Garbage called astrology

I DO not think we Indians will ever get out of the clutches of astrologers, palmists, numerologists and other charlatans who live by making forecasts. It is clear as daylight that planets do not influence human behaviour in any way and all that is attributed to people according to the signs of the zodiac is absolute hogwash. In 1962 when eight planets were in conjunction (Ashta graha) and every single astrologer pronounced that the end of the world had come, nothing happened. The planets were in similar conjunction earlier this year.

This time soothsayers did not predict doomsday and were saved from proving themselves uncorrect again. But no matter how wrong they are proved over and over again, our gullibility is such that we continue to repose faith in their forecasts. Every newspaper and magazine has its paid astrologer. Readers pour over their predictions day after day, hoping for a windfall in their fortunes or in dread of a catastrophe to come. Nothing happens. Nevertheless we go on calling astrology a science, which it most certainly is not. We have become mentally sick.

The prime time for the tribe of forecasters is the eve of elections. They make a killing predicting who will win and which party will lose. Our widely circulating magazines like India Today, Sunday and The Week have already launched this exercise. The only exception so far is Outlook. The Asian Age has gone ahead with publishing on its front page other items from the astrologers’ lexicon: Rahu Kal, Yamagand, Gulika Kal. If we take this kind of rubbish in our daily diet, how can we hope to cultivate a scientific temper?

I have been provoked into writing this angry piece by a homeopath (I refrain from naming him as it might damage his practice) who besides doling out sugar-coated pills also indulges in astrology. He sent me his manuscript with a request that I write the foreward. I begged to be excused as I did not have the time to read what he had written. He wrote back in angry letter telling me that in his book he had predicted six months ago that India would make it to the finals of the World Cup cricket tournament. And if that proved to be wrong, I could dump his manuscript in the waste-paper basket. I wrote back on his own letter, "How can all educated men like you believe in this kind of medieval garbage?" That very day our team was out of reckoning in the tournament. The learned doctor’s manuscript was not dumped in the waste-paper basket, but sold to the kabariwala, as all books on astrology deserve to be.

Bless you !

We have gods and goddesses by the millions. And go on manufacturing new ones all the time. In Calcutta I discovered a goddess of the Howrah Bridge and one installed in the High Court compound known as High Courteshwari Devi. But I was more than surprised to learn that there is a goddess of sneezing. I am not sure about her name. I would not be surprised if it is something like Neechehari Devi. What is more surprising is that it is only sneezing that invokes the protection of the divine and not other uncontrollable human behaviour like yawning, hiccups or breaking wind. And it is universal. In Germany it is Gesundheit, in Arabic Yarhamal Allah and in Punjabi we say Rab tera bhalaa karey.

This knee-jerk reaction to sneezing has been there since time immemorial. My friend Amir Tuteja who lives in Washington and has done some research into the subject is of the opinion that it comes from the belief that sneezing ejects the soul out of the body. He quotes a learned librarian who found references to sneezing in the most ancient texts. She writes: "There are a lot of ancient beliefs about a separate soul. When you dream your soul is out of your body, so it can’t get back in if you are sneezing."

Another prevalent belief is that when you sneeze, the heart misses a beat. There is no truth in this as people often have a series of explosive sneezes and survive to sneeze again. Those who suffer from hay fever sneeze continuously without damaging their hearts.

In most societies sneezing is regarded as an ill-omen. If you sneeze as you set out for the office, you retrace your steps backwards into your home and start out again. Children are taught how to suppress a sneeze as it is building up by clamping their fingers on their nostrils or rubbing the back of their necks. A sneeze at a religious ceremony like a wedding is regarded most inauspicious. I am not sure if there is any scientific or medical justification for the awe in which people round the world regard a sneeze. Or is it just a bharm — superstition perpetuated through the ages.

Will to conquer

A brochure of a charitable organisation based in Panjim (Goa) had besides pictures of boys and girls learning different crafts on its back page, a poem which I found inspiring. I could not find the name of the author, but decided to share it with my readers. Its title is "State of Mind":

If you think you are beaten, you are;
If you think you dare not, you don’t;
If you’d like to win, but think you can’t
It’s almost certain you won’t
If you think you’ll lose, you’re lost
For out in the world we find
Success begins with a fellow’s will;
It’s all in the state of the mind.
If you think you’re outclassed, you are;
You’ve got to think high to rise.
You’ve got to be sure of yourself, before
You can ever win a prize.
Life’s battles don’t always go
To the stronger or faster man;
But sooner or later the man who wins
Is the one who thinks he can.

When a British D.C. gifted away his wife

My father late Lok Nath Bajaj passed his civil engineering from Thomson College Roorkee in December, 1913. When World War I started in 1914, he joined service as a military engineer and continued with it for another 10 years. In 1924 while posted at Northern Command headquarters at Rawalpindi, he saw an advertisement in The Tribune for the job of a District Engineer for Kangra district at Dharamsala. Since he had been released from the Army, he took up the post at Dharamsala in November, 1924, and continued there for another 22 years. From the very start, he won the complete confidence of his British D.C.S. by his integrity and his command over English language. Another point in his favour was that during annual tours to far-off Lahaul Spiti he could walk faster from Manali to Rohtang pass (13,000 feet) than his British officers on horse-back.

By 1946 World War II had ended and the British I.C.S. steel frame had softened and were in a relaxed and friendly mood towards Indian officers. A very easygoing young I.C.S. official Hibbert, happened to be the D.C. Kangra, who took my father as an advisor rather than a subordinate officer. On March 31, 1946, my father sent a big heap of files for Hibbert’s signatures and hidden somewhere in the files was a single sheet seeking his approval.

"If approved, Mrs Hibbert be married to me".

Unsuspecting Hibbert fell headlong in the trap and signed on the dotted line.

Next day on April 1 when my father confronted the D.C. with his orders, Hibbert was not found wanting in his sense of humour:

"Mr Lok Nath Bajaj I have already had enough of her. I am happy she has some takers."

(Contributed by Jai Dev Bajaj, Pathankot)