I
was told by someone who could ‘tell’ the future that I’d die aged 32 years.
From my 31rst to 33rd birthdays, I awoke 760 mornings wondering
whether:
a)
I was actually dead and only play-acting/dreaming
at living on earth.
b)
I was dead and this was heaven (didn’t then
believe I’d go to hell; wise with age, now am unsure of my otherworldly
destination).
c)
this was my last sunrise on the planet. Entire
days after days went in non-productive anticipation, lazily speculating how the
end would come. Curiosity might have killed the cat, not me.
d)
“Yeh bhi
koi jeena hai.”
Haven’t met
that person again to prove that something was either wrong with the
calculations in my horoscope or
the lines on my palm or the evaluation of either. It’s been over twenty years
since then and I’m still around. Maybe
s/he habitually played such jokes on gullible types.
Another
time, a ‘parrot-astrologer’ had to be led away because, after seeing my cards,
the hysterical laughter that ensued resulted in a near collapse of his/her
respiratory system. The parrot, I was subsequently informed, died of unknown
causes, but with grin on its beak. Friends comforted me by saying that I’d
earned ‘punya’, sending souls to their next birth in happy circumstances.
Not one to
learn from experience, and curious about matters mysterious, I recently wanted
to get my horoscope cast and read. I confessed
the thoughts to Sri Husband (didn’t I tell you I wasn’t one to learn from
experience?).
The
bellow “whatever for?” was followed by “At your age, the astrologer can read
your ‘itihaas’, not ‘bhavishya’.”
“Just..”
I whimpered, “.. curious.”
Sri
Husband, in one of his rare, kind moods, accessed the www to find out what the
future had in store for me. A zodiac signs ‘know-your-year’ site said I’d be
hiccupping for a month because of a dinner eaten at a Goan shack that hadn’t
seen a tourist since 2013.
Sri Husband’s
aside: “… I can foretell the shack-owner’s bank-balance more accurately.”
An online
Tarot-Madam said, if I’m a Hindu and if I have a baby or three, I could get
included as a candidate in the next polls. Apparently, with that, my win at the
next all-India election was a sure-sure thing. I didn’t know the future came
with conditions and ‘ifs’. Sri Husband’s retort: “I’ve missed my vocation. I
should wear a shiny turban, long crumpled kurta, cheap chappals, some cowdie
shells around my neck, colourful stones in rings on every finger, not shave for
many weeks and put up a selfie on a site like this. Not much investment, great
returns, no tax to pay. I could keep a pet nandi-bayil maybe.” (Clarification:
he wasn’t talking about the aforementioned three babies here, just tarot-card
reading.)
Me: “There
must be some truth in it.”
Sri Husband,
mood still intact: “How come I’ve never read any forecast that says ‘those born
under this sign are morons and will forever make stupid decisions’?”
“There must be
some code of honour that only nice things can be told.”
“That would be
hiding the truth, no? Or at least sugar-coated?”
I put up a defence: “Our ancestors were no
fools. They’d studied the solar system and its effect on us. Horoscopes have
accurately predicted many things.”
“Like?” he
asked, and added, “What about the inaccurate predictions? Or the blatant
failures? Perhaps through the centuries those documentations have got
destroyed. Someone must have audited the results. Our ancestors were smart,
right?”
The benevolent
mood had tapered; Sri Husband had gone into common-sense mode: “If they’d known
about undiscovered planets, and the changes in some orbits, they’d have amended
the charts and re-formulated the calculations.”
Wanting to
bring back the cheer, I agreed: “Of course, of course. In fact, we Indians can
and should prove to the world that we’re open to such changes. I have an idea…”
A look of
horror came over Sri Husband’s face. Happens whenever I say those last four
words. I paid no heed, just bashed on regardless. “…I can prove to you that
horoscopes make sense. We should collect somehow, the times, dates and places
of birth of all the passengers who perish in air/ train crashes. Or the
Peshawar school-kids. The moment and cause of death should be the same, right?”
Sri Husband’s
expression told me he was impressed. “You’ve started to think,” he remarked.
“Don’t overdo it, might tire yourself out.”
Feedback: sheelajaywant@yahoo.co.in
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