So, my Mum always says: “if it sounds too good to be true, then it probably is...”
a comment that would often earn a strenuous eye roll from me, and in no way deter me from whatever gimmick or plan I was being sucked into at that time. Usually it was the free scratch cards found in the weekend paper that always promised some sort of amazing prize... a holiday, a wad of cash or a shiny new car... the catch being that it cost a small fortune to make the phone call to claim the prize... a small fortune that usually was billed directly to my Mum (it was her phone I used in days before iphones) and the prize would never really exist. But I still desperately wanted to believe it did.
My naivety was very much my cryptonite when I went travelling in India in my mid twenties. A visit to an palm astrologer in the little town I visited caused much distress when, after he’d showed me a very impressive photo album of him and an array of important public figures from Nelson Mandela to Oprah Winfrey, proceeded to tell me that I had a serious case of bad ju-ju.
“What will happen?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer.
“Many things, Madam. First thing is, within three months of today, a terrible acccideng will happen and you will lose either your leg, your sight or your life.”
I gasped, trying to
Work out which would be the lesser of the evils.
“And also, madam. I am very sorry to tell you. Your father, he will die this year on 27th August from massive heart attack.
He said it matter of factly. By now I was panicking. I couldn’t breathe as I racked my brain remembering that my mum had recently mentioned my Dad’s increasing cholesterol levels.
“But surely, there must be something to do. How can we stop this!!??” I was fighting tears, the responsibility of knowing this information ahead of time was choking me.
The palm astrologer looked at me through his thick glasses. At this point, for the first time since I arrived in his little fortune telling den, I noticed he was young. Like really young. 18 maybe?
“Madam, we can do something. Poojah ceremony.”
“Okay. Do it then.” I begged.
“Okay, Okay, no problem. We will. I think 17 ceremonies.”
17 seemed a lot but I agreed if it meant saving my limbs and of course my Dad.
“It will cost you 400 usd for the service of this Madam, it is very important we do it quickly. I take credit card here?” He produced a card machine.
And then i heard my Mum’s voice in my head. I could see her in my minds eye shaking her head and calling me a ‘sucker.’
I excused myself quickly and left, promising I would return shortly. And then I was outside, I looked around. I reminded myself where I was. And I began to laugh. A little at first, but then more manically. I allowed myself to remember the photo album of what was clearly super imposed photos of this TEENAGER and all of the famous people, including one photo of Gazza!
I walked away, feeling a sense of pride at being able to protect myself from a definite scamming... but I can’t pretend that I have never jay walked since... just in case.
