By Devraj Singh Kalsi
Although I have always believed that God keeps his plans hidden and reveals them only at the right time, a recent episode where someone conveyed through a reliable source that my end was close, has not shaken but awakened me to a new realisation — the obvious truth that life is indeed momentary and nothing more than a dream. However, the breach of the confidentiality clause and the choice of an inappropriate messenger made me seek an audience with God for further clarity. Just like question papers get leaked, perhaps some divinely gifted human beings also have access to exclusive, insider information from none other than God.
Before the prediction of my passing away could bloom into a reality, the man who turned it simpler than making a weather forecast had to attend the funeral of his sister-in-law. He was unprepared for the funeral. Focused on me and obsessed with my premature exit, he could not employ his special powers to correctly identify the first person in the queue, awaiting despatch. I wondered in case he had got this spot on, his reputation as a misfortune-teller would have received a tremendous boost, just like pollsters get a huge appreciation if their survey comes closest to the result.
His grand plans to throw a lavish party to celebrate my popping-off remain in suspension until a sudden cardiac arrest or an accident terminates my worldly journey, enriching his life and giving him more solace than what my soul deserves. Although he goes around building the image of being a blessed soul, his predictions have a slimmer chance of coming true than the revival of a moribund political party.
Conquering the fear of death has been attempted to be made easy with divine prayers over the years, but the potential of fear to enter through locked rooms has never been questioned. This forewarning made me expedite my plans to complete my next novel without wasting a single day as the projection was for the hasty, untimely expiration of my lease of life. Before death came knocking, I decided to knock once more with my manuscript at the glass doors of publishers and hope the letters of rejection arrive before I say goodbye.
Not a keen devotee who spends quality time in divine remembrance, I thought I should seek clarity from the remitter. Had God really chosen an emissary to convey his secret about my untimely demise? In my prayers, I urged him to grant an audience and respond to my query in brief if he did not like to talk much about it. Hence it was a big surprise when God not only appeared in my dream to address my grievances but also allowed me the opportunity to seal a profitable deal.
I was direct, sharp, and swift in my approach. I asked him the truth about death being imminent in my case. Seeking confirmation of what floated in the air, I raised the question of shady characters getting cherry-picked to spell doom. Cutting me short, he said I had accumulated a lot of bad karma in life, and I could not escape the punishment for it.
I remembered I had ditched many true lovers in the past and their curses were pending. He expressed worry that I was not leading my life according to his plan. He disclosed one example in this regard – I was supposed to die due to alcohol excess, but I had not shown the urge to drink even one peg. He had expected me to guzzle alcohol to destroy my health like several writers had done earlier.
God said, He never changed his plans to rewrite destiny, but my recent set of good deeds was a big surprise even though I was not supposed to perform such impossible tasks. Hence, it was a foregone conclusion that I would last longer than expected, as the battery life was charged up and still in good working condition. Despite my earlier backlog of bad karma, my current inclusion of good deeds in the basket had earned me brownie points. I asked him if he could specify the date or year, but he said it was decades. The plural meant another twenty years at least. This gave me the confidence to challenge the man who made a wrong prediction and scare him by saying I knew when he was supposed to say adieu after a conversation with God even though I had no idea about it.
Since God was in a jovial mood, I decided to try the art of negotiation. Making a quick list of the priorities, I kept quiet as he was supposed to know what was going on in my mind. To offer clarity, I chose to specify but he looked quite unfazed to hear the sober litany of demands. He construed it as materialistic – just another example of greed for worldly possessions. I said when everything in this world is temporary –and he would take it back after my death – then he should not hesitate to give it to me for a temporary period.
As I writer, I felt I should have added the blessing to churn out best-sellers like many other writers. I often wonder what makes potboilers possible. He understood I was nowhere close to being a great writer so the best option to avail was the opportunity to become a successful novelist. I made it categorically clear that great writers get memorials and tributes whereas I was interested in a mansion and royalty cheques with a loyal reader base so long as I wrote.
After mentioning this desire, I thought God would perhaps vanish from the scene, like a genie. I told him that I was aware that people talk about failure as the pillar of success. I told him many such pillars were ready, so he should proceed to build the roof of success. He liked my sense of humour and urged me to make good use of it as humour alone would unlock many doors for me. It was a clear indication that I should focus on writing comedies.
My dream was about to reach its end as it was past daybreak. The sunlight was filtering in through the window. Everything in this conversation was delightful including the prediction of my end due to alcohol. When heartbreak and other setbacks did not convert me into an alcoholic, I wondered what kind of intense tragedy could compel me to hit the bottle. As I began to imagine possibilities, I thought maybe while returning from a blockbuster film party, some drunken fellow would ram his car into mine on the highway or my tipsy driver would lose control and hit the lamppost, leading to my death due to an accident caused by alcohol and drunken driving!
Devraj Singh Kalsi works as a senior copywriter in Kolkata. His short stories and essays have been published in Deccan Herald, Tehelka, Kitaab, Earthen Lamp Journal, Assam Tribune, and The Statesman. Pal Motors is his first novel.
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