The Little Martian stumbles out of the Bombay Local and tumbles straight into the lap of destiny.
"The first class compartment is rather comfortable isn't it?" mutters his disheveled human best friend, but the Little Martian is distracted now and he he eyes the old man in saffron robes with open fascination.
“What are you?” He whispers, enthralled.
“That's just a babu “ I respond, amused.
“What's a ba-boo?” he starts, but before I can explain the intricacies of Hindu lore, he glides straight on over to the palmist's rickety mooda and slaps down a 500 rupee note on his open diary.
“Tell me everything you know o babooo!”
The old man with the gummy smile laughs, “Tum kaafi door se aye hon? “
The Martian, with his limited human linguistics, looks back bamboozled at the serene babu.
“Waka waka boom boom?” He replies, with a genuine hope for comprehension.
The babu chuckles and I step in to intervene and bridge the strange and funky gap between the extraterrestrial and the mystical. The babu speaks, and I translate, rough and hewn around the edges, but conveying the general message, I hope.
“Where are you from little green man?”
“Dunno. Outside Earth somewhere. “ Responds the Little Martian, automatically.
The babu shakes his head with a little smile. “Ah, but you know little man. You just choose to forget.”
The Little Martian flushes a shade of daisy green.
“We have to forget some things to be able to remember new things.” Mutters the Martian, eyes unfocused now.
The babu bares his gummy smile and his thin eyes glisten “Well said, Little Martian. “
“When is your birthday?” He asks, eyes drifting down to interplantary arragements and mysterious scrawls in his old classmate notebook. those notebooks really are quite versatile, I think to myself. The babu catches me staring, "Why blend in, when you were born to stand out?" he says, deadpan.
I snort.
"Your birthday, O martian?"
The Little Martian just shrugs. “My people don't believe in birthdays.”
“But there must have been a day! A day when you were born, a day when life started?” I interject, curious now, and feeling rather neglectful at the three years we have spent together, without ever quite celebrating the Martian.... perhaps I really am self centered.
“There is no one day. Life doesn't just start and end the way you sapiens think it does you know…” says the sage Little Martian.
The babu looks pleased with his answer. He takes the Martian's little green hand into his own and gazes at the funky swirls and ridges on the his palm.
His eyebrows quirk and he smiles as an invisible story plays out before his rheumy eyes. The babu's expressions morph from surprised delight to, drawn and reproachful, then bright once again.
“You have many stories to tell… young martian.” He tells him finally.
The Martian shrugs and sticks his tongue out, “Yup!” He breaks the solemnity of this great mystical bridging of our world with a silly little snort and I shake my head, half irritable and half happy. Nothing can get too heavy with the Little Martian around.
“And my future?” Asks the little Martina, his face propped up on his palms like a schoolgirl, “What of that? “
The babu just smiles, “Why ask, when you already know?”
The enigmatic Little Martian looks visibly smug but I can't help but feel a little ripped off. The old man has been fun to chat with, but it hasn't been worth a full five hundred.
He seems to sense my dissatisfaction and he gestures to the empty stool in front of him , “Would you like to try?" he asks.
“Sure.”
The old man looks at my palm thoughtfully and bursts out laughing.
“You have a foul temper.”
“Yes.” I shrug, resisting the urge to furrow my brows and prove him right.
“A big heart”
“Why thank you”
“Tactless”
“Gee thanks”
“Kind”
“I suppose”
“Three children”
“So much for my abs”
“A long and exciting journey”
“Oh”
“Someone you can laugh with”
“Awesome”
“A great love story!”
“Yay!” I almost break out in song. Who doesn’t want a whirlwind romance?
“And money? “ I ask, my impending phone bill on my mind. “Will I ever make much? “
“You will continue writing.” He replies, and I suppose I have my answer.
Better a passionate pauper than a sad socialite , I suppose...
I reach over to nudge the Little Martian but he has already drifted away, down the alleys of Kala Ghoda, chattering away to the street artists and stray cats.
The babu looks over at him once more and then back at me “There is more than meets the eye.“ He says simply, and then says nothing more.
I thank him , with the awkwardness of one who has had her destiny read by a stranger, and I head towards my mysterious little Martian instead. He has great stories to tell, and I wait, patiently, for him to finally let them flow. I catch up to him in the sunset din as he stares at oil paintings of dancing dervishes with a besotted expression.
“Do you like?” I ask, gesturing vaguely to the stunning oil painting.
"I love."
Our wallets lighten and the babu watches as, we drift away into the soft autumn sunset.
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