I am a realist. I am a dreamer too. I assure you I do not see visions, or portend doom or the visit of the Apocalypse. But I, like most of us, love to say “I told you so.” And God, what a lot of opportunities I get to say these most beautiful words.
My father used to speak these sentiments in a slightly different style. He is a man of many words and never let the opportunity go by when he could say, “What I tell you now will not make sense. Ten years down the line you will understand the true meaning of what I am speaking to you at this moment.” And these words have been repeated many times as my life unfolded with events and happenings over the past forty years, the number denoting not my age, but the blooming of my understanding and maturity.
Ten years ago I moved to Madras and my octogenarian uncle, an astrologer by choice, peeked into the planet grid of my horoscope, unasked I tell you. He took the trouble to warn me about all the possible problems I could get into ten years down the line when major Dasa movements would take place. He was worried that he wouldn’t be around to warn me in person. He told me that all my investments should be in Fixed Deposits with Banks and not to depend on shares and Private Financial Institutions. He could foretell the dire consequences of the budget presented by our Finance Minister to a middle class tax payer like me. What a vision!
I have now taken over the mantle of predicting happenings, though I stick to the near future.
I love telling my son, “Don’t eat seafood as it will aggravate your allergies.” He thinks I am just being difficult.
I enjoy informing my daughter that she has too many clothes in her cupboard as we are travelling in an auto to the latest sale in Mylapore.
I relish warning my husband to go slow on the fried snacks – at his age, come on what else – as he is unpacking the parcel of chips and savouries that I bought for the weekend.
I can smell the rain – yeah, yeah even through the smog and stench of Singara Chennai – when the cumulus clouds crowd the sky with their curls and cotton-wool clusters and the weather is hot. The month of course is April-May and my audience hide their sniggers, given the hot summer season.
I take pleasure in predicting a loss in the toss, run rate, wickets and the match of our erstwhile cricketers as soon as the team is announced. You must agree that I am right most of the time.
I can recite and pre-empt most of the scenes, dialogues, actions of our silver screen sagas and idiot box soaps. That I presume does not come under extraordinary talents of soothsaying, but anyway it is a talent of sorts.
Meanwhile, as you read this account you may be stifling that huge yawn.
And remember, I told you so!
(Folks! Have been away–so missed Ancestors! Instead here is a piece that i wrote some time ago. I will be writing all about my rendezvous with Paul Walters!! What a lovely time we had together…watch this space)