examines my palm. He pores over it for more than five minutes. He makes some notes, does some calculations.
'What's the matter?' Salim asks, alarmed.
The palmist frowns slightly and shakes his head. 'The line of head is strong, but the line of heart is weak. And, most importantly, the line of life is short. The stars do not seem to be right. The alignment of the planets is inauspicious. The Mount of Jupiter is good, but the Mount of Saturn cancels it out. There are obstacles and pitfalls. I can do something to ease your way, but it will cost you.'
'How much?'
'Around two hundred rupees. Why don't you ask your father? Isn't he the one who owns the big bus?'
I laugh. 'Ha! Panditji, before spinning this yarn about my future, you should have checked out who we really are. We are not rich kids. We are orphans from the Delhi Juvenile Home in
Turkman Gate and this bus doesn't even belong to us. Still, you conned us into parting with twenty rupees.' I pull Salim. 'Come, let's go. We have wasted enough time here.'
As we are walking away, the palmist calls me. 'Listen! I want to give you something.' I return to the booth. The pandit gives me an old one-rupee coin.
'What's this, Panditji?'
'It's a lucky coin. Keep it. You will need it.'
I hold it in my fist.
Salim wants an ice cream, but we have just one rupee and that won't buy us anything. We watch the other kids enjoying their rides. I flip the coin aimlessly and it slips out of my fingers and rolls underneath a bench. I bend down to pick it up. It has come up heads. Next to it lies a ten-rupee note, dropped by someone. Like Magic. Salim and I buy ice creams. I slip the coin carefully into my pocket. It is indeed my lucky charm.
Salim is sad that my future has not turned out to be as bright as his, but he is also excited about becoming a film star. In front of us is a huge billboard of a new film. In lurid colours, it shows the hero with a gun in his hands, blood on his chest and a black bandanna around his head; a villain wearing a twisted grin; a heroine with big breasts. Salim stares at it, transfixed.
'What are you looking at, Salim?' I ask.
'I am trying to see if the black headband will suit me,' he replies.
* * *
We are sitting in class, but Mr Joshi, our portly teacher who specializes in burping and picking his nose, is not teaching. He is reading a novel, which is carefully hidden inside the textbook he holds in his hands. We pass the time making paper aeroplanes, etching patterns on the wooden desks and dozing. Suddenly Munna, who has been instructed to monitor the corridor, comes
running in. 'Masterji, Masterji,' he says breathlessly, 'Warden Sahib is coming.'
Mr Joshi lets out a loud burp and quickly jettisons his novel. He snaps his fingers and stands up.
'OK boys, so what were we discussing? Yes. You were all telling me what you want to become when you grow up. Who wants to go next?'
Salim puts up his hand. The first time he has ever done this.
'Yes, Salim, what do you want to become?'
'I will become a famous actor, Masterji. An astrologer has told me,' he says triumphantly.
The class squeals with laughter.
* * *
There are two versions of who the big man is. Some say that he is a very rich diamond merchant with no offspring of his own. So from time to time he comes to the Juvenile Home to adopt children, who are then taken to his palatial home in Mumbai. Others say that he actually owns a school in Mumbai, where he takes children he finds promising for proper training. Either way, one thing is clear. If you are selected by Sethji, your life is made.
Salim doesn't care whether Sethji is a diamond merchant or a school owner. He is mainly
concerned with the fact that the big man is from Mumbai – the centre of the film industry. He is convinced that Sethji has come to pluck him from here and take him to the glittering world of Bollywood. It is his destiny. The palmist's prediction is going to come true.
We are all lined up in the mess hall for an
'What's the matter?' Salim asks, alarmed.
The palmist frowns slightly and shakes his head. 'The line of head is strong, but the line of heart is weak. And, most importantly, the line of life is short. The stars do not seem to be right. The alignment of the planets is inauspicious. The Mount of Jupiter is good, but the Mount of Saturn cancels it out. There are obstacles and pitfalls. I can do something to ease your way, but it will cost you.'
'How much?'
'Around two hundred rupees. Why don't you ask your father? Isn't he the one who owns the big bus?'
I laugh. 'Ha! Panditji, before spinning this yarn about my future, you should have checked out who we really are. We are not rich kids. We are orphans from the Delhi Juvenile Home in
Turkman Gate and this bus doesn't even belong to us. Still, you conned us into parting with twenty rupees.' I pull Salim. 'Come, let's go. We have wasted enough time here.'
As we are walking away, the palmist calls me. 'Listen! I want to give you something.' I return to the booth. The pandit gives me an old one-rupee coin.
'What's this, Panditji?'
'It's a lucky coin. Keep it. You will need it.'
I hold it in my fist.
Salim wants an ice cream, but we have just one rupee and that won't buy us anything. We watch the other kids enjoying their rides. I flip the coin aimlessly and it slips out of my fingers and rolls underneath a bench. I bend down to pick it up. It has come up heads. Next to it lies a ten-rupee note, dropped by someone. Like Magic. Salim and I buy ice creams. I slip the coin carefully into my pocket. It is indeed my lucky charm.
Salim is sad that my future has not turned out to be as bright as his, but he is also excited about becoming a film star. In front of us is a huge billboard of a new film. In lurid colours, it shows the hero with a gun in his hands, blood on his chest and a black bandanna around his head; a villain wearing a twisted grin; a heroine with big breasts. Salim stares at it, transfixed.
'What are you looking at, Salim?' I ask.
'I am trying to see if the black headband will suit me,' he replies.
* * *
We are sitting in class, but Mr Joshi, our portly teacher who specializes in burping and picking his nose, is not teaching. He is reading a novel, which is carefully hidden inside the textbook he holds in his hands. We pass the time making paper aeroplanes, etching patterns on the wooden desks and dozing. Suddenly Munna, who has been instructed to monitor the corridor, comes
running in. 'Masterji, Masterji,' he says breathlessly, 'Warden Sahib is coming.'
Mr Joshi lets out a loud burp and quickly jettisons his novel. He snaps his fingers and stands up.
'OK boys, so what were we discussing? Yes. You were all telling me what you want to become when you grow up. Who wants to go next?'
Salim puts up his hand. The first time he has ever done this.
'Yes, Salim, what do you want to become?'
'I will become a famous actor, Masterji. An astrologer has told me,' he says triumphantly.
The class squeals with laughter.
* * *
There are two versions of who the big man is. Some say that he is a very rich diamond merchant with no offspring of his own. So from time to time he comes to the Juvenile Home to adopt children, who are then taken to his palatial home in Mumbai. Others say that he actually owns a school in Mumbai, where he takes children he finds promising for proper training. Either way, one thing is clear. If you are selected by Sethji, your life is made.
Salim doesn't care whether Sethji is a diamond merchant or a school owner. He is mainly
concerned with the fact that the big man is from Mumbai – the centre of the film industry. He is convinced that Sethji has come to pluck him from here and take him to the glittering world of Bollywood. It is his destiny. The palmist's prediction is going to come true.
We are all lined up in the mess hall for an
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