“Would you like to go to the book fair?” Eshwar’s excited voice muted the melody in the background.
“Book fair?”
Eshwar called rarely.
“I don’t know, Eshwar,” I said, thinking about the distance and the time I would have to spend in close proximity. “It’s just so far,” I finished although declining his invitation every time meant driving him away further.
“Oh! Come on!” Eshwar was chirpy. I imagined his eyes crinkling and his lips curved to one side.
“It’s only a half-hour drive.” Was he wearing that white kurta that opened in the front that showed off a tuft of his chest hair? I pictured him with a big smile, holding the talking device in his left hand while he stretched out on the lazy chair. I played with my finger ring.
“What are you thinking?” He asked, breaking the silence.
“Ahem… I think it’ll be too late when we get back,” I said lazily, thinking hard to come up with an excuse.
“So what?” he chuckled. “Not that you have any deadline to enter your own house.” He paused. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll pick you up in half-hour. Don’t overthink this. See you soon.” He hung up before I could say anything.
I paced the room, turning the ring furiously on my finger. Maybe I could tell him I had visitors, or I had to be somewhere else? Or maybe… I plunged into the chair, burying my face in my hands.
I knew one thing for sure. I picked up the phone and typed. “Will wait at the bus stop near the corner shop.” The last thing I wanted was for Eshwar to park outside the house.
Although the annual book fair was an elaborate festival, I had been there only once before when Keshav was in tenth standard. I wondered how much could have changed over the years, but more than anything, I worried about spending time with Eshwar.
Eshwar pulled over at the bus stop on the dot in a crisp white cotton kurta and blue jeans. His salt and pepper hair fluttered in the wind.
“Let us do this,” he said as he steered the black Mahindra XUV from my street.
He didn’t ask me about waiting at the bus stop, and I didn’t explain.
I smoothened my Kota cotton in pale green and caught my reflection in the side mirror. Silvery wavey hair framed my face and the tinge of dark kohl added to my charm. But a deep line creased across my forehead. What did it say? I curled my fingers, resisting the urge to feel the lines on my forehead. Did the invisible lines of writing indicate a blossoming romance or point towards friendship? Was there heartbreak? My thoughts ran wild when I saw his hand wave at my face.
“Hey Shashi, what happened?” His brows narrowed. “Is everything alright? I am sorry for pushing you to come with me. If you don’t feel like it, we can go back.” His eyes were soft, deep. Was that a concern?
“No. It is fine,” I said quickly, forcing a smile. “I was just thinking of something about what my mother used to say.” I chuckled, feeling the creases above my brows.
“And?” Eshwar raised his brows. “What did she say?”
“That, our fate, is written in these lines on our forehead. All that we experience in our lives is predetermined in these invisible lines of writing. The events, our doing, our actions—everything. Isn’t it fascinating to imagine that someone has programmed us to behave in a certain manner? I am always intrigued to find out if I can read it.”
“Interesting. It looks like you want to know your future.” His lips curled.
“I would rather not.” I bit my lip, taking in a whiff of his aftershave as I recalled a snippet from the time I was fourteen.
Amma and I had gone to the weekly market. I had taken my prized rupee coin to buy myself a treat from the sweet seller. But in that market that day, I met the palmist sitting upright under the sprawling banyan tree, away from the rows of sellers. I tried to look away, but she had already caught me staring. The rupee coin I had saved for the sweets felt cold between my fingers. All the images of sugary treats and colourful bangles went up in smoke and, standing under the tree, I knew I would use it for something Amma wouldn’t approve of.
“Don’t be nervous. The lines in your palm have a story,” she had said, reaching for my hand. “You are a strong girl. And I see it in your face already.”
And she had made a prediction.
“There will be two men in your life.”
While I had used up the rupee coin, that singular statement stayed with me, sneaking up now and then, testing, teasing. Was her prediction going to be true?
Disclaimer : This story is auto aggregated by a computer programme and has not been created or edited by DOWNTHENEWS. Publisher: deccanchronicle.com
