Mr Giridhar seemed to my like any other man, except he was a bit too grumpy. He spoke as if he preselected each sentence, sculptured and unified them so much so that the words he spewed failed to have that musical quality. I’m uncertain whether to regard him as being mindful or an eccentric man. Either way it is futile. He’s of little help to me anyway. I’d be the last man to consult a self proclaimed seer to win the love of my life. But Rakesh is nothing like me. He always had this fascination with the masters of the almanac. And why did I accompany him? Curiosity, man. I try to be as rational as possible when it comes to making cardinal decisions, and finding a soulmate is indeed a hassle, especially to men like Rakesh who’ve been resentful all his life as he gave in to the statements made by certain modern day Casanaovas of our class.
Rakesh and I have been best friends for twenty years. If it was not for the fight that broke out between us in grade five, we would have hit the twenty five year mark. He is a strong guy; I believe he is equipped with the gusto to provide the necessities for a family. Rakesh’s father, Shantharam worked in the post office, the only one in town. He was always a busy man unlike my father who knew his way with the flora. My father had fixed working hours and decent pay for a gardener. His master, Mr. Tripathi was a generous man who looked after his service men well. My siblings and I almost always had the opportunity to savour the delicacies made in bug houses.