THE HICCUP BELIEF

   

Rita and Ravi were cousins who lived in different corners of India. They met just once a year during their summer vacations, but those few weeks were filled with laughter, stories, and unforgettable moments. Their favorite part of the visit was sitting beside their Ammaamma (grandmother), listening to tales that flowed as naturally as the village breeze.

Among the many things that fascinated them was how deeply the village life was intertwined with proverbs, beliefs, and superstitions. One of those, strangely comforting and curious, was the belief about hiccups—that someone, somewhere, was thinking of you when you got them.

One quiet afternoon, their Chandru Mama was eating his lunch when he began to hiccup repeatedly. Without a pause, Ammaamma smiled and said, “Someone’s remembering you, Chandru. Guess who?”

Just then, a voice boomed from the verandah.

“It’s me, of course!” said Vasu Thatha, their grandfather’s elder brother, entering with brisk steps. “Chandru, you left the coconut count halfway and came home for lunch! There’s an order for a wedding, and we need to meet the customer's demand—between 75 and 500 coconuts! I’ve been thinking about you all the way here.”

Chandru Mama looked up, slightly guilty, but Vasu Thatha waved it off. “Finish your food. I’ll keep it in mind for next time—never leave work halfway.”

As they chuckled, the hiccups suddenly stopped.

“See?” Ammaamma said with a knowing smile. “He was thinking of you. That’s why the hiccups.”

Ravi and Rita exchanged wide-eyed looks. Could hiccups really be tied to thoughts and emotions?

Another evening, a different hiccup story unfolded.

After dinner, Ammaamma sat on her wooden cot under the backyard tree, enjoying the evening breeze. Suddenly, she began to hiccup.

Aunty quickly handed her a glass of water. The hiccups didn't stop.

Just then, the maids, finishing their day’s work, came by. One of them said cheerfully, “Ammaamma, the food you made for the guests today was delicious! They must still be talking about it at home. That’s why you have hiccups—they're thinking of you!”

Everyone laughed, but the hiccups still persisted.

Then Thatha came out, scolding playfully, “Children! How many times have I told you not to play in the backyard at night? There’s a big frog there—it might jump on you!”

Startled, Ammaamma looked up in alarm, searching for the frog.

And just like that, the hiccups stopped.

Thatha winked. “She’s scared of frogs. I knew that would work.”

He gathered the children. “Come on now, it’s getting late. Sleep early and wake up before sunrise.”

Ammaamma looked at him with a graceful smile and nodded, her hiccups forgotten.

Rita and Ravi exchanged another surprised glance. First, someone’s thoughts. Now, a sudden scare. These village stories and beliefs might be superstitions, but they carried warmth, connection, and sometimes, even a bit of truth.

Maybe, just maybe, hiccups were more than a bodily quirk—they were tiny messengers from the heart.