Ghost who walked

He wore two rings: one a sort of cross if I recall right,a good one,and the other,the skull,that left its imprint on the shattered jaws of the bad guys.

He also had a cave filled with treasures that he never seemed to notice.

I don’t think he had a wallet.

Only holsters.

His best friends were the Pygmy Poison people,friendly little chaps who shot poison arrows. And a little guy in a grass skirt who went by the wonderful name of Guran who was terrified of big cities and scampered up lamp posts every time a car whizzed by.

Mr. Walker also liked climbing in and out of wells. Through a long secret tunnel,that led under a safe,in the office of the Commander of the Jungle Patrol (One Jungle Patrolman is equal to ten normal human beings: Old Jungle Saying)

So where are you now,Mr. Walker? Should I try Facebook? I have steadfastly resisted getting on to Facebook you know,but I don’t mind changing my mind,just so I can get back in touch with you.

I know your address: The Skull Cave,Deep Woods,Denkali.

(I always thought Denkali was in West Bengal,but it could also be in Bihar.)

At one time that was all one needed to know to find you.

But now? Do you have an email id Mr. Walker? A mobile phone tucked into a third holster? Or is the tom-tom of jungle drums still good enough for you?

And what about transport? Surely you have a car by now? I mean,I understand that when

I was growing up there was only the Fiat or the Ambassador to choose from. Unless you lived in Madras,in which case you could have had a Herald.

But we know you lived in Denkali,which as we all know,was in West Bengal (or maybe Bihar),so you probably only had the Ambassador to choose from. Now there is so much choice Mr. Walker,and easy EMIs too.

And if you are thinking about your carbon footprint,let me assure you that nowadays all you have to do is get your PUC done,and your guilt quietly floats away. Or you can fit CNG and wait with the autorickshaws to fill gas.

And by the way,what about clothes? Do you have a designer dress you now?

Have you walked the ramp yet? Do you still have that overcoat,the one you wore every time you went into town? I remember,every monsoon,I would pester my poor mother to buy me a new Duckback raincoat and gumboots,just so that I could look like you. Poor thing,she never did figure out why I didn’t like umbrellas or those wimpy pumps that all the sissy boys used to wear.

And who do you know,Mr. Walker? Any politicians? Who can get you out of trouble in case you whack into someone in your shiny new car and fail a breathalyzer?

Where are you Mr. Walker? Come back home,all is forgiven; big little boys all over the world are bereft. Do get in touch,

Mr. Walker,Ghost Who Walks,Phantom. You see,I want to say thank you. Because now I realize: You were my moral compass. You showed me that there were good guys and bad guys. And you showed me which one I wanted to be.

(Email the columnist at adipochas@gmail.com)