The palm reader
Mani fixed his eyeballs on to the figurative lines on the palms of his friend. Observing closely he concluded that his friend is an interesting character. He has a bend towards the extremes in life. “You can even turn into a murderer my friend, beware. Or you can go on to earn millions by exercising your wit.” “Will I earn lots and lots of money?” His friend asked, sipping from the Jack Daniels pint in his hand. “Wait, wait…let me put it straight. I want to visit all the big cities in the world and smoke marijuana in that city. And yes of course, screw a babe everywhere I go. 500 in total, that’s all before I die.”
“That’s a lot my dear friend. Don’t take me otherwise.”…Mani’s eyebrows fretted as he cribbed for having entered into this conversation. “Oh yes sure…you can do it. Why not? As I said you are going to become very powerful. Just wait and watch.” “Ahh…you are a good palm reader. You know a lot about my thoughts. But do you know why exactly I need the money?” Mani looked straight into his friend’s glimmering eyes without wanting to look anywhere else. He could see the effect of whisky on his friends face. “What will you do if you come to know that you are an adopted child? And that your biological parents are living in some remote village; that they are poor and need money. All this, you come to know on your 24th birthday. Your parents cry in front of you for revealing this so late. And that they are scared to lose you now. Which parents will you go to? Which identity should you now live up with for the rest of your life? Does my hand answer all these questions?”
The discovery was heart warming and shocking. Mani rubbed his forehead and dived into his hot chocolate. He felt his stomach empty. He had nothing more to say or explain. Suddenly, the friend who seemed strong and daring till now, looked so vulnerable. Perspectives change so fast. “I cannot really answer all this. My palm reading abilities are limited. But I admire you much more now.”
Three inches of cigarette
All his life he had counted upon his luck with the cigarette. This three-inch stick had shown him life and love. The cigarette dared him to take life’s challenges. It had all started with a game, he recollected. He had been challenged in his college days to rob a millionaire who was getting drunk inside his house. The challenge was – getting into the house of the millionaire and coming out with 10 lac Rupees worth of ornaments. And yes all this was to be done between the time his friends had lighted and smoked the last puff out of their cigarette.
That day he had come out with 25 lacs worth of gold and hard cash, with two drags still remaining on his friends stick. He dropped the money sack and smoked the last puff. The game took over his instincts. His friends changed but the cigarette remained. He became richer and richer. He had all the time in the world but his profession lasted till the cigarette dangled on his lips. It was his stop watch. It was his conscience. It was slowly taking over his subconscious. He had met this beautiful young lady at a pub in Mumbai. Three drags down and he had known almost everything about her. On the ninth puff he had offered her a drink and as he tossed the bud into the ash tray, she was going with him in his red car. He has found his love over a cigarette. She turned out to be a sweetheart and him a passionate killer. Romancing into the nights of his tenth floor residence, he could bet on his pack of cigarettes anytime.
But today was a different story all together. His wife was lying on the ICU bed with the inhaler on her mouth. This was the first time she was inhaling pure oxygen after their first chance meeting. Our hero went outside and consulted the doctor. She had no time left, he was assured. The only thing that flashed into his mind was the cigarette. He took out a stick and flicked it between his lips. A tear fell from his eyes as he wished into the skies. “You will be all right sweetheart, before this cigarette ends its life.”
Siddharth Choudhary, born in 1983 in Calcutta, is a poet, writer, painter and a trained martial artiste. He has a master’s degree in advertising and communications. He presently lives in Mumbai, where he works as an advertising professional. He has just published his first novel – Dust, dusk and sesames seeds, a work which cuts deep into the Indian underbelly and deals with the subject of illiteracy and child labour. He blogs at http://dustduskandsesameseeds.wordpress.com/ and can be contacted at sidd2809@hotmail.com.
Mani fixed his eyeballs on to the figurative lines on the palms of his friend. Observing closely he concluded that his friend is an interesting character. He has a bend towards the extremes in life. “You can even turn into a murderer my friend, beware. Or you can go on to earn millions by exercising your wit.” “Will I earn lots and lots of money?” His friend asked, sipping from the Jack Daniels pint in his hand. “Wait, wait…let me put it straight. I want to visit all the big cities in the world and smoke marijuana in that city. And yes of course, screw a babe everywhere I go. 500 in total, that’s all before I die.”
“That’s a lot my dear friend. Don’t take me otherwise.”…Mani’s eyebrows fretted as he cribbed for having entered into this conversation. “Oh yes sure…you can do it. Why not? As I said you are going to become very powerful. Just wait and watch.” “Ahh…you are a good palm reader. You know a lot about my thoughts. But do you know why exactly I need the money?” Mani looked straight into his friend’s glimmering eyes without wanting to look anywhere else. He could see the effect of whisky on his friends face. “What will you do if you come to know that you are an adopted child? And that your biological parents are living in some remote village; that they are poor and need money. All this, you come to know on your 24th birthday. Your parents cry in front of you for revealing this so late. And that they are scared to lose you now. Which parents will you go to? Which identity should you now live up with for the rest of your life? Does my hand answer all these questions?”
The discovery was heart warming and shocking. Mani rubbed his forehead and dived into his hot chocolate. He felt his stomach empty. He had nothing more to say or explain. Suddenly, the friend who seemed strong and daring till now, looked so vulnerable. Perspectives change so fast. “I cannot really answer all this. My palm reading abilities are limited. But I admire you much more now.”
Three inches of cigarette
All his life he had counted upon his luck with the cigarette. This three-inch stick had shown him life and love. The cigarette dared him to take life’s challenges. It had all started with a game, he recollected. He had been challenged in his college days to rob a millionaire who was getting drunk inside his house. The challenge was – getting into the house of the millionaire and coming out with 10 lac Rupees worth of ornaments. And yes all this was to be done between the time his friends had lighted and smoked the last puff out of their cigarette.
That day he had come out with 25 lacs worth of gold and hard cash, with two drags still remaining on his friends stick. He dropped the money sack and smoked the last puff. The game took over his instincts. His friends changed but the cigarette remained. He became richer and richer. He had all the time in the world but his profession lasted till the cigarette dangled on his lips. It was his stop watch. It was his conscience. It was slowly taking over his subconscious. He had met this beautiful young lady at a pub in Mumbai. Three drags down and he had known almost everything about her. On the ninth puff he had offered her a drink and as he tossed the bud into the ash tray, she was going with him in his red car. He has found his love over a cigarette. She turned out to be a sweetheart and him a passionate killer. Romancing into the nights of his tenth floor residence, he could bet on his pack of cigarettes anytime.
But today was a different story all together. His wife was lying on the ICU bed with the inhaler on her mouth. This was the first time she was inhaling pure oxygen after their first chance meeting. Our hero went outside and consulted the doctor. She had no time left, he was assured. The only thing that flashed into his mind was the cigarette. He took out a stick and flicked it between his lips. A tear fell from his eyes as he wished into the skies. “You will be all right sweetheart, before this cigarette ends its life.”
Siddharth Choudhary, born in 1983 in Calcutta, is a poet, writer, painter and a trained martial artiste. He has a master’s degree in advertising and communications. He presently lives in Mumbai, where he works as an advertising professional. He has just published his first novel – Dust, dusk and sesames seeds, a work which cuts deep into the Indian underbelly and deals with the subject of illiteracy and child labour. He blogs at http://dustduskandsesameseeds.wordpress.com/ and can be contacted at sidd2809@hotmail.com.
