Fate is in the Stars and Planets

A baby in pink underwear smiles at us from the painting.

The baby lies on its stomach on a table, watching a woman in a flowing sky blue dress spin nearby.

Mother, I guess. I wonder what makes her so happy.

The LED ceiling lights give the art exhibition's interior a cozy, warm glow. My friend Dhavi appears to be assessing another painting, much like an art critic. I shuffle closer, though I have lost interest in them. It's sad, because it was my idea to come to the exhibition, and I literally begged her to accompany me.

After briefly raking my eyes over an abstract painting made up entirely of colorful hexagons, I study Dhavi’s face. Does she really find all these paintings interesting, as her face implies? Or she's just faking, like half the other people in the pristine white room.

My wandering gaze is drawn to a couple in their fifties, their hair a mix of salt and pepper. The woman wears a white shirt and a long pink skirt, while her partner is in red dhoti pants and a short white kurta. Both have accessorized their outfits with white sports shoes.

The woman, like Dhavi, examines a painting. The man's eyes flit over the collection on the wall, a tiny smile on his lips. What do they see that I don't? Their eyes are in the right place, but what about mine? Why isn't mine where it should be? Does it mean that this is not for me?

Do you even know what you like?

The memory of my ex’s patronizing comment stings like a needle.

“Hey?” Dhavi calls for my attention.

As I look at her, she gestures for us to move on, and we enter another room with similar white walls covered in kaleidoscopic artwork.

Do you even know what you like? Seriously, Jenny, you’re so clueless!

Does it even happen? Sparking an epiphany? I feel no ‘aha’ moment when I look at all these paintings.

After thirty minutes in, we step out of the exhibition. I feel lost inside.

“So, how was it?” Dhavi asks as we wait for an autorickshaw. Despite the interest with which she beheld each painting inside, her tone now clearly indicates that she wouldn’t consider spending her precious Sunday on an art exhibition ever again.

A middle-aged man badly scarred by acne passes by us on the street.

“Yeah, it was good,” I mutter. I don’t sound convincing even to my ears.

The smell of roasted peanuts permeates the street and slowly teases my nose. Soon follows the rhythmic clatter of a peanut seller’s metal spoon against the pot.

“It was your idea,” she reminds me, as if I needed to be reminded.

I don’t say anything.

……

When I ended it, he didn’t look like I was serious.

Nothing felt right about our relationship. Something was off. Like, imagine off-kilter paintings on walls. But if someone asked me why I ended our relationship, I wouldn't have much to say that would elicit sympathy.

The major rift between us stemmed from my ex having his entire future mapped out, while I'm still searching for my path.

My parents don’t complain. They say they understand. It takes time to land a good job. But I also hear what they don’t say—“You’d have gotten a job only if you had studied well, scored well, and had a goal like your friend!”

I won’t lie. My heart sinks every time I think about Dhavi and my ex’s life. They both have jobs. Each of them has a reason to get out of bed and a place to focus their energy. Even though I never wished to be a doctor like Dhavi or a lawyer like my ex, I can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy crawl all over me when I think of them.

My parents don’t complain, but I know they want to, so I haul myself out of the bed and drag my feet to the bathroom.

I growl at the mirror.

Is it impossible to live in this contemporary world without having a passion or being highly skilled at something? Does this world just exist for people who are driven, ambitious, and goal-oriented? What about people like me, with no clear calling?

“Don’t you take your life seriously, Jenny? You’re not a child anymore!”

But… What if my true calling is still out there, waiting to be found?

“Goodness, Jenny. Do you wish to continue like this? Be aimless?”

My ex is convinced that he'll die at sixty-two, because, coincidentally, his father and two generations of grandfathers died at that very age. That's why he’s grinding hard to make lots of money, hoping to retire early to enjoy life before he hits sixty-two.

“Have you always been like this? Without passion or goal? Huh, Jenny?”

I have, haven’t I?

“Can’t you see I’m saying this for your own good?”

I turn on the faucet and splash water on my face to clear my head of my ex’s bruising words. He made me feel small, and I hated that feeling. Five years of relationship come to naught!

I hear a knock on my bedroom door.

“Jenny, isn’t your interview at 11?” My mom asks from behind the door.

I step out of the bathroom but don’t move towards the bedroom door.

“Yes, Maa,” I tell the truth.

“Are you getting ready for the interview?”

“Yes, Maa,” I lie.

……

After leaving home, I spent two hours window shopping on a chaotic, busy street. Window shopping was something both Dhavi and I used to enjoy together. The only difference now is I still continue to window shop, whereas Dhavi buys whatever she wants with her hefty salary.

I kill another thirty minutes in a restaurant, deliberately prolonging my meal to the slowest conceivable pace. Once satisfied, I resolve to continue my journey home and lie to my parents about the job interview and my lack of expectation to hear from the company.

Sadly I find no auto rickshaw interested in ferrying me home, so I carry myself to a bus stop shelter nearby and wait for the bus.

I perch on a long aluminium bench, at the end of which two women are in deep conversation.

“So pretty.”

My head snaps towards them.

The older woman, appearing to be in her forties, leans in slightly to examine the jewelry worn by the younger woman.

My own eyes follow the object of awe: a simple and elegant gold necklace design with stonework of flamingo and lime color.

“You made it?” The older woman asks.

“Yes”, the younger one beams, as her hand leaps to touch her necklace, compelling the other woman to let go of the jewelry.

The older woman straightens a bit. “Hmm, so how is it to work as a jeweler? Do you enjoy your work?” She asks, her voice laced with genuine curiosity.

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Very few are lucky enough to do work they enjoy,” the older woman remarks and, to my dismay, turns to me. I quietly berate myself for not being fast enough to turn my head in the opposite direction. Now our eyes are prodding into each other, and that encourages her. “What about you? Happy with your job?”

My words come out a few seconds late. “Well, I haven’t found one yet,” I say and look away.

“Oh, I see.” She scoots a bit closer to me, compelling me to look at her again. “Are you experiencing difficulty in finding the right job?” Her apathetic tone confuses me.

“I am not sure. I mean, yes, I guess.”

“Do you believe in astrology?” She has completely forsaken the other woman by now.

I’m simultaneously amused and taken aback by the question. “Ahh, no, I don’t.”

A tiny furrow appears on her forehead. “That’s too bad, because astrology has answers for everything in life.”

I don’t believe in such a thing, but I don't say anything.

“You should think about it. Trust me, it will not only land you your dream job but also change your life for the better.”

……

I see her everywhere. Walking along the promenade as I park my scooter close to the shore following my little fight with my parents, standing still next to a car on a warm Tuesday afternoon when I leave a building after my twenty-third interview, and eating what looks like a candy bar across from the local grocery store.

And talking to a lady on a bench outside Dhavi's house on a Sunday evening as we head to the movie theater.

“Hey, what happened? You look like you've just seen a ghost.” Dhavi says, poking my right upper arm.

On our taxi ride to the movie theater I recount to Dhavi about the astrology woman that I keep seeing everywhere. Bizarre coincidence, or I’m hallucinating.

“Are you sure she’s the same one? Maybe you’re stressed because of your…. . You know?”

I shoot her a sideways glance. “You can say it, you know,” I say.

“Your job.”

“Or lack of.”

A moment of silence later, I ask, “So you think my stress is making me hallucinate?”

She pauses for a moment. “Well, that's what I read somewhere. But it happens under a great deal of stress. You are not under a lot of stress, are you?”

For the first time I don’t mind the idea of my mind playing tricks on me, or my eyes deceiving me. Because seeing the astrology woman so many times has begun to freak me out.

I find it hard to enjoy the movie.

As we all spill out of the theater hall into the open, I gasp. Did I just see a yellow salwar suit wading through the crowd? Isn’t it what the astrology woman was wearing today? Is there something wrong with my brain or my eyes?

I shake the arms of Dhavi. “Hey, quickly look at that woman in a yellow salwar suit. Do you think she’s the same one we saw outside your house?”

“Where? I cannot see anyone in a yellow salwar.” Dhavi feverishly scans the crowd. “That girl in the yellow dress?”

“No, not that one.”

…....

I have seen her more than ten times since that fateful day at the bus stop over a month ago. All this time, she never once approached me. Is she waiting for me to approach her?

I haven’t stepped out of my house for a week now, and my parents aren’t happy about it. So, I tell them about the woman, and they look at me like I have lost my mind, so I say I was just kidding.

These days, my parents don’t seem to realize that their hushed discussions about me are anything but quiet, and I can hear them fine.

Honestly, my failure to acquire a job doesn’t bother me as much as my inability to find my passion or interest. Should I just accept that I don’t have any?

Do you even know what you like?

Have you always been like this? Without passion or goal?

Is my ex right about me?

I share my concern with Dhavi at night.

“Is it ok to not have any passion or interest in life?” I messaged her after dinner.

“Yeah, I guess,” she replies. “But who doesn’t have a passion? Everyone does.”

……

Ten days trundled by without any changes in my life. Dhavi is too busy to contact or hang out with me. My parents are beginning to get impatient. I imagine them dragging me to a therapist.

“What is going on? Will you tell us?” Dad enquired the other day.

What is going on? I don’t know. I’d love it if someone could shed some clarity on what's going on with me. Why am I indecisive about my life choices? Why does my mind go blank when I think about what I really want to do?

“Nothing, I’m not well,” I told him as an escape.

“You’ve been unwell for two weeks? Why didn't you tell us? Let’s go to the doctor then.”

I knew that my father knew I was lying.

“No need. I’m feeling good today. Don’t worry.”

……

I feel a chill settle over my bones despite the fiercely sunny day.

I glance around the ruins of the old church, noticing that I’m alone. I remember coming here once as a kid. Same place, yet my feelings for it are not the same as they were then. All I can recall now is how my parents wandered off to the churchyard with my father telling my mother about the history of the church while I raced around, playing with myself.

I slowly approach the church entryway, pausing at a few meters.

Why was it abandoned? Why is there a massive, rusted padlock on the wooden doors? If that weren't in the way, I would have gone in. Maybe one of its trefoil glass panes will allow me to have a glimpse inside.

I take a few steps but stop abruptly.

Has the air turned cold all of a sudden?

A noise like the crunch of dry leaves comes from behind.

I swivel and almost yelp.

She’s wearing a kurta of yellowish red, which reminds me of sunset.

When did she come? Why didn’t I hear her come?

“My father was a congregant of this church as a kid,” she says in a crisp voice.

She quietly shortens the distance between us while keeping her eyes on the abandoned place of worship.

“Ruins intrigue me,” she expresses.

“What happened here? I mean why was it abandoned?” I manage to regain my voice after being knocked out speechless at her sudden, unexpected appearance.

She meets my eyes, and I look away, regretting my curiosity. When I look back, her eyes are surveying the once pristine white church now badly scarred by black molds.

Ruins are indeed interesting, as they feed your imagination.

“My grandmother had prophesied it,” she says.

I hold back the urge to rub the goosebumps stippling my arms.

“What? Prophesied what?”

“That soon this church’s door would be closed forever. When she was pregnant with my father, she had a dream about it one night. When she told others, no one was happy with her prophecy and considered her vision sacrilegious. Seven or eight years later, after a Sunday mass, an argument between two men broke into a fight in which one man got killed. Within a year, the church was closed.”

“Why was it closed?”

Curious, I turn to look at her, forgetting how surprised I was at her abrupt, imperceptible appearance earlier. When she meets my eyes, I see a glimpse of sadness and weariness beneath her veneer of composure.

“Many congregants claim to have seen the dead man, sometimes wandering around the churchyard and sometimes, within the church, sitting in one of the pews with head bowed and folded hands.”

“His ghost?” I ask without expecting a response. We both face the church.

Suddenly it loses the eerie charm I bestowed upon it on my arrival, and now looks downright spooky.

“Did you find what you’re looking for? Your job?”

I'm taken aback by her unexpected change of subject.

What should I say? I don’t feel like talking about myself, and especially not about my failed attempts to get a job.

Does my silence confirm her doubt? When I’m thinking of steering the subject off me, she opines, “You should give astrology a chance. It’s not what most people believe. Your fate truly lies in the stars and planets.”

I don’t say anything. The idea of astronomical bodies making and breaking people’s lives sounds bonkers to me.

“They influence our lives. They do,” the woman says, pointing her index finger towards the sky.

“What is your zodiac sign?” She asks, her tone now colored with childlike eagerness.

A dismissive chuckle escapes me as I jerk my gaze around the trees in the background.

I can sense her eyes prodding me.

“You should sometimes believe in things deemed unbelievable by most,” I hear her say.

I toss a smile at her but don’t say anything.

“You didn’t tell me about your zodiac sign,” she reminds me, with an unmistakable edge in her tone.

There’s no escaping from it, is there? “Scorpio.”

She gives a nod, looking like she's processing that piece of information. I'm not ready for what I suspect she's going to say, so I decide to leave and go home.

The atmosphere around us changes to look more solemn as daylight wanes.

“Do you know at what time you were born?”

I tightened my jaw to prevent a grin from forming.

“No. No, I don’t.”

“Some details of your life would have helped me to know the reason behind your job struggles. There’s always a reason, you know?”

I have heard of people known for navigating life using logic and critical thinking, but when certain circumstances in their life make them helpless and vulnerable, they, surprisingly, take the guidance of astrology.

“You’re confused about everything, aren’t you? Career? Parents aren’t proud of you? Experiencing difficulty in love life? Constant fights with your boyfriend for no reason? You can know the cause and solution for these.”

I don't want to seem impolite, yet I can sense my brow crinkling.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

She appears to smirk.

What is wrong with her?

And what is wrong with me? Is it obvious from my face that I recently broke up with my boyfriend and am struggling to secure a job, or even to find out what I really want out of my life?

Or is she simply shooting in the dark, as these are the problems the majority of humans go through?

Something darts out of my peripheral vision, making me look over instantly. Just then the sound of a heavy tree branch hitting the earth reverberates, followed by a sudden gale that whips through the trees and messes my hair. I glance at the astrologist, who is staring morosely towards the noise, her hair restrained in a bow. Before the venom of fear can immobilize me, I prepare to leave.

“I should be going now.” Why did my voice crack?

She doesn’t look at me but shakes her head as if disappointed.

“Running from your problems is not the solution. You should find a solution to your problem,” she says, her eyes still on the tree lines.

I take a few quick steps past her, eager to get out of the place as fast as possible.

“Wait,” she calls, and despite myself, I turn to give her my attention one last time. “Why do you deny help?”

Because I don't believe in what she is offering!

“Stars and planets can help you.” Her tone has softened, yet her eyes reflect her displeasure.

Feeling that saying anything would be futile, I gesture that I'm leaving and make my way out of the premises.

“Let stars and planets help you,” she shouts.

I cringe and hope no other soul is around to witness what is happening.

“You should take my help or you'll regret it!”

Now she's going overboard.

A sharp cracking sound rings out right behind me. With a gasp, I spin around to see the top of a tree branch plunging to the ground. My next glance is at where the woman has been standing.

And I find myself completely alone.

******

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