night descends. the lamps are ready with oil and wick. my heart is in my mouth. it’s bhoot chaturdashi. the ghost fourteenth day, if i translate literally. and tonight, unless we put fourteen diyas or oil lamps, or even candles, in fourteen corners of the house and eat fourteen kinds of leafy greens, watch out, anything might happen. the spooks are out and about. i am laughing as i write this. i used to quake with fear every bhoot chaturdashi…
