Serendipity and After/48

a novel about publishing of a novel

“I’m Ramesh Chakravarty,” a middle-aged man with big eyes and cylindrical face introduced himself to me, “I write astrology column for Caldust.”

“Please sit down,” I pointed him to the chair just opposite me across the table. “So glad to meet you.”

He sat in the chair and asked, “Do you read my column, sir?”

“Do you want an honest answer from me?”

“Yes, of course.”

“But is it important? Why do you want to know about it?”

“I presume you believe in astrology.”

“I believe it in a kind of non-believing way.”

“Does it mean that you hate it?”

“It’s not exactly like that, but you’re close to the point.”

“Have you had any bad experience with any astrologer?”

“I don’t know if it’s bad, but I had an experience. He was Monibabu, a Brahmin, I’ve forgotten his real name and surname. But he was a very famous astrologer. He made his name by predicting that Sohrab Mia would make a minister. And Sohrab Mia really became a minister. Manibabu was my father’s patient. So after my Higher Secondary exam, my father took me to him to mainly know about my result in advance. Then he did some predictions after sketching my zodiac signs on a white sheet of paper and studying it with keen attention for quite a while. He actually wrote those down below the sketch.”

“What were they like?”

“My father actually wanted to know If I would be among the toppers. Manibabu said the result would not be that brilliant. But I stood eighth. He said I would go for general line, but I am now in Medical College. He said I would make an academician, but I’m in third year MBBS outgoing, and in all probability, going to be a doctor. He said I would write text books in the future, but I hate text books, and would rather kill myself than commit to writing such stuff. He said I would fall in love with some girl with blue eyes, but I’ve not encountered a single blue-eyed girl yet, let alone being in love with her.”

I stopped and looked at Rameshbabu. “Should I continue?”

Rameshbabu heaved a sigh — visibly frustrated — and said, “Sir, I’ve come to you with an appeal.”

“An appeal? To me?”

“You know I’ve been writing this column since the inaugural issue. Mr Newar gives me a pittance for this. When I started, he promised me to pay a good compensation for it. It has been six months now. So I went to see him today. When I reminded him of his promise, he flatly denied it and told me additionally that I could stop writing if I thought so. I’m very hurt. Is this the reward of churning out a column each week investing so much of my time and labor? So I thought I must take the revenge.”

I looked at him askance.

“I want to teach Newar a lesson. I’m the secretary of astrologers’ association here. Now that he has insulted me, I’ll tell my members to boycott him. He will not get anybody to write this column.”

“Is this a viable idea?” I asked him.

“Subhasbabu also reacted like this. He told me this house had one writer who could write on anything and everything.”

“It was Moni-da. You know him.”

“It’s not Moni-da, it’s you, sir. My earnest appeal to you, sir, you must not write my astrology column.”

“What’re you saying?” I shot him back, “I don’t write astrology. I’ve no knowledge about it. I can’t even enumerate all the zodiac signs if you ask me. Are they twelve or ten?”

“ I know you can write it. You can do it even better than me. But please don’t write it, sir. I request you with folded hands.”

I got grave at this point. “What the fuck do you think of me? Do you think I’m a writing whore? Do you think I’ll write anything they would ask me to? Am I a kid? Am I that unscrupulous?”

Rameshbabu smiled, somewhat reassured. “God bless you, sir.”