THE MAGNIFYING GLASS
Short Story
by Snigdha Agrawal
He dabbled in palmistry, as was quite commonly practiced by the Hindu Brahmins. As a child, I was intrigued by watching and hearing his interpretations, making sense of deep straight lines and cobwebbed patterns on palms. He and the seeker would most often be closeted in a room for privacy. On occasions, when the door was left ajar, I would peep inside, overtaken by curiosity. Peering close to the outstretched hand, moving the small magnifying glass framed in steel with a steel handle, with frown lines on his forehead, he studied and gave his interpretations. I’m not sure if they came true to his predictions. But he did have regulars, who made repeated visits when some went off the mark or when some were spot on. As a token of gratitude, for predictions that came true, some gifted him with a box of sweets, knowing he had a sweet tooth and that was the only thing he accepted. Nothing else.
Once a friend with family in tow arrived with expensive items. They were childless for many years. He had predicted they would become parents someday. True enough, the stork visited when the couple was in their forties. Dad blessed the baby and sent them on their way returning the expensive gifts they offered him in gratitude. In a jocular mood, he commented ‘Come on Sudhir, it was you who worked hard to become a father. I have not contributed anything towards that”. “But you gave us hope Dada (elder brother) and that made us not give up” he admitted with humility.
Dad was not schooled in this profession, nor was it a profession. It was a hobby like many of his other hobbies. He poured over books to acquire knowledge and of its practice in many cultures. When I asked him how he came about developing this hobby, he shared the story of the Hindu sage Valmiki credited to have written a book comprising 567 stanzas, the title of which translates in English as The Teachings of Valmiki Maharshi on Male Palmistry, adding that in the 16th century the art of palmistry was actively suppressed by the Catholic Church (source Wikipedia). “So, does that mean you only read palms of men?” curiosity made me ask, never having seen him read a lady’s palm. “Oh! That is more a cultural thing in our society where there are clear boundaries drawn about interacting with the opposite sex. Yes…intellectual discourses are okay, but touching a woman’s palm is a big NO. I guess these barriers will come down as our society opens up” he assured me with confidence.
“What about reading my palm?” I pleaded. Again, he had that big NO written across his face, explaining a palmist never…never reads the palms of his family members. I was disappointed. Many years later, around the time he had stopped reading palms; to cover that disappointment he surprised me with “Now that I’m done with reading palms here, take the magnifying glass as a gift from me. You may need it when reading the contours on world maps” knowing very well my interest in Geography, having majored in that subject at graduation level.
That was the best gift I got from Dad, apart from his countless blessings. In our many moves from one city to another, the circular steel framed glass with steel handles got lost, recovered, lost, and recovered. In our last move, I searched high and low and rummaged through all the packing boxes and my spirits plummeted at not finding my gift in any of them. I blamed the packers for flicking this item, of vintage value, considering its manifold usage. I kicked myself for being careless and not carrying it on my person, whilst the moving-in was in progress.
Two years after settling into our new home, the gift was rediscovered in the most unexpected place. I was on a spring-cleaning spree; to reduce the overspilling wardrobe of clothes I had outgrown by two sizes, angry at myself for having piled on the weight that stubbornly refused to leave me. Out of habit, before trashing clothes, I’d check out the pockets, in the hope of finding forgotten cash and the consequent opportunity to splurge on other things. But what I found was far more precious than a bundle of cash. In one of the back pockets of my pants, there was something wrapped in a cloth bag, which I first opened half-heartedly and then jumped one foot above the ground, to find the most precious gift of my life. I retrieved it with a big sigh of relief. Thereafter, it found a special place in my locker. I considered it more expensive than all the jewellery I owned, said without an iota of exaggeration. Sometimes the simplest things mean the most. More importantly, this gift symbolized the love of the giver, more than the gift itself.
Recently, I noticed my six-year-old grandson, evincing interest in the magnifying glass, when I showed him how the letters grow magically looking through the glass. He got all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and has already staked his claim on this gift. “May I keep this for goods Grandma?”, to which I didn’t wait for a second to respond. “This belonged to your great grandfather which he gifted to me. I will be happy to give it to you for keepsakes. It has passed through loving hands and passing it on to you will only enhance its value. Treat it as a family heirloom my little one”. He was happy as a lark, declaring to his parents the gift that would be passed on to him. I no more worry as to the fate and future of the magnifying glass!
(Published in THE GIFT, a Sweetycat Press Anthology by Steve Carr. Date of publication 16th October 2022).
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