This post is a sham. It may be wrapped in the guise of a warm-and-fuzzy childhood tale, but at the heart of it all, it’s just shameless self-promotion. As discerning readers you have probably come to expect that from this blog anyway, but once in a while, we like to state the obvious.
My mom takes her astrology very seriously. She’s drawn up jaatakams and janm-kundlis of mine from the day I howled my way into the universe. This is how I think the story happened — It was a dark and stormy night, many many moons ago. Barely a few days after a certain kid we all know was dropped on her head, a nervous mom stumbled her way over to the family astrologer, cloaked in a black shawl. Darting indoors, she presented the freak-kid in question to the kindly bespectacled astrologer, a Mr X Y Z Krishnamurthy, who peered at it suspiciously. You sure this is what the hospital handed over to you? he asked. Yes, I’m positive, she said. Okay, he sighed. Sit down. I’ll see what I can do.
Charts were drawn, planets were nudged around and a couple of lunar ecplises were forced in. And finally a game plan was created. She will be a lawyer, he announced, his voice echoing suitably for effect. The clouds thundered ominously and prophetically. And a satisfied mom went home, dreaming visions of her dotty on the bench. No not the techie consultant kind, the weird wig kind.
The years passed and a harassed mommy went through yetanudder day of dotty-dear refusing to do as she was told and counter-arguing everything. The whole lawyer thing wasn’t apparently working out like planned. Checking the fine-print in the astrologer contract, she saw to her relief that there was a money-back guarantee. Aha! she said, and promptly appeared at the astrologer’s doorstep. After some machinations, a dinosaur egg was hatched.
One summer evening, I had just returned home after playing hopscotch — a pigtailed kid, clueless about the things life had in store for her. I met Krishnamurthy uncle today, said mom. He says you will be a big celebrity one day! Images of being a famous-yet-mysterious, Zorro-type persona rushed into my ten-year old head. Really?, I asked eagerly. Yes, your horoscope is identical to N T Rama Rao, said mom excitedly. A pink splotch of strawberry Complan remains on the kitchen wall today, bearing testament to my visceral reaction at that moment. My head swam with kaleidoscopic visions of red pants, shiny shirts, industrial strength make-up and glued-on wigs. (What’s with the recurring wig theme, anyway?) You mean I will raise my thick eyebrows menacingly while thrusting my hips at Sridevi and Jayaprada?, I asked nervously. No silly, said mom dismissively. You will become a famous politician one day.
Heavy-duty words that followed me for life. Hounded by them, I became a geeky engineer instead. I avoided bright lights and never wore cheap makeup or glitter. I went into denial each time I aced a civics test or recited the preamble to the Constitution of India by-heart. And bushy eyebrows still freak me out.
But all that is a-changing today. This drama-queen is asking for your votes and becoming the very actor-turned-politican she loathed to be. And unabashedly so. Much joy. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this blog has been nominated at the IndiBloggies in two categories — IndiBlog of the year and Best Designed IndiBlog. Ahem. Cool, no? Yes we are in some august company, and it is only January. Yeah okay, enough with the banal puns. Now pliss to be the nice readers that you are and head over to the IndiBloggies site and do the needful.
Of course, regardless of who you choose, I will continue to torment you with my nonsense, surreptitiously packaging it in a wispy cloud template so you never see it coming. But if you do vote for this madhouse, you shall have my eternal thanks and all associated niceties. What? You want more? Oh fine, I’ll try not to generate kids that end up looking like Balakrishna. No wait. I can’t promise that. I’ll have to check with Krishnamurthy uncle first.