Written in the Stars

by Divya Anand

  ‘You don’t seem excited. Not a cricket fan?’ Dhruv said.

  ‘No,’ I grunted.

  He looked shocked, and then stared at me expectantly. I ignored him. I was used to getting this reaction every time I announced my disinterest in India’s favourite sport. I had zero interest in telling Dhruv that my ex-boyfriend, Arjun, was a cricketer who had managed to get selected for a few of India’s matches. I’d spent years following him around while he was playing and developed a strong aversion to the game after spending time in VIP boxes in stadiums across India.

  I stared at the projector disinterestedly, wondering how I could politely get one of them to get up so I could leave. They were absorbed in discussing the game, even though it hadn’t started yet. The camera panned away from the field on to the crowd. A line of spectators with the Indian flag colours painted across their cheeks came into view. One guy was busy leading a section of the crowd through their off-key rendition of the song, Come on India.

  Suddenly, a man stood up in the last row of the stands. As he began dancing downwards in a manner reminiscent of the girl from the old Daily Milk ad, the camera began to follow him. I watched open-mouthed as he danced all the way to the front row of the stands. There was a buzz in the stadium as everyone tried to figure out what he was doing. He danced to the centre of the row, where a petite woman was sitting.

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ Upasana said.

  I was too busy gaping at the screen to reply. The man had now lifted up a sign proclaiming, ‘MARRY ME, PRIANCA!’ He got down on one knee in front of the woman and pulled a ring box out of his pocket.

  ‘This is so twee,’ said Upasana. ‘Who even does this in a cricket match?’

  The camera now zoomed in on the woman, who was covering her mouth in a perfect imitation of a beauty pageant winner. She was probably Prianca. A petite woman, with extremely delicate features. She looked like the smallest whiff of wind would blow her away. She started crying and nodding.

  ‘Say yes,’ he urged, as the camera finally zoomed in on his face.

  My heart stopped.

  ‘YES . . . ’ she yelled.

  He pulled her into a hug. They really didn’t need to zoom in so close, the giant rock on the ring he was pushing on to her finger could easily be spotted by all the aliens in outer space.

  Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. I leaned forward and began gulping. Upasana jumped up and came over to my side of the table and began rubbing my back.

  ‘Are you OK,’ she said. I tried to take a deep breath, but I couldn’t.

  ‘I’m . . . I’m . . . ’ I gasped, unable to get any words out.

  I tried taking a sip of water but choked on it. Upasana kept patting my back. Slowly, my heart stopped hammering and my breath came back to normal. I sat back staring at the screen, which mercifully had cut out into an ad break.

  ‘How girly,’ Aakash said, unable to tear his eyes away from the screen. ‘What kind of wuss comes up with such a proposal?’

  ‘Someone trying to compensate for lacking elsewhere,’ Dhruv said meaningfully as he rolled his eyes.

  ‘Someone romantic,’ Shirin breathed, all starry-eyed.

  I wanted to tell her she was wrong. I knew that the man proposing was definitely not a romantic. Because that was Arjun. Back when we started dating, I used to tease him about how I’d recreate the Dairy Milk ad one day when he became a famous cricketer and we were engaged. Instead, he’d spent the last five years out of our nine-year-long relationship insisting that he was a free spirit who didn’t want to be tied down by a cumbersome institution like marriage. I broke up with him six months ago when he told me that he didn’t think he would ever be ready for marriage.

  Well, he was ready now. The problem hadn’t been that he didn’t ever want to get married. It was that he didn’t ever want to get married to me. And the bastard had stolen my proposal idea and broadcasted it on national television. I was fuming.

  This was the stinky cherry on top of the fly-infested rotting dung cake that was this horrible week.

  I wondered what could possibly go wrong next.

  3

  Jupiter Shines in Your Household

  I was in a foul mood on my way home. If you believed Google Maps, I lived twenty minutes away from work, but the actual time it took me to get home on any day was entirely dependent on the vagaries of Bangalore’s traffic. The traffic today was exactly what I expected from what was rapidly becoming the worst week of my life. I was stuck in a never-ending jam. As the red lines on Google Maps began to burn a hole into my brain, the cab driver decided to increase the volume on the radio.

  I mentally cursed my luck at having found the one cab driver in the entire city who wasn’t on an endless phone call for the duration of the ride. Instead, he was rubbing salt and pepper into my open wounds by listening to the radio commentary of that blasted cricket match. I had spent my entire workday making sure to leave the room whenever anyone began discussing it, only to now find myself stuck listening to a blow-by-blow account of what was supposedly a nail-biting finish. I pulled my Kindle out of my bag and opened it, hoping to divert my mind with the adventures of the Shergil Sisters, but I was rudely interrupted by my phone ringing.

  I had studiously avoided my phone ever since I’d left the office. I knew none of my friends would call because they all knew just how much I hated talking on the phone. They had all left me WhatsApp commiserations, which I’d left unread, knowing they would understand that I would respond when I felt like it. The only message I had opened was from Kavya, who had texted me a bunch of puke emojis signifying her opinion of Arjun’s behaviour. I ignored the call without checking my phone to see who it was, but the person kept calling back.

  It had to be my mother. She was the only person who insisted on calling repeatedly until you answered. I had tested her limits before and knew that when she was truly determined, she was capable of hitting redial at least twenty times, if not more. And so, I reluctantly answered.

  ‘Hi, Amma!’* I tried to sound as cheery as possible so we wouldn’t have to have a mother-daughter heart-to-heart.

  ‘I just saw the news.’

  ‘I’m on my way home, so I don’t know who’s threatening to nuke whom right now,’ I said, hoping to change the subject.

  ‘Arjun was on the news,’ she said pointedly. ‘He proposed to his girlfriend at the India-England match.’

  ‘Oh, that,’ I said, trying to sound as flippant as I could. ‘I saw that. I will send him a message to say congratulations.’

  ‘You’re not upset?’ she probed. My mother was like a bloodhound on a scent when she decided to get into this mood.

  I sighed.

  I always knew I would regret dating my mother’s best friend’s son. Unlike my other boyfriends, I couldn’t hide my relationship once Arjun told his mother about us. Back then, my worry was that the two mothers would gang up on me and convince me to have the wedding of their dreams. Instead, I was now stuck talking to my mother about the one topic I didn’t foresee discussing with her—my love life, or the lack of it.

  ‘I’m fine, Amma,’ I said. Earlier in the day, I had decided that my strategy would be to keep repeating that I was fine until everyone believed me. Maybe I would even begin to believe it myself!

  ‘Well, even if you think you are fine, there will be feelings buried deep within,’ she insisted. ‘The next time I visit, I will do a pranic healing session to cleanse your auras and clear the emotional damage.’

  My heart sank. My mother loved pranic healing, and truly believed that she could exorcise all kinds of illnesses, physical and mental, into a bowl of salt water. I was wary of it ever since I attempted to copy her when I was twelve and ended up with a fever. My mother had insisted it was because I had done it wrong, but I was convinced the entire thing caused more trouble than it was worth.

  ‘My aura is fine and I am not suffering any mental damage,’ I said. ‘You really don’t need to worry . . . ’

  ‘
Take a vacation,’ she cut in, ignoring me. ‘Kavya and you should go to that place I told you about, Shreyas. It’s a really nice yoga retreat and it’s so close to Bangalore.’

  ‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘There is a lot going on at work . . . ’

  ‘Stop using work as an excuse to avoid dealing with your feelings. You need to prioritize your mental health and emotional well-being!’

  That did it.

  ‘Amma, your voice is breaking . . . ’ I said, holding the phone away from my face and making staticky noises through my teeth. ‘I’ll call you when I get home.’

  I hung up without waiting to hear her response.

  I looked up to see the Ganesha on the dashboard bobbing his head at me in silent judgement. I mentally apologized to Him for knowing fully well that I had absolutely no plans of calling my mother back tonight. Or ever.

  I entered the house and hung my keys in the key holder by the door. Kavya’s keys were already there. I envied her work-life balance. In all the time we had lived together, I almost never made it back home before she did in the evening. Kavya and I had been roommates at B-school and we were glad when we both found jobs in Bangalore. We were especially thrilled when we discovered that our offices were close to each other, making it very easy for us to share an apartment.

  We had found ourselves a nice furnished two-bedroom apartment in a large housing complex. The apartment was cosy and a great place to hang out, with a balcony attached to the living room. Of course, Kavya was the one who spent most of the time in it. She joked that I was a ghostly presence who only sometimes made herself known. On such days, though, I was thankful that I wasn’t coming home to an empty house.

  Almost as if she had heard my thoughts, Kavya stepped out into the entryway and gave me a tight hug.

  ‘I was hoping you’d miss the match,’ she said.

  ‘I wish,’ I said and shuddered. ‘I saw the entire proposal live because I made the mistake of sitting in the outdoor area of the cafeteria at lunchtime.’

  She handed me a glass of wine, which she’d thoughtfully filled right to the very brim.

  ‘Have I told you I love living with you?’ I said as I gratefully took it and walked into the living room. I flopped on the couch, ignoring the fact that our landlady’s list of rules included never allowing anyone to put their feet on her precious couch.

  ‘How are you?’ Kavya asked, as she took a sip.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said yet again. ‘I’m over Arjun. Completely.’

  ‘Even if you are, it’s still got to hurt,’ she replied. ‘Anyway, he was a jackass. Good riddance!’

  ‘Can we talk about something else?’ I was so done talking about Arjun. Kavya was someone who gave people their space and was nice enough not to push me any further. We spent the next hour skirting around the issue of proposals as we finished dinner and the better part of a bottle of wine. After dinner, I told her that I was really tired and escaped into my room.

  Once I was in my room, I made a beeline to the mirror.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I practised in front of it. I didn’t sound sure enough I decided. I needed to sound more convincing. ‘I’m happy for him. I don’t need a man to complete me.’

  My reflection looked back at me dubiously.

  ‘Oh, screw it! I hate that bastard and I hope he gets chlamydia. Or worse.’

  I felt better. Clearly, I was not meant to be the bigger person.

  I changed into my pyjamas and walked over to my bed. I plugged my phone into the charger and finally looked at it. I tried to talk myself out of doomscrolling Arjun’s social media profiles, but it didn’t help. I cursed my complete lack of self-control as I scrolled through photo after photo of the happy couple, and congratulatory comments from some of my erstwhile so-called friends. I started making a mental list of all the people I would now need to unfriend since they seemed to have taken his side in the break-up. Once I was done with his profile, I moved on to Prianca’s. There were more photos, including live updates from what looked like an engagement party. I looked at Prianca’s other photos, trying to see if I could find out what about her was so commitment-worthy, when I clearly was so not suited for it.

  ‘Stop it, Sitara,’ I said to myself and tossed the phone back on the nightstand.

  I closed my eyes, hoping I could convince myself to fall asleep. But my brain kept replaying the photos on slideshow mode. I could not believe that the guy who had convinced me that bringing flowers to a date was too ‘rom-com’ had suddenly metamorphosed into someone who would propose to his girlfriend at a cricket match. He refused to celebrate an anniversary with me when we were together, but now, he was posting albums full of ‘If you like it, better put a ring on it’ pictures. I regretted taking the high road when we broke up and pretending that we were ‘still friends’. If it wasn’t for that, I would’ve unfollowed him on social media and missed all these mind-numbing, torturous updates.

  Then you would’ve created a fake profile just to be able to see these photos, my inner voice taunted me.

  I scrunched my eyes and tried to count sheep so I could fall asleep. But my mind was messing with me. Every sheep looked like Arjun in some way. No matter what I did, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about him.

  Deep down, I knew my life was better without him. I loved the fact that I didn’t have to justify being busy at work when he wanted to talk. I loved that I could eat chocolates in bed without a lecture on how I would attract ants. I loved that I could watch Gilmore Girls on repeat and not pretend that I was interested in yet another superhero movie. I loved that I could read without being interrupted because he felt like I was paying too much attention to my book.

  But what about the fact that you missed having someone to snuggle up with while watching TV? Or that going to the park was more fun with company? Or that you didn’t have to attend boring parties by yourself? Or that you had someone to give you a head massage at the end of a tiring day? Or, or, or . . . the voice in my head began taunting me.

  I’m happy, I told myself.

  Maybe if I fell asleep thinking of something else, like Pride and Prejudice, I would dream that I had a Mr Darcy of my own.

  Isn’t that how a well-adjusted, single woman in her late twenties who was happy with her life behaved?

  It was, wasn’t it?

  4

  Patience Will Help You Rise Above Odds

  I stared in frustration at the blank document. After a weekend filled with half-hearted attempts at avoiding social media, I’d got to work early on Monday morning to put together a ‘promotion-worthy’, ‘business-trajectory-altering’ proposal. So far, I had nothing. Or rather, I had listed out some ideas, but they were so terrible I had pressed backspace on everything. And now I was back to square one. I felt like the blank document was mocking me.

  ‘Why is this so hard?’ I muttered.

  ‘Talking to yourself? That’s the first sign of insanity,’ Dhruv said. He had walked up behind me and was now peering at my screen intently. I slammed my laptop shut and turned around.

  ‘Are you spying on me?’ I asked with narrowed eyes.

  ‘Here I am, a good Samaritan, inquiring after your well-being, and you are accusing me of spying,’ he replied with a mock-injured tone.

  ‘You were trying to see what I’m working on.’

  ‘I don’t need to. You’re losing your mind. Meanwhile, I have a meeting with Ash today. I’m pitching the project that’s getting me the promotion,’ he retorted.

  ‘What a coincidence! I’m taking a new project to him today too,’ I bluffed. It’s not like he knew that all I had was this blank document.

  ‘Really?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t see any invites from you on his calendar.’

  Whoops. I forgot that Ash had recently made his calendar public, in an effort to prove that he was ‘transparent’.

  ‘Wow! You must be worried if you’re snooping around on Ash’s calendar for inside info,’ I said.

  ‘Never underesti
mate the competition, as Ash would say,’ he grinned. ‘Anyway, I’m getting back to my presentation. May the best man or woman win.’

  I went back to staring at my blank document.

  PING!

  Notification: Your monthly Colossal Book Box is out for delivery.

  Finally, some good news. I loved this box—every month, I received a curated selection of new books as well as book-related swag. The swag was good, but they were often hit or miss. The books, though, were always a hit. I had discovered many authors like Mhairi McFarlane, Mira Jacob, Meena Kandasamy, Randall Munroe and more through it. I couldn’t wait to get home and see what I’d received this month.

  I went back to my blank document, gritting my teeth as I wondered what I could possibly come up with. And then, it struck me.

  If I liked my book box so much, why couldn’t Glam have a beauty box? We could curate samples and send them out to customers who paid for monthly subscriptions. If they liked the samples, they would buy the products. My mind started to race; people loved discovering new brands, and we worked with new brands who wanted to use our platform to reach new customers. We could partner with them! A beauty box could solve our market share problem. After all, after someone purchased a monthly box from us, they would keep shopping on Glam and that would automatically propel us to number one. I couldn’t wait to show this proposal to Ash!

  As I worked on the presentation, I wondered if I should first speak to Harsh. But I couldn’t bear the thought of letting Dhruv get ahead of me. Besides, if Ash liked the idea, Harsh would be ever-ready to take credit for it and would forgive me for bypassing him. I was desperate, and I needed to take a risk. Once I was done with the presentation, I decided to ambush Ash while he was in his office that afternoon.

  I set up the presentation and hurried over to Ash’s room.