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  • Writer's pictureVedashree Khambete Sharma

I Believe In Jinxes

Yes, yes, I know what that sounds like. I know we're not supposed to, being educated, modern-thinking people of the 21st century etc. And believe me, I didn't want to believe in jinxes, the evil eye, bad juju or whatchamacalit.

I tried not to believe. My mum told me I get affected by the evil eye easily and I pooh-poohed her. Moms, I thought, what do they know? Turns out, A HECK OF A LOT.

Because EVERY single time I put up a half-decent selfie, I fall ill. Every time I have book news about a new release, something terrible my way comes. After Swear You Won't Tell? released, I suffered from a dislocated toe, a slipped disc and got a massive eczema attack that lasted for a year. So far this year, with Fatal Mistakes about to come out, I've come down with Covid, got a dislocated toe (again), had to get two molars extracted and now, days after the cover release, I'm down with a cold and a cough that makes me want to hug a blanket and be lost to the world of men.

I mean COME ON. Or as I would actually say it right now, CUB OTH.

At some point, it stops being just a coincidence and starts feeling... personal.

Who are these assholes who see my picture and go 'Die, bitch!' in their heads? Who can't bear the thought of me happy? I mean, sure, I haven't had the kind of life Khaled Hosseini might want to write a bestseller about, but it hasn't exactly been roses through and through. Then why do these complete dung beetles think I don't deserve a bit of sunshine now and then? Who are they? Trolls, yes, but surely they're busy with the ACTUALLY famous people? The ones with hundreds of thousands of followers and fans. Then who out there is sending me - mildly known, but mostly ignored me, these get-fucked vibes? WHO? Put down that voodoo doll with the curly hair and show yourselves, you cowards.

Its some powerful bad juju these guys are throwing my way too. I surrendered to gemology and black threads, prayer and panic healing and still, this shit finds its way to me. And DON'T tell me I'm imagining it. Sure, you can call it a coincidence the first eleventy thousand times it happens, but sooner or later, you have to BELIEVE. Mulder was right all along. This shit is real and it's OUT THERE, man. I seen it. I'm livin' it. And I'm sick of it!

So, please. If you can't bear my guts, just forget I exist. And if you don't find me entirely dislikeable, for the love of god, send some good vibes my way. I can use all the help I can get. I'll be right here, covered in a small pile of Turkish evil eye beads, with all my (hopefully intact) appendages crossed.

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