could never completely let go of.

And despite all his efforts to distance himself from his father’s tastes and lifestyle, there was one detail he could not resist.

He bought the Opel Astra in deep red — the exact same colour as Kamal Mehta’s Lexus.

Perhaps the biggest change in him was that he stopped using the name “Vicky” altogether. Gradually, he began introducing himself by his official name instead, almost as if he wanted “Vicky” to slowly disappear. Over time, most people around him came to know him only by that identity.

By late 1999, his hard work and discipline had begun to pay off, and the businesses were flourishing. But did it make him happy? When he looked at the Profit and Loss (P&L) statements and saw positive numbers, it gave him a sense of relief - nothing more. It never brought a smile to his face. He would tell his mother - and himself - that he was happy, but the words sounded hollow.

He had changed completely. Everyone around him, including Devyani, could see it. He had become the exact opposite of who he was before his father’s death. The enthusiasm in his voice had faded. He now spoke softly, slowly, and with careful restraint. He allowed himself only one day off each week - Sunday. Even that day was spent alone at Kumar Uncle’s beach house in Alibaug, sitting by the sea for hours, lost in thought.

His mother worried that he had begun to appear like a sad and uninteresting man - someone with no friends, no joy, and no companion. Someone who approached life as a ‘to-list list’.

This changed on a fateful day on 15^th September 2000. As usual, he returned from the office – which was quite close to his home - at 5:50 PM. His routine ‘required’ him to spend some time with his mother, but she was not at home. She had left for Pune, leaving behind a note that said her sister was unwell and that she would return after a week. The sudden gap in his carefully planned schedule left him feeling clueless and restless.

He stepped out for a walk and, almost absentmindedly, wandered into a nearby coffee shop he had passed countless times before but never once entered. The place had a quiet, old-world charm - simple wooden furniture, slightly faded walls, and the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingering in the air. It was run by a chubby, elderly Parsi woman named Delshad Irani, who seemed to know most of her customers by name. She moved around the café with a natural sense of belonging, occasionally pausing to exchange a few words with customers or offering them a warm, knowing smile. When he entered, Delshad greeted him kindly, and the two exchanged introductions.

He chose a corner table and was scanning the menu when he noticed a girl sitting at a table close by. There was something about her that made him lower the menu and look at her for a moment longer than he intended to. She wore a pink top and blue jeans, her hair - slightly longer than shoulder length – were open. She appeared cheerful, yet quietly reserved. He felt an uncontrollable urge to speak to her but hesitated, unsure of what to say. After a few moments of indecision, he finally gathered the courage to greet her. When she responded with a simple “Hi” and an encouraging smile, he asked if she could recommend something from the café. She suggested a cold coffee and a chicken sandwich. He was - or had become - more of an espresso person, but he ordered what she suggested.

A brief silence followed. Then he asked if she was waiting for someone. She said she was, but it seemed her friend would not be coming. He asked if she would like to join him, and she agreed. They exchanged introductions. She told him her name was Pooja, and he introduced himself by his official name.

What began as casual conversation slowly stretched into hours. They spoke about ordinary things - fragments of their lives, small memories, passing thoughts - yet none of it felt ordinary to him. He found himself enjoying her company far more than he had expected. He would ask her something, listen to her answer, and then continue looking at her long after she had finished speaking.

Without fully realizing it, Mehta Boy was beginning to fall in love!!

Yet, around 9:15 PM, he started getting restless as it was getting dangerously close to his bedtime! He told her that he needed to return home for dinner with his mother, and they left the coffee shop after exchanging numbers.

The next day, before leaving the office, he called Pooja and asked if she would like to meet again at the same coffee shop. She agreed. They met again, and then again, for the next five days.

On the seventh day, 22nd September 2000 - a day before his mother was scheduled to return - he called Pooja once more. This time, she suggested they meet somewhere else. They chose an ice-cream parlour close to the coffee shop. As they were about to part, Pooja asked where they would meet the next time. He hesitated. He knew that his mother would return the next day and his schedule would not have time for these unscheduled adventures. He told her he would decide and let her know over the phone and they left the ice cream parlour.

He did not call Pooja the next day as there was no time. He was firm that he would not change his schedule as it would mean leading life like his father. However, he was missing Pooja and was miserable. He went about his planned schedule and hit the bed at 10PM but today sleep was on Pooja’s side and ditched him in retaliation.

Next day, Pooja called his office and he was all over the place while coming up with an excuse for not calling her. Finally, he told Pooja that some urgent work has come up and it would keep him occupied for next few days. He promised to call as soon as the work is over. He tried to hurriedly put down the phone but right before he hung up, he heard a faint “I miss you” on the other side of the line. This made him even more miserable.

Yet he managed to show restraint for 4 days. He would come home and spend time with his mother but would remain lost in his thoughts. Sleep continued to take revenge on behalf of Pooja.

While her son’s face lacked zeal and emotion in any case, Devyani noticed the worsened behaviour and enquired about it. Though he was reluctant, he told everything to his mother. She was expecting that the reason would be something work or health related but was pleasantly surprised upon hearing that the reason is a young woman. Pooja sounded like the answers to her prayers. She firmly told him that he should call Pooja immediately and meet her. She also told him that if he is serious about her and he must express his feelings with her. Further, she told him that by not spending time with his mother, he is not becoming a lesser son and her happiness is interlinked with his happiness.

He felt both relieved and strangely certain of himself. Without wasting another moment, he called Pooja. The happiness in her voice when she heard him was impossible to miss, and she agreed to meet him immediately.

They met once again at the same coffee shop.

For nearly an hour, he sat across from her, listening to her speak and watching the subtle shifts in her expressions as she talked. Yet beneath his calm exterior, the emotions he had been suppressing for days continued to build. Every passing minute made the silence within him heavier.

Finally, he interrupted her gently.

His voice was quieter than usual, but there was certainty in it.

He told her how deeply he had missed her over the past few days. How the absence of her voice and presence had unsettled him in ways he could not explain. He admitted that the silence between them had felt louder than any noise in his life.

And then, before he could retreat into caution or overthink his words any further, he told her that he loved her.

Pooja smiled.

But at the same time, she seemed to steady herself emotionally before responding. She told him that she genuinely enjoyed spending time with him and admired the way he listened and understood people, but his confession had caught her by surprise. To her, it felt sudden and unexpected.

He listened quietly and replied that he was certain about what he felt. But he also understood that she might need more time. He suggested that they continue meeting, continue knowing each other better, and allow things to unfold naturally until she arrived at the same clarity herself.

She smiled again and nodded softly.

For the next fifteen minutes, neither of them spoke much. They simply sat there, exchanging occasional glances and quiet smiles that somehow said more than words could.

Afterwards, they stepped out of the coffee shop and waited for a taxi for her. While she was absorbed in watching the passing kaali-peeli taxis and autorickshaws, he kept looking at her. Suddenly, a little boy approached him with a bunch of red, heart-shaped balloons and asked if he would like to buy some of them. He checked his pocket and realized he did not have any small change. He did, however, find a five-rupee coin and asked the boy for a single balloon.

After buying it, he gently tapped Pooja on the shoulder and presented the balloon to her with both hands. He did not expect much of a reaction and was slightly worried that she might find the gesture childish or cheesy. To his surprise, she was genuinely delighted. It was getting dark, yet her face lit up - surprise in her eyes and a wide, open smile that seemed to erase the evening gloom.

It made his day, his month, and perhaps even his year. He could not remember the last time he had felt such uncomplicated joy. Unlike the quiet relief he felt when he saw growth in his profit and loss statements, the expression on Pooja’s face gave him a true sense of achievement and fulfilment. He silently promised himself that this would become their small ritual - that he would give her a balloon every time they met. Silly, perhaps. But then again, love is often silly.

They continued to meet. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. What had begun as a chance encounter slowly settled into a quiet, meaningful presence in his life. For the first time in years, his days were not just structured - they had something to look forward to.

He still followed his routine with discipline, but somewhere within that structure, Pooja had found her place. She brought with her a certain lightness that he had long forgotten. With her, conversations flowed without effort, silences felt comfortable, and time seemed to move differently.

He was happy.

Pooja, too, was happy. She enjoyed his company, his attentiveness, and the quiet sense of security he offered.

Then suddenly one day, Pooja told him that her parents wanted her to meet the son of their close friends – Mulchandanis - for a possible marriage alliance.

The news unsettled him.

She explained that she had already expressed her reluctance and discomfort to her parents, but they had insisted that she meet the boy at least once. She reassured him that she would go through with the meeting only to satisfy them and, if the opportunity arose, would make it clear that she was already in a relationship.

He listened quietly. For a brief moment, unease crept into his mind, but it passed almost immediately. He trusted her.

After her meeting with the boy, Pooja called him to the café and told him about the meeting. The boy’s name was Sameer Mulchandani. She described him as good-looking, polite, and well-spoken, though there was also something carefree and boyish about him. She admitted that she had felt unexpectedly comfortable talking to him because he, too, had apparently not been very enthusiastic about the arranged setup. She even told Sameer that she believed people should be in love before deciding to marry. And somewhere during the conversation, she told Sameer about him. When she finished narrating the entire episode, he felt relieved.

They continued to meet as before.

On several occasions, he wanted to ask her - clearly, directly - if she saw a future with him. But he held himself back. He chose patience. He decided that he would give her time and, in the meantime, do everything he could to keep her happy.

One evening, they went out for dinner.

Midway through the meal, Sameer happened to walk into the same restaurant and noticed them. After a brief exchange, he joined their table without much hesitation.

He observed Sameer closely. Pooja had been right - Sameer did seem goofy and slightly immature.

Sameer asked about their plans after dinner and suggested they go somewhere else afterwards. Pooja seemed open to the idea, but almost instinctively, she looked towards him before responding. Sameer also looked towards him.

He declined by explaining that he had a fixed routine - he needed to be in bed by 10:00 PM. Pooja gently reasoned that one day would not change anything. Sameer also tried to convince him, pointing out that the next day was a Sunday.

But he calmly explained his schedule - waking up at 5:00 AM, yoga, jogging, breakfast at 8:00 AM, and then spending the day with Pooja at Kumar Uncle’s beach house.

Then he excused himself and went to the washroom. While he was away, Sameer casually asked Pooja if she would like to join him later that night. She declined, saying maybe some other time.

When he returned, a waiter followed him carrying three glasses of champagne. Pooja looked surprised and asked what the occasion was. He said, with a rare hint of warmth in his voice, that it marked the anniversary of the day he had first expressed his feelings to her.

He was happy. He believed he was finally doing what his father never did - celebrating moments, creating memories.

Sameer and Pooja remained in touch. He was aware of it and did not feel threatened. He trusted her, and perhaps more than that, he believed in what they shared.

They continued their drives - long, unplanned, and deeply cherished. Sometimes, he would even step out of the office during lunch just to spend time with her. These moments meant more to him than he cared to admit.

One day, Sameer joined them on one such drive. During the drive, he pointed out the café where he had first met her on 15th September 2000. A little ahead, he showed the ice-cream parlour they had visited a week later. He spoke of those moments with quiet pride, almost as if recounting milestones. Pooja smiled, but something within her shifted slightly.

They continued meeting regularly, but slowly, almost imperceptibly, things began to change. At first, it was subtle enough for him to ignore. Her calls became less frequent. The conversations that once stretched effortlessly for hours now ended sooner than before. Sometimes she seemed distracted, drifting away mid-conversation as though her mind was elsewhere. The easy excitement she once carried whenever they met had started fading into something quieter and more distant. He noticed all of it.

But each time he sensed something slipping away, he convinced himself that he was overthinking. Perhaps she was stressed. Perhaps it was work, family, or simply the natural settling of a relationship after the initial excitement.

And so, instead of stepping back, he tried harder.

He called more often. Planned more carefully. Remembered more things. He became even more attentive, more available, more dependable - almost as if effort alone could hold together something he could no longer fully feel.

Yet somewhere deep inside, an uncomfortable fear had already begun taking shape. For the first time since expressing his feelings to Pooja, he felt emotionally helpless.

Then one day, Pooja called him and asked if they could meet at the same café where they had first met. Something about her tone felt unusually formal and it made him anxious.

When he arrived, she was already there.

The warmth and familiarity between them still existed, but now it sat beneath an unmistakable layer of discomfort. After a few moments of silence and hesitant conversation, she finally looked at him and said that while she genuinely liked him and cared deeply for him, she no longer saw a future for their relationship.

For a brief moment, it felt as though something inside him quietly collapsed.

But outwardly, he remained composed.

He asked her, calmly, if she had met someone else. She paused. That pause said everything.

She nodded and told him that she had been seeing someone - it was Sameer. He had expressed his feelings, and they had been meeting for a few weeks.

He suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest. He instinctively held it. She noticed and asked if he was alright. He straightened himself and said he was fine.

Then, very calmly, he asked, “Was it because of him… or because of me?”

Pooja looked down at the table. She seemed uncomfortable, as though she had hoped to avoid answering that question.

“It’s not that you’re a bad person,” she said softly. “You’re probably one of the nicest men I’ve ever met.” He smiled faintly, but there was no warmth in it.

“That usually means something is wrong.”

She let out a small, helpless smile.

“You’re too… careful”

He frowned slightly, not fully understanding.

“You plan everything. You remain in control all the time. Every day, every hour, every emotion.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “Sometimes it feels like you’re trying so hard to be perfect that there’s no space left for life to happen naturally.”

He said nothing.

“You remember every date, every occasion, every tiny detail. At first, it felt sweet. But after a point… it started feeling rehearsed. Like you had decided what a good partner is supposed to do and were following it exactly.”

Her words did not sound cruel. That made them hurt even more.

“You know what I like about Sameer?” she continued quietly. “He’s imperfect. He’s late sometimes. He changes plans suddenly. He says stupid things. He has too many friends. He talks loudly, laughs loudly… and somehow, people are drawn to him. Life around him feels spontaneous.”

She looked at him gently. “With you, everything feels correct. But with him… everything feels alive.”

For the first time since she had begun speaking, something shifted inside him.

Too many friends. Spontaneous. Careless. Fun-loving. A man people were naturally drawn to.

He knew this person.

Kamal Mehta. His father. The very man he had spent years trying not to become. And suddenly, with terrifying clarity, he realised what had happened.

He used to be exactly like his father but in trying to escape his father’s mistakes, he had removed every trace of the person he once was. The outgoing boy who loved bikes, friendships, long rides, noise, laughter, and unpredictability had disappeared somewhere along the way.

He looked at her again, but now her words echoed differently in his head.

“You’re too disciplined.” Not an accusation. A verdict.

He was confused. For the first time in a long while, he felt uncertain about everything around him. Too many emotions crowded his mind at once, yet he chose not to say anything.

He looked at Pooja and wished her well and told her he hoped Sameer would keep her happy. Then, almost gently, he said that she could leave - he wanted to sit there for a while. She hesitated and asked if they could remain friends. For the first time, something in him stirred - a faint irritation - but it never reached his face.

He did not respond.

She waited for a few moments, searching his face for something - anything - but found nothing. And then she left.

He wanted to stop her. He wanted to ask her what he could change, what he could fix, what he could become. To ask her if there was still a way back. He felt the urge to confront Sameer, to break his skull open. But he was not like that. At least, no longer like that.

He sat quietly, staring at nothing.

A waiter approached and asked if he would like to order something. It was then that he realized – he had not ordered anything for her. He paused for a moment and said, almost mechanically, “Cold coffee… and a chicken sandwich.”  The same order.

When the coffee and sandwich arrived, he did not touch them. He just sat there, looking at them, as if they belonged to another time.

He sat there for an hour. During this time, once the anger, hurt and confusion settled a little, he realized that Pooja was not wrong. She had not betrayed him, nor had she mocked what they shared. She had simply wanted a kind of life he no longer knew how to offer. However, the painful truth was that she had not rejected who he ‘truly’ was; she had rejected the version of himself he had deliberately become.

He placed some money on the table and got up to leave. Just as he reached the entrance, a voice called out from behind - steady, familiar.

“Mr. Mehta”

He stopped. It was Delshad Irani, the owner of the café, who had been watching him from a distance. Over the past months, she had grown fond of the two of them. Something about their presence had brought life into her café.

After a brief pause, she called again, “Subodh...”

He stood still. For a fleeting moment, he wanted to turn around and say: “I am not Subodh. I am Vicky.”

But somewhere deep inside, he knew that would be too filmy….and untrue. So, he said nothing and quietly walked away.

Following is an actual image from the movie 'Dil Chahta Hai'. The character of Subodh in the movie inspired this story. 

King Kohli Does It Again!

Good game. Virat Kohli scored another century and Royal Challengers Bengaluru marches on. Back at the top of the table now, and qualification looks certain. The next target has to be finishing in the top two.

Happy with the RCB win. Happier with Kohli’s century.

But honestly, the moment that made me happiest was that stunning catch of Tim David taken by someone who I have always supported and wanted him to do well - Manish Pandey. Nonchalant. Clean. Effortless.

We speak a lot about great fielders like Kaif, Yuvi, Suresh Raina and Ravindra Jadeja, but I genuinely think Pandey Ji belongs right up there with the very best. His catching and outfield work have always been elite.

That catch today was pure class.

The Death of Boredom

These days we have endless options to entertain ourselves digitally. YouTube has millions of videos and shorts. Instagram has posts and reels, and the algorithms are so smart that they constantly show us exactly what we like - or what they think we want to see. Then there is WhatsApp to keep chatting with people all day. Add OTT platforms like Netflix, Amazon Prime Video, JioHotstar, Sony LIV, ZEE5, MUBI and countless others, all overflowing with content to watch. With so many options available at every second, we simply do not like even a moment of boredom anymore.

Something alarming happened today. I was watching a LIVE cricket match on TV and during every break, every strategic timeout, I found myself automatically looking for something else to watch. Whenever a decision was referred to the third umpire, I instinctively tapped the screen a couple of times to fast forward by 10-20 seconds - something that works on YouTube and OTT platforms but obviously not on LIVE television. At first, I found my own behavior funny. Then strange. And then honestly, a little alarming.

People my age have at least seen a different world. We have seen days with no TV, no electricity for hours, no mobile phones, no tablets, no internet. We have experienced boredom naturally because there simply were not endless distractions available all the time. But what about today’s kids? Imagine what constant exposure to reels, shorts, TikTok-style videos, binge watching and algorithm-driven entertainment is doing to attention spans and patience. If even we are struggling to sit through a 30-second pause in a LIVE match, what happens to a generation that has never really experienced waiting?

Ironically, studies now prove that embracing boredom is actually important for mental well-being. When the brain is not constantly stimulated, it shifts into what researchers call the “default mode network” - a state linked to creativity, self-reflection and problem-solving. Boredom is not something the mind should always escape from. In many ways, it pushes us to think deeper, reflect more, set goals, develop patience and reconnect with ourselves instead of depending on constant digital stimulation every waking second.

Maybe boredom was never the enemy. Maybe our inability to sit quietly with our own thoughts is. May be, we should let children experience boredom from time to time.

A Missed Chance Amid Victory

What a match. Royal Challengers Bengaluru pushed Mumbai Indians to the wall by taking three wickets in the PowerPlay, but then allowed them to recover through poor fielding and dropped catches. Mumbai eventually managed 166 - a decent total on that pitch, but not one that should have seriously troubled RCB. The surface was not exactly a batting paradise and the chase was always within reach if approached sensibly.

But RCB rarely believes in comfort. They started poorly and lost wickets early, then stitched together a few useful partnerships to regain control. Just when the match seemed to be drifting towards a relatively calm finish, they decided to make things interesting again by losing a few more wickets. In the end, RCB crossed the line with absolutely nothing left in reserve - an empty fuel tank, several faulty parts, and nerves hanging by a thread. Splendid match. Chaotic, stressful and immensely entertaining.

I could have been there. I was close to booking tickets for the game, but first the forecast of excessive heat and later the forecast of rain discouraged me from taking a flight to Raipur. In hindsight, I wish I had gone. Matches like this are worth every penny.

Happy Mother's Day!!!

 

Our Spooky Years in Kuala Lumpur

Most of my friends have heard about the strange incidents that unfolded during my family’s stay in Malaysia. For the uninitiated, between 2011 and 2016, during the five years my family and I lived in Malaysia, we experienced a series of events that, even today, remain difficult to explain. They were unsettling, deeply eerie, and unlike anything we had ever encountered before. Back then, friends in Malaysia were convinced that our house was haunted. Many of them urged us to leave as quickly as possible. Yet, we stayed.

Looking back now, my wife and I often find ourselves asking the same question: why did we not leave? Especially because the incidents were not minor or isolated. The incidents happened for over a year and during that period, they were persistent and intensely spooky.

Over the years, I have narrated these experiences countless times - at parties, during holidays, and in casual conversations with friends. Almost every time, the stories have drawn strong reactions from the audience. Fear, disbelief, curiosity - sometimes all at once.

I had also written about these incidents earlier on this blog, but that was a hurried attempt. My experience was also featured by the popular Instagram account Humans of Bombay (@officialhumansofbombay).

Recently, during a conversation about horror movies and spooky incidents, I found myself revisiting those memories. Somehow, I felt compelled to write about them once more. So, here I am.

How We Ended Up There

I first went to Malaysia in November 2011. I traveled alone and the plan was that my wife and daughter - who was just 2.5 months old at that time - would join me later. After reaching Malaysia, I stayed in a company-provided guest house for two weeks. Once that period was over, I started looking for a place to stay.

The Apartment Hunt

I was quite clear about what I wanted. I wanted to stay close to the office because I did not intend to buy a car. I wanted to stay in Mont Kiara, a posh locality in Kuala Lumpur filled with expats, nice eateries, shopping complexes, and international schools. I wanted a 2.5-bedroom apartment (quite common in Malaysia) or a 3-bedroom one - a room for my daughter and another for visiting family members. I also wanted a nice condominium with good recreational facilities. And unlike many Indians I met in Malaysia, I specifically wanted to stay away from the Indian crowd. It was not because of any dislike; I simply wanted us to make the most of the opportunity to interact with people from different nationalities.

The first step in the house hunt was to get hold of agents. I asked around and collected 10–15 numbers. I called each one of them, but most either did not have anything available or the houses were beyond my budget. Finally, I met three agents, each of whom showed me a few properties.

I quickly removed one agent from my list (if I remember correctly, his name was Zaki) because he kept showing me apartments in a complex that was full of Indians. He did not seem to have contacts elsewhere. The second agent, an unusually tall Chinese man, showed me two houses in a condominium called Mont Kiara Bayu.

The Condominium We Rejected

‘Bayu’ originates from the Hindi word ‘Vayu’, meaning ‘Wind’. The condominium looked impressive and had pretty decent facilities. It was also only around a 10-minute walk from my office and, being an Indian, I immediately calculated how much money I would save on taxi fares.

The first house I saw was on the 7th floor. It was nice, though slightly over my budget and smaller than the houses shown by Zaki. Still, I did not rule it out completely because it was fully furnished and had new interiors, fittings, and appliances.

I then asked the agent to show me the second house. I was actually prepared to finalize one of the two immediately. This second apartment was on the 19th floor. The moment we stepped out of the lift, I sensed that something was off. The floor was noticeably less clean than the others, so I asked the agent about it.

What he told me completely changed my plans.

He said that a few years earlier, a dead body had been found stuffed inside a refrigerator in one of the flats. According to him, some people believed that the house, the floor, or perhaps even the entire condominium was haunted. That was supposedly why the cleaners did not spend much time on that floor - understandably so.

(ChatGPT decided to overdramatize the image!!)

Two things happened instantly.

First, I decided there was no way I was taking a house in Bayu - perhaps not even in the next building, just to be safe. Second, it made me intensely curious. I asked him what kind of incidents had triggered such beliefs. The agent became visibly reluctant and did not share many details.

The moment I got back to the company guest house in a building called Flora Murni, I started reading about Bayu online. I found posts by residents mentioning lifts that would stop and open on that floor for no reason. Others wrote about a constant feeling of being watched or followed. I also discovered that Bayu had witnessed another tragedy - an elderly Japanese couple had died after being electrocuted in their bathroom.

That completely ruled Bayu out for me.

The next day, I casually mentioned all this to some of my Malaysian colleagues. Malaysians, by the way, absolutely love horror stories. If you walk into a multiplex in Malaysia, chances are you will find at least two or three horror movies playing. Naturally, the story spread like wildfire.

Mont Kiara Pelangi

The following day, I met the third agent - Nancy, an elderly woman who had plenty of advice to offer on everything from housing and life in Malaysia to weight loss. She first showed me a couple of condominiums that were far from the office and extremely expensive. Looking back, I think that was a classic agent tactic.

Later, she took me to a condominium called Mont Kiara Pelangi. ‘Pelangi’ means ‘Rainbow’ in the Malay language. The condominium was less than a five-minute walk from the office. The facilities were decent, though definitely fewer compared to some of the other condominiums I had seen.

There, we met another agent named Leslie - a soft-spoken Chinese man. He was polite and calm, but somehow also gave the impression that he had another side to him. Leslie was the actual agent for the house, while Nancy was simply facilitating the meeting - and taking a cut.

They showed me the apartment. It was on the ninth floor. The interiors were decent, though nothing extraordinary. But two things strongly worked in the house’s favor.

First, it had a bathtub. I could already imagine my 2.5 months old daughter having a wonderful time splashing around in it. Second, it had a dryer - something I considered almost essential for a household with an infant or toddler.

I checked out the swimming pool, which looked absolutely inviting. The gym was small, but manageable. Pelangi also had two carpeted tennis courts, and one of them could even be converted into a makeshift basketball or futsal court.

The condominium was peaceful and, more importantly, it ticked all the boxes.

That house eventually became our home for the little over five years that we lived in Kuala Lumpur.

How It All Started

The strange incidents in the house did not start immediately. In fact, if my memory is not failing me, everything was quite okay and normal during the first year or so. (I am a little hazy about the timelines now.)

The first incident actually did not happen inside the house. It happened during a phase when I was seriously trying to lose weight. My wife and daughter were in India for a short trip and I was alone at home. During that phase, I had become quite disciplined about fitness. I used to go to the gym in the mornings and for a swim on most evenings. In fact, I had made a resolution that no matter how late I returned from office, I would either go to the gym or spend some time in the swimming pool before calling it a day.

On that particular day, I went for a swimming session at around 8:30 or 9:00PM. It was dark and there was no one around the pool. The atmosphere was indeed scary, but I was determined to complete my swimming session. The pool had lights, but the lights on one end - actually an entire half - of the pool were not working.

While swimming, I slowly started feeling a little scared, which was unusual and normal at the same time. Unusual because it was not the first time, I was swimming alone at that hour. It was also not the first time that the lights in one half of the pool were not operational. So, it was unusual for me to feel scared as I was quite familiar with these conditions.

However, it was also normal because I usually do get scared easily. I let my imagination run wild and spook the hell out of me. On that day, I was so uncomfortable that I decided to swim only in one half of the pool - of course, the half where the lights were functioning.

That helped a little. But then another strange feeling started bothering me.

Every time I went underwater, I could hear noises and even voices - as if a group of people was walking nearby or as if some kind of pool party was happening. And every single time I stopped, raised my head above the water and looked around, I saw absolutely no one. I also started getting the feeling that I was being watched.

Finally, I decided that I should go back because it was making me really uncomfortable.

I picked up my stuff and headed towards the changing rooms. The changing area was around thirty steps away from the pool. It had a couple of wash basins with changing rooms on either side. The left section was for men. In this section, one had to take an immediate right after entering and it led to a passage. There were three booths on the right side of this passage and steam and sauna rooms at the far end.

The lights in the changing rooms usually remained switched on all the time. However, on that particular night, the lights in the men’s section were off.

Oddly enough, despite already being scared, this did not bother me much. The switch was inside the changing room and one had to walk a few steps to reach it. But that night, unlike the other days, it was pitch dark inside. Still, I had to change, so I had no choice but to step in.

The moment I put one foot inside the changing room, I felt as if I had stepped on something furry. It was a strange feeling and I immediately reached for the switch and turned on the lights.

What I saw there would remain etched in my memory forever.

The entire passage was full of hair.

Not exactly like The Grudge, but still...a lot of hair. Far too much to belong to just one person. There was absolutely no explanation for so much hair lying all over the passage.

That scared the living daylights out of me.

I ran for my life.

I was still wearing my wet swimming trunks and top, but I ran through the long passage leading to the lifts and stopped only after I got inside my apartment on the 9th floor. Once my nerves settled down a little, I tried thinking of every possible explanation for what I had seen in the changing room, but I got nowhere.

The Door That Would Not Stay Shut

I do not remember exactly when the second incident happened, but I think it was on the same day.

I have already admitted that I get scared easily. I would also admit that whenever I am alone, I never switch off the bedroom lights. Also, I always lock the bedroom door before sleeping - that happens irrespective of whether I am alone or not - and I keep checking the door regularly during the night.

My bedroom was not particularly large. It had a queen-size bed, a dressing table, a desk and a few wardrobes. The door had a knob with a push-button lock. The kind that makes a loud clicking sound while locking as well as unlocking.

On the night of the second incident, I switched off the lights in the entire house before going into the bedroom. After entering the room, I immediately shut the bedroom door behind me and locked it. Since I was alone at home, I kept the lights on and went to bed.

When alone, I hardly ever get deep sleep, and I keep waking up repeatedly. Every time I woke up, I checked the bedroom door and found it locked.

And then it happened.

I am not sure what time it was. No sound or strange feeling had disturbed me, but I suddenly woke up. I opened my eyes and looked outside the window, hoping it would finally be dawn.

But it was still dark outside.

I casually looked towards the door and was taken aback.

It was wide open.

Beyond it, I could see the dark living room outside.

Oddly, the first feeling was not fear. It felt strange more than anything else.

I immediately got up and shut the door. I pressed the button on the knob and it locked with a loud click. I came back to bed and started wondering how it had happened. I kept thinking of ‘logical’ reasons why the door could have opened. Honestly, I was doing that only because I absolutely did not want to think of any other possibility.

I watched something on my phone for a while and, once I started feeling sleepy again, I decided to try sleeping.

Barely a few minutes would have passed when I heard that familiar clicking sound. It was the sound of the door unlocking. I looked at the door and saw that it was slightly open.

This time I was scared. To make the matter worse, it slowly started opening further.

I jumped out of the bed but was too scared to go near the door. Soon, it was completely open.

There was no breeze.

Only silence inside the house, darkness in the room outside, and absolute horror in my eyes.

Finally, I somehow gathered courage and ran towards the door. I shut it with a bang and locked it again. I checked the lock multiple times and even tried pulling the door repeatedly to see if the lock had malfunctioned. It was firmly locked.

Then I ran towards the windows at the opposite end of the room and opened them completely.

There was complete silence and darkness outside as well, but somehow that silence felt less frightening than the silence inside the house. I could see lights in the guard house of the opposite condominium. It was nine floors below, probably three hundred metres away, and although I could not see anyone there, those lights somehow gave me reassurance.

I do not know for how long I stood there praying for dawn and hoping that there would be no more activity inside the house.

By morning, I had somehow convinced myself that the entire incident happened because I had probably forgotten to lock the door on both occasions and that probably a breeze had caused it to open wide.

But deep inside, I knew I had no choice except to go with those theories.

After all, I still had to spend a few more nights alone at home till my family returned from India.

I honestly cannot recall what happened during the next few nights. I think nothing unusual happened during that period.

When my wife and daughter returned, I told my wife about the incident, but both of us convinced each other that it was probably nothing.

Several other incidents happened in the house and I will share them as well. But I do not clearly remember the exact chronological order of those incidents. Not that there is any way to validate any of this, but I still wanted to make that clear.

I will now describe the other incidents in the house, though they may not necessarily be in the right order.

The Sound We Could Never Explain

My office was only about a five-minute walk away and on most days I used to return home around 7 PM. After coming back, I would spend some time playing with my daughter and then we would usually have dinner in front of the TV in the living room. Afterwards, I would either work for some more time or go to bed. That was the routine on most days.

One evening, while watching TV with my family, I heard a strange sound coming from the kitchen. It was not an alarming sound and I ignored it initially. But then it came again.

It is difficult to describe the sound accurately, but the closest comparison I can think of is the sound of a pencil dropping on a kitchen tile and then rolling slightly. As I said, it was not particularly scary, but it definitely made me curious.

The sound continued for some time and then stopped after about an hour.

The next day, it happened again. I looked at my wife and she seemed completely unmoved. I did not ask her anything, but my attention was no longer on the TV. I kept waiting for the sound because it was happening at almost regular intervals. Even that day, I did not mention it to my wife and eventually the sound stopped after around an hour.

This continued for several days.

Then one day, the moment the sound came again, my wife suddenly asked me if I had ever noticed it. Relieved that I was not the only crazy person in the house, I told her that I had been hearing it for the past few days and had been trying to figure out where it was coming from.

My only theory was that it was probably a lizard.

Lizards do make weird noises and I am quite familiar with those sounds. But this sound was different. Still, I kept hoping - or rather convincing myself - that Malaysian lizards probably make different sounds!!

We both walked to the kitchen and, while standing there, heard absolutely nothing.

But the moment we came back and sat on the couch, the sound came again.

By then, I had started observing a pattern. The sound usually started a little after 8 PM and stopped by around 9:15 PM. During that time, it would happen at fairly regular intervals - maybe six or seven times in total.

I must say that we never actually felt scared because of it. It was probably nothing. But it definitely made us curious. And irritated.

Every time the sound came, we would look at each other silently. Also, one strange thing about it was that we never heard it at any other time of the day.

Toe-Be-Or-Not-Toe-Be

As mentioned earlier, our bedroom had a queen-size bed. I am 6 feet 3 inches tall and, honestly, the bed was a little too small for me.

Typically, while sleeping, I do not like my hands or feet dangling outside the bed - yes, even that scares me - but with that bed, I really did not have much choice. My feet would usually extend slightly beyond the edge of the mattress.

One night, I suddenly woke up because I felt as if someone had scratched the big toe of my right foot.

At that time, I was sleeping face down and I immediately dismissed the incident. I convinced myself that I had probably rubbed my toe against the wooden frame or body of the bed while turning in my sleep.

Several nights later, it happened again.

Once again, it felt as if someone had scratched my big toe. But this time, I had been sleeping on my back and there was no way my toe could have rubbed against the bed frame.

I immediately folded my legs.

The thought of waking my wife up did cross my mind, but honestly that felt more dangerous than facing a ghost. So, I hugged my wife and somehow went back to sleep.

Over the next few weeks, this happened a few more times. Each time, I came up with some weird explanation and convinced myself to believe it.

Then one day, while having lunch with some Malaysian colleagues in office, we somehow drifted into a discussion about spooky incidents and paranormal experiences. Naturally, my experience in Bayu came up and I was asked to narrate the entire story once again.

During the discussion, one of my colleagues spoke about an incident involving someone he knew personally. According to him, things had mysteriously started disappearing from that person’s house. The owner tried everything possible, including installing cameras, but nothing really came out of it. Finally, someone suggested that he should consult an “occultist”.

Honestly, till that day, I did not even know the exact meaning of the word. But as the story progressed, I understood that it referred to someone dealing with supernatural or paranormal matters.

When this occultist visited the house, he apparently commented that there was “negative energy” in the place.

Another confession...

Till this point, the entire story honestly sounded made up to me. After all, who has not heard similar stories or seen similar scenes in movies?

But then my colleague mentioned something that genuinely shocked me.

According to him, the occultist had asked the owner of the house whether he had ever felt someone pulling or scratching his big toe during the night - specifically between 3 and 4 AM.

That immediately caught my attention.

I did not react visibly or ask too many questions, but internally I was alarmed.

As per the story, the occultist believed that someone using the spirit of a child was behind the incidents in the house. Since it was supposedly a child spirit, it liked playing with toys and was particularly fascinated by people’s big toes - especially when the feet were dangling outside the bed.

The mention of the big toe deeply unsettled me. I asked why he had specifically mentioned the timing between 3 and 4 AM. I was told that in Malaysian culture, many people believe supernatural entities are at their strongest during that period. Later, someone else told me that similar beliefs exist in other parts of the world, including India.

For the next few days, nothing happened. I was scared but I also was curious.

And then one night, it happened again. This time, I woke up because I felt someone had grabbed my big toe and shaken it violently. I immediately folded my legs and looked at the wall clock.

It was 3:10 AM.

I woke up my wife, who gave me absolutely no attention. Barely opening her eyes, she gently tapped me a few times - the way mothers comfort babies - and asked me to close my eyes and go back to sleep. Yeah….right!

The Hour We Started Dreading

After the toe scratching and pulling incidents, a lot of strange things slowly started happening inside the house and most of them happened between 3 and 4AM.

We would often hear unexplained sounds coming from the other rooms. My daughter had a bubble gun that played music and blew bubbles into the air. On a couple of occasions, the toy suddenly started playing music on its own from the other room, even though no one was anywhere near it.

One night, my wife woke up feeling thirsty. She checked her water bottle and found it empty. Both those things were unusual. My wife rarely wakes up in the middle of the night and she is extremely particular about filling her bottle before going to bed.

She quietly got up and decided to go to the kitchen to fill some water. After opening the bedroom door, she paused for a moment. The switch for the light immediately outside the room was right there, but for some reason she decided not to turn it on and instead walked into the darkness. That was when she noticed a faint blue glow coming from the dining room. The light was coming from my laptop, which I had left on the dining table. I am absolutely certain that I had put the laptop in sleep mode before going to bed. In a completely dark house at that hour, the blue glow felt unsettling. Yet, my wife looked at the glowing screen and decided to walk towards it to shut it down. Such characters have the smallest roles in horror movies.

However, the moment she took a step towards the laptop, the screen suddenly went dark and the laptop switched off on its own. At that moment, she was standing in complete darkness in the middle of the dining room. That was enough for her. She immediately turned around, ran back to the bedroom and went back to bed without drinking water.

The incidents between 3 and 4 AM started affecting me mentally far more than I realized. Slowly, that entire time window began to feel cursed to me.

After a point, I no longer needed strange sounds or incidents to wake me up. My body had somehow trained itself to wake up automatically between 2:50 and 3:00 AM every night.

The moment I looked at the clock and saw the time, a sense of dread would take over. I would lie awake in complete silence, listening carefully to every tiny sound in the house and desperately waiting for the clock to cross 4 AM, because in my mind, that was when the “danger window” finally ended.

Only after that would I somehow relax enough to try sleeping again.

When We Started Getting Truly Worried

We actually started becoming genuinely worried when our daughter started ‘seeing’ things and behaving strangely. She must have been around one or one-and-a-half years old at that time, though I am a little hazy about the exact timeline.

The Thing Under The Table

One day, I was working in the dining room with my laptop placed on the dining table. My back was against the wall and my daughter was sitting in my arms. She was doing all the things that one or one-and-a-half-year-old kids usually do - trying to press random keys on the laptop, pulling my specs and hair, and speaking continuously in that adorable little language that adults unfortunately never understand.

This went on for some time and, gradually, I became completely absorbed in my work.

Then I suddenly realized that she had stopped playing. She was looking directly at me with a blank expression on her face. When I asked what happened, she seemed slightly comforted. But then she bent down and started looking under the dining table.

Since it was uncomfortable for me to hold her in that position, I pulled her back and asked her again what happened. She once again looked at me with a stunned expression. I do not know what she meant, but if I had to describe that expression, it felt as if she was silently asking, “Can you not see what I can see?”

She again bent down and tried to look under the table. At that point, I also looked under the table - hoping very badly to see absolutely nothing. And thankfully, I saw nothing.

I asked her what she had seen, but she did not respond. She remained unusually quiet for around fifteen minutes and then slowly returned to her normal playful self. Thankfully.

Who Was She Looking At?

At that age, my daughter often used to raise both her hands and say “aaju”, which basically meant, “lift me in your arms”. It was incredibly cute. But what made it even more special was that she said it only to a handful of people - me, my wife, my parents, my in-laws and my sister. Never to strangers or even to people she knew casually. And honestly, we preferred it that way.

One weekend, I was again working on the dining table in a setup similar to the earlier incident. My back was against the wall and from where I was sitting, I could see the dining room, the living room and even parts of the kitchen. My wife was sitting on the couch watching TV.

At some point, we noticed our daughter standing silently in one corner of the house, facing the wall. She was looking upwards at something. And not just slightly upwards. I am quite tall, but she seemed to be staring at something that was far above my height.

We called out to her.

She slowly turned around and looked at us with that same blank expression on her face - the same expression that had unsettled me during the earlier incident near the dining table.

Then she turned back towards whatever she was looking at, raised both her hands and softly said, “aaju”.

That genuinely scared us. We immediately rushed towards her, picked her up in our arms and moved her away from that corner. We kept asking her what she was looking at, but she never answered.

What’s Up?

Then came another incident.

One night after dinner, we had gone to the bedroom. All the lights were switched off except for the small light outside the bathroom, which acted as our night light because I cannot sleep in complete darkness. So, one corner of the room had a faint glow while the rest of the bedroom remained dark. We were talking and playing with our daughter and she was in a cheerful mood, doing and saying random funny things the way small children usually do.

Then suddenly, she became quiet.

We assumed she was getting sleepy and did not pay much attention to it. A few moments later, she suddenly sat upright and – pointing towards the ceiling – she asked:

“What is that aunty doing there?”

Of course, she did not say it that clearly. She said it the way a small child would say something like that. But one thing was very clear - she was specifically referring to something. She was not a child who randomly made up imaginary stories or said strange things without reason.

Imagine our situation.

On one hand, we were worried because our daughter seemed to be seeing something. On the other hand, we were equally terrified ourselves. Yet again, we somehow came up with a few “logical” explanations and nervously laughed the whole thing off.

But apart from these incidents, we had also started noticing changes in her behaviour. She had begun talking to herself. She had stopped doing certain things she normally did and had suddenly started doing some completely new things. Now, children naturally change a lot at that age, so we kept trying to convince ourselves that everything was normal.

But deep inside, both of us felt that something was different. That was when we finally started discussing everything openly with my parents and in-laws.

The Night My Mother Got Scared

Once, my parents came to visit us. It was a regular visit and the incidents at our house were not the reason behind the trip. During their stay, we told them everything that we had been experiencing. They were already aware of most of it because we used to speak to them regularly over phone. But this was the first time they were hearing all these stories while actually sitting inside the same house.

My father looked slightly concerned, though I think he was trying hard not to make us even more worried. My mother, on the other hand, was completely normal. She listened to everything carefully but her expressions clearly suggested that she did not believe there was anything supernatural behind all this. Honestly, that felt reassuring and irritating at the same time.

One night, I was talking to my father in the guest room. We were both lying on the bed and discussing random things - not the house, for once.

At some point, I must have dozed off.

When I woke up around 1 AM, I noticed that the lights in the guest room were still on. My father was fast asleep. I stepped out to check where everyone else was. My wife and daughter were sleeping in our bedroom. My mother was sleeping in the kiddie room.

The kiddie room had a single bed, a wardrobe full of my daughter’s clothes and most of her toys. We mostly used it for storing things, ironing clothes and occasionally as my weekend study room. This was actually the first time someone was sleeping in that room.

I decided not to wake my mother up and also did not want to leave my father alone in the guest room. So, I quietly returned and went back to sleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night, someone shook me and called my name. I opened my eyes and saw my mother standing beside me. She had a very confused expression on her face. She said that one of the toys had suddenly started operating on its own and was making strange sounds. I immediately looked at the clock. It was around 3:20 AM.

Honestly, I was not surprised even for a second.

We both went to the room and saw the toy - the same bubble gun I had mentioned earlier. It was still playing music. Since the bubble liquid bottle was not attached, it was not producing bubbles, but the music continued playing on its own.

The toy operating by itself between 3 and 4 AM was already strange enough. But there were two more things that made the incident even weirder. First, the toy had not started on its own in several months. In fact, the batteries had drained long ago and we had deliberately decided not to replace them because of the strange incidents connected to it. Second, while discussing the incidents with my parents earlier, we had specifically told them about the bubble gun. My mother had completely dismissed it and laughed, saying it was probably some loose connection. That night, she was no longer laughing.

The House Kept Reminding Us

While most incidents - except the strange sound in the kitchen - happened between 3 and 4 AM, a few incidents also took place during the day.

I had another laptop connected to the TV in the living room. We used it mainly for downloading and watching movies. The laptop did not have MS Office installed and, more importantly, it did not have any anti-virus software either. On several occasions, we noticed the laptop switching on and off on its own. And for this too, I had a theory. Since I regularly downloaded movies and music, I convinced my wife - and myself - that the laptop was probably infected with some kind of spyware and was being remotely controlled by someone.

Honestly, the “Chinese hacker” theory was working fairly well for us...Until one day, the TV switched on by itself for absolutely no reason. Then it started happening repeatedly over the next several months. Sometimes the TV would switch on. Sometimes it would switch off. Sometimes it would switch on and then immediately switch off again. Yet somehow, we still continued selling ourselves the “Chinese hacker” theory.

The Question Everyone Asked

We had told some of our friends about the incidents and almost everyone asked us (people still do when I narrate the incidents) the same question: “Why are you still staying in that house?”

And honestly, when I look back now, I genuinely do not know why we stayed. Maybe it was because leaving the house in the middle of the contract would have been expensive. Maybe it was because we kept convincing ourselves with “logical” and “scientific” explanations for everything that happened. Or maybe there really was some strange force that somehow stopped us from seriously considering moving out.

Or perhaps the simplest reason was that we never actually saw a ghost. If there truly was some supernatural presence in the house, it definitely made its presence felt. But at no point did it physically harm any of us.

I genuinely believe such entities exist. You can call them ghosts, spirits, supernatural entities or simply negative energy. My personal belief is fairly simple - if there is a God, which represents positive energy, then somewhere there also has to be a balancing negative energy.

So yes, I do believe in ghosts. And honestly, whenever I get scared, I quietly tell them: “I believe in you. I know you are there. So, you really do not need to reveal yourself to me or make your presence felt!”

But yes, it did worry us – especially when my daughter starting behaving strangely.

How It Finally Stopped

All these things continued for over a year. Fairly regularly. When we finally started discussing everything openly with our parents, my father-in-law began asking around and speaking to people about the incidents.

Then one day, he asked me a very simple question:

“Is there a place in the house where you pray?” The answer was no.

Neither my wife nor I are particularly religious. I do pray, but I never really felt the need for a designated place for it. I could pray while looking at a picture on my laptop/phone or even without one.

After listening to me, he calmly said that there must be a place for prayer inside the house. Honestly, that irritated me a little. Mainly because I had absolutely no idea how we were supposed to create a proper prayer space inside our apartment in Malaysia. But sensing my hesitation, he quietly reassured me that he would bring everything required himself.

Soon afterwards, my in-laws came to visit us in Malaysia. They arrived late at night and, after reaching home, we all sat together and started talking. Even though it was quite late, the conversation continued for hours.

While I was actively involved in the discussion, I remember repeatedly glancing at the clock. The time was slowly approaching what I had mentally started referring to as the “action hour” - the period between 3 and 4 AM when most of the strange incidents seemed to occur.

My father-in-law clearly noticed my growing uneasiness.

Sensing it, he began asking detailed questions about everything that had been happening in the house. We started discussing the incidents one by one, sharing every strange experience we could remember.

And then, right in the middle of the conversation, the TV suddenly switched on by itself.

For a few seconds, nobody said a word.

My father-in-law quietly looked towards the TV and then calmly acknowledged that something definitely did not feel right in the house.

But despite that, he remained remarkably composed. In a very reassuring tone, he told us not to worry and said that everything would return to normal from the very next day.

The following morning, my father-in-law selected a spot in the house to set up a small prayer area. I was not particularly happy with the location he chose. It was in the living room. Yes, technically it was in one corner, but it still felt odd to have a prayer setup there instead of in a separate room.

His reasoning, however, was simple. According to him, one should face east while praying and that particular corner was the only place in the apartment where that was possible. So, we went ahead with it.

He carefully arranged everything and then asked all of us to join him for prayers. I noticed that he had placed a bowl filled with water near the setup. The prayers themselves were simple, brief and silent. I do not know what the others prayed for, but I remember very clearly what was going through my mind. More than anything else, I prayed for things to become normal again. And above all, I prayed that whatever was present in the house should never affect my daughter.

After the prayers, my father-in-law asked my wife to sprinkle the water from the bowl in every room and every corner of the house. I accompanied her as she moved through the house and kept pointing out places where the water should be sprinkled. We made sure to cover every single place where something strange had happened. Under the dining table. The corner where my daughter had looked at “someone” unusually tall. The kiddie room. The bathrooms. The utility area. The balcony. Both bedrooms. Inside the wardrobes. Everywhere.

We did not leave out a single corner of the house. It genuinely felt as if we were cleansing the entire apartment.

After that, I left for office.

When I returned home that evening and stepped inside, I immediately felt that something had changed. The house suddenly felt absolutely different.

It somehow seemed brighter - not physically brighter, but emotionally brighter. It felt as though some invisible heaviness or darkness had lifted from the place. Even today, I cannot say with certainty whether that feeling was psychological or real but the atmosphere inside the apartment had changed completely. For the first time in a very long while, the house felt peaceful and positive.

And strangely enough, it genuinely felt as if the house itself was reassuring me: “Everything is going to be alright now.”

And the house did not lie. From that day onwards, nothing unusual ever happened again. The TV and laptop never switched on or off by themselves. The strange sound from the kitchen disappeared completely. The toys never operated on their own again. My daughter stopped behaving strangely. Everything simply became...normal. It was as if whatever had been troubling us had suddenly vanished.

So many years have passed since then and we have genuinely moved on from those experiences. Life returned to normal, the fear faded with time and eventually the incidents became stories that we narrated to friends and family.

But one thing never really changed.

Even today, I feel uncomfortable between 3 and 4 AM.