Blurred Prophecies

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Excerpts from ‘Some Mistakes Have No Pardon’

‘Son, this is the paper that the astrologer wrote. I kept it in the bottom of my trunk and it still is with me, unmoved, unread, untouched for decades. You can see this son, if you want and if you like to understand the prophecies.’ She handed over the page to Girish. Enigmatic words of an esoteric science by a still unintelligible fortune-teller. The astrologer’s story was one among many stories his mother told him and repeated many times till Girish had his own stories to tell. Better, mother Parvati did not understand then the obscured language of an ambiguous sounding astrologer. But Girish, when he grew young and bit more than young, understood the prophecy; word by word, phrase by phrase, grammar by grammar. He understood the words and understood the gaps between the words…and he understood the dotted lines and he understood the lines between the lines.

As the lines on the palm and forehead of Girish turned darker and thicker, as he matured along the highs and lows of life-wave, the hazy and blurred phrases shook off the dust of time and dried the moisture of pain, thus being vivid like an image on a carved glass. The incidences in his life ahead sharpened the blunt edges of diamond and the hitherto blurred prophecies found meaning…found reflection…like that in a mirror.

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