Between faded horoscopes and "Ballsbridge University" degrees: On Lady Luck, a builder, fake PhDs, and a Chief Minister who chose to sprint away.
The only thing feminine in “luck” is its fickle nature.
The down-on-his-luck (so he said) builder came to me through a mutual friend, clutching his tattered horoscope. My reputation as a seer was not built on the “says what you want to hear” charm of Asterix’s soothsayer, nor on the absurd serendipity of that old Persian tale where everything a false prophet uttered came true, a story recycled across countless Asian folklore. It exists only because of yarns spread by people like the friend who brought him, who himself earlier laughed and told me that the builder had already consulted at least 5,000 astrologers and tantrics.
“So what’s your bloody problem?” I growled, looking at his smudged, dog-eared, cello-tape-stitched astro roadmap. “You have more than enough money, your family is healthy, your children are doing fine, and the only one straying in your relationship is you.”
I knew him from college. Back then, he was the least likely man to end up driving a three-pointed-star car. Just a tall, fair chap who loved gossip.
“I’ve been racking up losses no matter what I do these past few years,” he lamented miserably.
“You had an insane run of luck for eighteen years. Now that cycle is over. The old template won’t work any more,” I said, glancing at the app where I had entered his birth data, refusing to touch his grimy parchment. “And since you were spoiled by easy profits during the real estate boom, I’m sure you shut down every new venture within a year of not seeing returns.” “How did you know that?” he asked, startled. It was psychology, not astrology, and it landed too close to home.
“Will things improve?” he still asked, hopefully. “Hardly,” I replied. “You’ll remain well off. But the only area where you might succeed now is work connected to education, institutions, or public welfare.”
Now fuck off and you owe me a drink.
The last I heard, he was still hunting for cheap land to make a quick buck, banking on endless “Vikas” projects and purchased a new Mercedes. As for academics, whether due to my advice or not, he bought himself a PhD from a diploma mill, spending a couple of thousand dollars, and now styles himself as a Doctorate in Humanities from Balls Bridge University, Zambia. He even got our college alumni association to felicitate him for his doctorate, naturally footing the tea and snacks bill.
“Brother, you never know when luck favours you,” explained a young friend from the neighbouring state of Manipur. His family being the only sports archery equipment makers in the state.
“We were just invited to an exhibition for Modi Ji’s birthday. Our Chief Minister saw our range, was impressed, called us to his office, and himself offered a significant amount as a grant to help us build a proper factory and scale up production. He said we were making the state proud.”
I then recalled my own brief encounter with my state Assam’s Chief Minister at “Advantage Assam” exhibition who stopped by every stall to dispel his wisdom, encouragement and advice. But who, upon spotting me, first exclaimed, “Oh, you…” then smoothly recovered his composure and continued, “I will personally come to your site and speak to you.”
He sprinted away dodging the next four or five stalls, least I followed him...
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