Practical magic
I’m hoping to get some sort of insight into the twists and turns my love life may take in the coming years...
I was sitting in a dimly lit room heavy with the smell of incense. The glamorous clairvoyant who sat across from me picked up a cigarette with jewel-encrusted fingers and intoned, “Can you think of anyone in your life who wishes you ill? They might be… using black magic against you!”
Which is apparently why I am disinclined towards romance. I knew it wasn’t just me. It was kala jaadu all along.
I’ll also admit this: While I’ve always been sceptical of astrology, palmistry, numerology and similar forms of fortune-telling, a tiny part of me really wants to believe that a stranger can take one look at my palm and tell me exactly what to do to become, let’s say, fabulously wealthy on the second Friday of the third month from February.
It is this proclivity I’m indulging by visiting a series of fortune-tellers before V-day. I’m hoping to get some sort of insight into the twists and turns my love life may take in the coming years — and I’m also dying to get a few laughs along the way. After all, fortune-tellers haven’t exactly been accurate in their predictions about my romantic engagements in the past, so I expect some levity. I remember clearly an appointment I had with a palmist in 2008 — she told me I would be ‘wed’ by 2009, which provoked a minute of deadly panic. “But I don’t want to be wed in 2009!” I had told the grand-looking lady. “I don’t know if I want to be wed at all!” My mother, who was sitting beside me at the time, bristled, and the palmist just smiled indulgently and patted my hand.
Of course, 2009 came and went without so much as a whisper of wedding bells, and I breathed several sighs of relief. And for this round of predictions, I chose a trusted friend as my fortune-telling partner in crime instead of my mother — less pressure that way, I thought. My friend, whom we’ll just call ‘Honey,’ was also going to get her fortune told and would serve as my ‘control subject.’
Our first appointment was with a well-known numerologist. This respected gentleman said he knew more about the study of Numerology than almost any other practitioner in Pakistan, and Honey and I felt we were in good hands. The only unnerving part of the experience was that he didn’t look either Honey or myself in the eye even once during the whole reading — he would either be staring at his calculations or gazing off into space while he told us the story of our lives. Oh well, I thought. Seers are entitled to some quirks, after all.
I perked up when, after using my birth date to do some calculations, he told me I was a ‘Number 11’ — a Master Number, which meant I was destined for greatness. “With great power comes great responsibility,” he added mysteriously. After scribbling a few more numbers onto a piece of paper he said I would be engaged by 2012 and married by 2013, years that are drawing near enough to provoke another minute of fear. My fate was sealed when he announced that I would also have a “big family” — it isn’t an exaggeration to say I left the place with quaking knees, because some of my worst nightmares feature mounds of soiled diapers and equally abundant children squealing “Mama!” as they ride roughshod over my sanity, not to mention my hopes and dreams.
Honey had a better time than I did, because the numerologist said she and her current partner were “well-matched.” He got a couple of things wrong, though. He said Honey’s man “worked in investment banking or finance,” which is far from the truth, and added that the boy in question “was always thinking about money” — which isn’t accurate either.
But all in all, the experience was interesting and thought-provoking: Honey was more interested in her man now than ever before, and I was busy thinking of ways to avoid my impending nuptials.
Our next stop was a palmist. This adorable old man was a huge flirt, and complimented Honey and I on our “youth and beauty” several times. It soon became obvious that the palmist had little other than romance on his mind, because he kept insisting that both Honey and I would be married (to our respective future husbands, not to each other) very soon. “When will I be married?” I asked him. “Issi waqt!” he roared (I looked around nervously). “Buy her a wedding present now!” He exclaimed, addressing Honey and gesturing towards me. “And when will she be married?” I asked, bobbing my head in Honey’s direction. “She will also get married now!” he pronounced. “It’s right around the corner!”
Honey and I left the palmist’s a little bamboozled. When we pressed him, he had told us a little bit about other aspects of our lives — he said I would be successful professionally and that Honey would be rich and live a long life — but that was about it.
After this Honey and I were more determined than ever to get a thorough picture of our future lives, which is why we decided to go to a noted Tarot card reader.
That is how we found ourselves in the aforementioned dimly-lit room, plucking esoteric cards from a pack and asking for them to be interpreted. The stately female who did our reading was impressive — she described our personalities precisely and fixed us with a gaze so penetrating that we all but spilled the tea she’d offered us. Maybe it was the stuffiness of her room, maybe it was her kajal… but Honey and I were definitely spooked, especially when she started going all kala jaado on us.
To me, she said I had an aversion to marriage because of certain ‘negative energies’ that other people might be directing towards me. “Does anyone at work have a grudge against you?” she asked throatily. “Is anyone jealous of your mother?” I could only shake my head at each question — to be honest, I thought that girl who glared at me at the coffee machine yesterday was just having a bad day.
To Honey, she said a man from the past would reveal his love to her very soon — which kind of flattered Honey, I could tell. The
session continued for over an hour, and we soon forgot to ask only about our love lives… Honey and I were hooked, line and sinker. We bombarded the lady with questions about our careers, our health, our travel plans and — I’m embarrassed to admit it — our dreams.
We left the lady’s tarot-reading room blinking and disoriented, clutching pieces of paper with Quranic verses printed on them — she had given us special prayers to recite. It was only after Honey and I had been jolted around in the car a few times that we came back to earth and realised that much of what the seer had told us could have applied to anyone, really.
We were, however, creeped out enough that we agreed not to discuss her predictions with anyone — except of course for all the thousands of people (hopefully) reading this piece.
It has not escaped me that each fortune-teller I’ve been to during my quest to divine the inner workings of my heart has told me I’ll be tying the knot soon. Even the Tarot lady said this, by the way. They’re probably just all out to get me.
Anyway, I’ll concentrate instead on one of the numerologist’s predications for me. “This year Valentine’s Day will be very interesting for you,” he said. “On February 14th something will begin for you — and end on the same day. It will be very short-lived.” Whatever could this be, I mused. A conversation with a cheesy crank caller professing his love for me? A marriage proposal? A headache? Watch this space.
Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine February 13th, 2011.
Which is apparently why I am disinclined towards romance. I knew it wasn’t just me. It was kala jaadu all along.
I’ll also admit this: While I’ve always been sceptical of astrology, palmistry, numerology and similar forms of fortune-telling, a tiny part of me really wants to believe that a stranger can take one look at my palm and tell me exactly what to do to become, let’s say, fabulously wealthy on the second Friday of the third month from February.
It is this proclivity I’m indulging by visiting a series of fortune-tellers before V-day. I’m hoping to get some sort of insight into the twists and turns my love life may take in the coming years — and I’m also dying to get a few laughs along the way. After all, fortune-tellers haven’t exactly been accurate in their predictions about my romantic engagements in the past, so I expect some levity. I remember clearly an appointment I had with a palmist in 2008 — she told me I would be ‘wed’ by 2009, which provoked a minute of deadly panic. “But I don’t want to be wed in 2009!” I had told the grand-looking lady. “I don’t know if I want to be wed at all!” My mother, who was sitting beside me at the time, bristled, and the palmist just smiled indulgently and patted my hand.
Of course, 2009 came and went without so much as a whisper of wedding bells, and I breathed several sighs of relief. And for this round of predictions, I chose a trusted friend as my fortune-telling partner in crime instead of my mother — less pressure that way, I thought. My friend, whom we’ll just call ‘Honey,’ was also going to get her fortune told and would serve as my ‘control subject.’
Our first appointment was with a well-known numerologist. This respected gentleman said he knew more about the study of Numerology than almost any other practitioner in Pakistan, and Honey and I felt we were in good hands. The only unnerving part of the experience was that he didn’t look either Honey or myself in the eye even once during the whole reading — he would either be staring at his calculations or gazing off into space while he told us the story of our lives. Oh well, I thought. Seers are entitled to some quirks, after all.
I perked up when, after using my birth date to do some calculations, he told me I was a ‘Number 11’ — a Master Number, which meant I was destined for greatness. “With great power comes great responsibility,” he added mysteriously. After scribbling a few more numbers onto a piece of paper he said I would be engaged by 2012 and married by 2013, years that are drawing near enough to provoke another minute of fear. My fate was sealed when he announced that I would also have a “big family” — it isn’t an exaggeration to say I left the place with quaking knees, because some of my worst nightmares feature mounds of soiled diapers and equally abundant children squealing “Mama!” as they ride roughshod over my sanity, not to mention my hopes and dreams.
Honey had a better time than I did, because the numerologist said she and her current partner were “well-matched.” He got a couple of things wrong, though. He said Honey’s man “worked in investment banking or finance,” which is far from the truth, and added that the boy in question “was always thinking about money” — which isn’t accurate either.
But all in all, the experience was interesting and thought-provoking: Honey was more interested in her man now than ever before, and I was busy thinking of ways to avoid my impending nuptials.
Our next stop was a palmist. This adorable old man was a huge flirt, and complimented Honey and I on our “youth and beauty” several times. It soon became obvious that the palmist had little other than romance on his mind, because he kept insisting that both Honey and I would be married (to our respective future husbands, not to each other) very soon. “When will I be married?” I asked him. “Issi waqt!” he roared (I looked around nervously). “Buy her a wedding present now!” He exclaimed, addressing Honey and gesturing towards me. “And when will she be married?” I asked, bobbing my head in Honey’s direction. “She will also get married now!” he pronounced. “It’s right around the corner!”
Honey and I left the palmist’s a little bamboozled. When we pressed him, he had told us a little bit about other aspects of our lives — he said I would be successful professionally and that Honey would be rich and live a long life — but that was about it.
After this Honey and I were more determined than ever to get a thorough picture of our future lives, which is why we decided to go to a noted Tarot card reader.
That is how we found ourselves in the aforementioned dimly-lit room, plucking esoteric cards from a pack and asking for them to be interpreted. The stately female who did our reading was impressive — she described our personalities precisely and fixed us with a gaze so penetrating that we all but spilled the tea she’d offered us. Maybe it was the stuffiness of her room, maybe it was her kajal… but Honey and I were definitely spooked, especially when she started going all kala jaado on us.
To me, she said I had an aversion to marriage because of certain ‘negative energies’ that other people might be directing towards me. “Does anyone at work have a grudge against you?” she asked throatily. “Is anyone jealous of your mother?” I could only shake my head at each question — to be honest, I thought that girl who glared at me at the coffee machine yesterday was just having a bad day.
To Honey, she said a man from the past would reveal his love to her very soon — which kind of flattered Honey, I could tell. The
session continued for over an hour, and we soon forgot to ask only about our love lives… Honey and I were hooked, line and sinker. We bombarded the lady with questions about our careers, our health, our travel plans and — I’m embarrassed to admit it — our dreams.
We left the lady’s tarot-reading room blinking and disoriented, clutching pieces of paper with Quranic verses printed on them — she had given us special prayers to recite. It was only after Honey and I had been jolted around in the car a few times that we came back to earth and realised that much of what the seer had told us could have applied to anyone, really.
We were, however, creeped out enough that we agreed not to discuss her predictions with anyone — except of course for all the thousands of people (hopefully) reading this piece.
It has not escaped me that each fortune-teller I’ve been to during my quest to divine the inner workings of my heart has told me I’ll be tying the knot soon. Even the Tarot lady said this, by the way. They’re probably just all out to get me.
Anyway, I’ll concentrate instead on one of the numerologist’s predications for me. “This year Valentine’s Day will be very interesting for you,” he said. “On February 14th something will begin for you — and end on the same day. It will be very short-lived.” Whatever could this be, I mused. A conversation with a cheesy crank caller professing his love for me? A marriage proposal? A headache? Watch this space.
Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine February 13th, 2011.