Palmist's Bakra

(Happy new year! Hope I can get more readers and followers in the new year. Once again posting a story written several years back.)

Palmist’s Bakra

“Your luck is changing”, I was told by the man sitting under a fancy canopy in the premises of Jai Palace Hotel, in Jaipur. He was the local soothsayer. The moment we saw him in the evening, my daughters and I, decided to take a peep into our future and check out his palmistry skills.

“So you have three children”, he said. I interrupted, “No, only two”. My daughter, Shubhi, tapped my shoulder, “He means Snowy, the dog also”. The man did not look happy; he peered into my palm more closely. “You have a good imagination,” he tried again. “Yes, I do some writing”, I replied. He now looked more confident, “I will say the year 1990 saw a great many changes”. “Hurrah”, screamed Shubhi. “It was the year I was born.”

He was right for once. It was the year diapers came back into my life once again. For the next ten months, I got no sleep, carried a baby with a listless maid to my workplace, tried very hard to write a good copy and got the maximum frowns from my editor that I nearly chucked up my job. Also, my husband traveled 115 days to America, happy to escape the baby’s wails at night. Indeed, it was an eventful year.

“In 1995 you were accident prone,” said the palmist. A slight discrepancy here, I noted mentally. I had been prone to accidents from the day I went out with my husband for the first time. There were no speed breakers for him and it seemed the road belonged to his Highness when he drove. I often clutched on to the seat and the door handle and closed my eyes. In fact, life became accident free in 1995, when I put my foot down and a driver was engaged.

“You are lucky for your husband. You have brought happiness in his life,” remarked the palmist quite gleefully. “Yes he complaints there is too much of it now”, I nearly said aloud. “And also the mausis”, butted in my elder daughter, Sonali, cheekily.

He, poor husband, cannot cope with the gang. His phone bills are mounting. Only last night, he was just about to begin snoring when pal Rita called up to ask, “Does Diwakar know anyone in Cadbury. You know Anjudi’s brother-in-law’s cousin’s grand child needs a job very badly.” He is equally at a loss when well-meaning friends Nita and Kalpana drag him for a dance while Sonali insists she could part with her dollar allowance to keep him off the floor.

“Your daughters will do wonders for you,” continued the man. They already are. My credit card just bounced. Sonali shops for Indian summer and winter in California and Californian summer and winter in India. Inquire about her grades; her answer is “Mom leave me alone. I am not a nerd.”

Shubhi acquires a distinct American accent when sister Sonali is around. People ask me, “Was she born in America?” Not only that, her room turns upside down. There is blaring music on all the time. The twelve-year-old has been taught the American life-style. It takes a good deal of time to undo the damage and soon elder sis is back in India, with another shopping list, and some new American slang words.

“After Jan 15, your career will take off”, said the palmist summing up the session. It has taken off in a subtle way. My editor in Singapore is not responding.

By the end of the palm reading session, I could tell the palmist without even looking at his palm, a thing or two. Tonight, he was going to eat malai kofta, dal makhani, and laccha paratha, followed by some kheer, at the Five-Star, Jai Palace Hotel, and not some tasteless home-cooked food prepared by his wife. For, he surely had reason to celebrate. He had palmed us off Rs1500 for a thirty minutes session and we were not his only clients for the evening. There were several other “bakras” waiting outside in the queue.