‘True. Then try thinking of something I can never figure out about you,’ he suggested
Her mind went back to the report she had submitted to her boss, Hardik, before leaving office.
Will Hardik appreciate my efforts or will he not be impressed? I’ve worked so hard on it. I have spent four precious days on it, when I could not even sleep in peace.
‘You are thinking if your boss is going to like the report you gave him today. And which you took four days to complete.’
‘What? That is impossible!’ She was flabbergasted.
She could not believe him. No stranger could have ever made such an accurate guess, no matter the level of intelligence. The report, her boss, that the boss was male, and four days—all specifics.
‘Still wondering if I can?’ he asked, but this time she did not respond. If he was really a mind reader, she would not be required to say anything but only think, which she was already doing. She could control her words but not her thoughts. In fact, her thoughts were aflame. At first, she thought that it was some kind of mind game that he was playing and could really be a wise person, but the very next moment she felt scared.
What if he really can read my mind? Can he use it to discover my secrets? Perhaps try to take advantage? Should I be scared? Should I just run and get down at the next station? Or should I just stand at the door? Maybe then he will not be able to read my mind.
‘Don’t be scared. I am not going to take advantage of you,’ he said.
Why are you telling me this? Showing off or what?
‘I have not spoken to anyone in months. I was bored, so . . .’
And why have you not been speaking to anyone? What a creep . . .
‘Because since the day I have recovered from my accident and lost my sight, I have been able to hear people think, and I know they hate me for it.’
Till now she had still been in two minds about whether he could really hear her thoughts, but now she believed him.
But why would people hate you?
‘Because I was ruthless, like a dictator, who cared only about money and results. And now no amount of money can get me my eyesight back. I am affluent and own a billion-dollar company, and yet I have no one to share my pains with.’
Then what are you doing in this second-class compartment of a local train? Billion-dollar? Seriously? Do you think I am going to believe that? This stupid magical mind-reading stunt, and now a prince in disguise! How cheesy!
‘No one knows me here, so they won’t judge me or think ill of me. I feel safe here.’
Why can’t you improve? You have money, the power to read minds, and here you are, crying about your poor social skills. Huh! What a story you are making up!
‘I am trying, but with so much judgement already in people’s minds, it is difficult. And now, with my weakness known to them, all they want to do is teach me a lesson.’
You have been hard on them and now they are doing the same thing to you. Don’t you think you deserve it? Even I am judging you, even though I have known you for just a few minutes. You sound creepy to me.
Normally, she would not be so blunt in pointing out someone’s flaws but she had no power over her words today, as her thoughts were open to him. She had no control over what he heard.
‘I do,’ he smiled. ‘And maybe I don’t even deserve a second chance.’
Everyone deserves a second chance. We are all human and we make mistakes. Sometimes small, sometimes big. I have made many. I was once guilty of almost cheating on my boyfriend but he was kind enough to forgive me. Yes, later we parted ways, but I understand how badly one can need forgiveness after the realization of one’s mistakes. You should keep trying. Maybe one day they will forgive you. And with your mind-reading power, it will become easier for you to say the right things at the right time to people.
‘You think so?’ he asked. Thankfully, he did not latch on to the confession she had inadvertently made.
Not sure, because I barely know you. But then, you do look like a genuine person. Just a spoilt one, perhaps, because of all the money you have that makes you so proud.
‘Then how about we have coffee and get to know each other?’ he said, smiling.
All the other heads in the train turned to him. For them, he had mostly just been talking to himself, and now looked like a stalker who had caught hold of a helpless lonely girl on the train. Their eyes had a fury that he could not see but she could. Their thoughts had questions that she could not hear but he could.
‘So you are asking me out on a date?’ she said, to save him from the embarrassment.
He smiled and said nothing. She smiled back and wondered how impressive he would look on a date. She could no longer hide her feelings, which was disturbing but also reassuring, because she did not have to pretend or wear a mask before him. He was one man on this earth with whom she could be herself. And she would never appear any worse to him, as he was already a man who was judged by so many for being ruthless. She knew that their conversation would go a long way and that she was ready to meet him again.
On the opposite bench, the man just smiled.
9
The Genesis of Luck
Ruby Gupta
Everybody tells me I’m lucky. I have everything a woman could possibly ask for—a rich, well-educated husband, two beautiful well-behaved children and a smoothly running home. After so many years, I, too, have almost started subscribing to the belief that I am a privileged woman. But only almost.
During the early days of my marriage, I had been a giddy teenager. In the excitement of my new husband, wardrobe, jewellery, parties and picnics, I had nearly squashed a niggling voice that said, ‘There’s something missing.’
Of course, my children, who came soon and in quick succession, helped me channelize my thoughts and energies from my inner self. I was a doting mother and, despite having house help, loved doing everything for them myself. But once the children started school, I began to feel out of sorts. And as the kids grew and began to get alarmingly independent, the voice returned: ‘You can try your best to delude yourself into thinking that you have everything, but the truth is that you yearn for something.’
The voice inside me was right—the tormenting little devil! I did crave something. I lay awake at nights fantasizing about it, and tossed and turned during my afternoon siesta aching for it. The more I tried to suppress my longing, the more it came back with renewed vigour.
Actually, it all has to do with my husband, Nishant. No, it’s not what you think. He’s really very nice. I think he is the most gentle, laid-back person you could ever come across. But that’s just it. He is a bit too . . . I don’t know . . . I can’t explain it. But the thing is, I don’t feel anything for him. Yes, it’s true—I don’t feel a thing! I mean, sure, he is very nice and all that, and I like him, but there’s no spark. And certainly no love!
Having grown up on a steady diet of Mills & Boon, Barbara Cartland, Harlequin Romance and our very own Hindi films, I’d been waiting all my life to fall in love.
It never happened in school, and I had barely started college when my marriage to Nishant was ‘arranged’.
To my petulant ‘I want to be in love and then marry’, my mother said, ‘Love will come. Nishant is perfect for you in every way, and soon you will find yourself deeply in love with him. That’s the way this is meant to be.’