Illusion is a false perception of reality.A semblance, a phantasm,that exists in imagination,but which is a misconception in reality.
An illustrative narration of this kind of wishful thinking sent chill down my spine. I was terrified, and upset, once I heard the story of a ghostly apparition every day , when the clock struck twelve.
I , as a child , lived in a sprawling bungalow. with host of servants around. We were six , four boys and two girls, born one after another , in quick succession with very little intervals. We ,after school hours, were put to hard tasks of extra curriculum of music, and dance. We retired very tired, and fell asleep once we got into our bed.
Well this was our routine during school days. In summer we were sent to the beautifu hill station Of Coonoor. We were left free.We went on a trekking, and had the whole day at our disposal. The gardener there , used to keep us engaged with stories of ghosts. Every day , we sat round him to hear the intersting , horrifying episodes, while our parents were busy with their social calls. The gardener, an old man, opened out of his imagination. ,which ept us on toes.
One day , he told us of the occupant of the house down below, who died a decade back. The English man, lived in the houise all alone. At night there was a strong hooting , around his parlour. For days he could not trace the cause . One day , he kept vigil. At midnight, a stout scotsman walked down the alley with a cigar in his mouth, and a walking stick in his left hand. He opened all the doors of the house , one by one, wiht ease, went straight to the kitchen, took a large piece of a baked pie, gulped it, drank hot chocolate . He left the kitchen, with a bang, closed the door witha slam, enterd the parlour, hooted for a shiort time, then raced out of it , to the foyer,. He swiftlu passed the main entrance, locked the main door and slipped of in a hurry. The next day , it happened, the next and next, it continued, as per the timetable. The Man looked decent, educated and was in pink o his health. He was dressed in finery. The English man , got accustomed to the schdule,that he eschewed the fear romhis mind. He slept peacefully therinafter.
We were dumbfounded. All the six of us sat motionless. It was unbelievable, yet believable. It was an illusion, but got diluted by the regularity and less dicey ventures.
could not be said of the mundane.
Meenas Poems 