Written in the stars

“So, you are a writer?” his date asked with curious intent.
“You could say that.” Raj replied curtly, placing the empty tea cup on the table.”Another cup? That was delightful, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. I think Ill try the Moroccan mint tea. What about you?” she asked getting excited.
“I scribble a bit, from time to time, mostly short stories,” he added, noticing her pretty earrings, for the first time.
“Is there something you have written recently that I could see” she asked in a hesitant tone.
“I’ll tell you what, how about I narrate one instead” Raj replied.

“A couple of years ago. An overweight pudgy boy and a bunch of his goofy friends went to Goa. The boy and his friends drove Enfield’s, drank cheap beer and lazed on the beaches. A few days later, the boys were driving through Panjim, when the pudgy one stopped the bike, his friends
topped as well.
‘Ill just be back’ he said and vanished into a small shop on the side of the road. They knew with him this was always going to happen.
“He went in to a tiny pista green coloured room, decorated with shiny lights and the walls were full of weird sage like faces on photo frames.

‘Yes?’ asked the Sardar, he was a different sort of a Sardar, different from the moustache twirling, sleeves rolled up, manly beings that Sardar’ s usually are.
The boy stretched his hand and asked one question and one question only. ‘Will I be a writer?’
The Sardar took the palm, placed it on his and with a cold look said
‘No you will be a business man. It is the best thing for you’.
The boy rose, he did not argue, did not press the issue, just thanked the Sardar, and left. The boy knew this. Many a brilliant astrologer, face readers all said the same thing. – Your stars do not favor it”

“That, my dear, is my story. I am an equity trader a man who sells and buys for a living. Thats is kinda sad Isn’t it? My passion and my love though is the written word” said Raj to his pretty date, reaching out for the check.

“That does sound a little sad” she replied chuckling a bit.
“Don’t give up keep writing” she said with a gentle smile.
“Oh and what brings you to Jaipur though?”
“Work” replied Raj “just some work” as they walked out the tea bar on to the lobby of the hotel.
“That was nice, I enjoyed myself, we should do this again” she said pecking him on the cheek, and turned to walk away from him.

A few seconds and a few steps later she turned, and raised her hand slightly to wave and say goodbye.

Raj was still standing there. He was not looking at her. Raj stood there standing, chatting up a man with flowing grey hair in a White Nehru jacket. They shook hands the stranger and Raj. And then she saw him take a book from the man and smile as he scribbled something down and then quickly jogged up the marble steps back into the hotel.


Copyright/Author: Prithvi Raj

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Write Club Team comprises of highly motivated writers and creative inhabitants, who aspire to make Hyderabad an empowering abode for fabulous writers.

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