The man who saw Tomorrow

He’s advised prime ministers and believes that men are too inferior to comprehend love, but beneath the celebrity skin. Bejan Daruwalla would love that elusive quiet

“Don’t forget to mention my dashing looks and my fine mop of hair,” chortled Bejan Daruwalla, when I last spoke to him over the phone. That he resembles a Norse god after a particularly fattening feast, does not trouble the famous astrologer in the least. A few days earlier, on a wet, gloomy day, I had met him at his apartment in Colaba — ensconced in his chair, surrounded by a gentle clutter of miniature Ganpati statues, candles, books and stray sheets of paper.

“Do they mean anything,” I ask, pointing to the colourful stones mounted on the heavy rings that seem to weigh his fingers down. “These? I like pretty things,” he said mischievously. “But if people think they signify something deeper, I don’t discourage it.”
Bejan is used to strangers asking him questions, and he delivers his lines with the practiced ease of an actor who was born to entertain. “I am a Cancerian, and we are known for our intuition, our great psychic abilities, which play an important role in my predictions. There are many calculations involved when it comes to looking into the future, but I mainly base my predictions on three planets — Mercury, Uranus and Pluto.” That scientists have knocked down Pluto from the planetary fold doesn’t sway Bejan in the least. “We don’t agree with those scientists,” he says, waving his hands agitatedly. “It hasn’t changed anything.”

His caregiver, Tehmi, hovers in the background, worried that he’ll overexert himself. Bejan’s past is a colourful one; the astrologer has had his fair share of family drama.

“Oh let’s not get into that. My wife is in Ahmedabad, and I love her very much. Let’s leave it at that. Everyone will fight with me. They will ask me, ‘Why are you raking up the past?’”

In his opinion, the power that a wife, or any woman for that matter, wields is a formidable one. “When I was in Pakistan, an army air marshall consulted me. And when I asked him what need was there for such a powerful man to come to me, he said, ‘My wife asked me to. What choice do I have?’ And I answered, ‘You are right’.” He laughs loudly.

“I always ask Ganesha, assuming there is a second life, to ensure that I’m reborn in a quiet, unknown, place. No publicity, no high drama. I’ll work in a temple.”

Bejan’s voice reaches a crescendo, before disappearing into silence. If astrology hadn’t ‘happened’ to him, he would have been living the life of an English professor, discussing women, love and poetry with college students. “When I was in college, my friend took me to meet his father, who was an astrologer, and the man looked at me and said that it was my destiny to be a famous astrologer; that it was my destiny to help the flag of India fly forward in the world. It had nothing to do with intellect. It was my karma.”

Bejan was 19 at the time, but he took the astrologer’s prediction to heart and embarked on a journey, which has taken him to the pinnacle of success. Besides popularising and branding his famous GaneshaSpeaks, he’s predicted the death of Sanjay Gandhi, the rise of the BJP, the Kargil War, the downfall of the Left in parliament, among others. “And I will say this, the Ahemdabad bombers will be caught by the end of September. They will be caught, but the cycle of violence will not end. A new army of terrorists will rise.” A dramatic pause, and with his eyes shut tight, he resumes, “I feel that there’s a chance that Bombay [sic] will be under threat.” He grins. “But I could be wrong. I am only human; I won’t make any excuses.”

In his long and successful career, the astrologer has walked with kings, or rather, been consulted by prime ministers, cricket stars, actors…the lot. But he hasn’t lost his common touch. He appears to take everything in his stride — be it personal tragedies like the birth of two mentally-challenged sons, a recent heart surgery, or success stories like being consulted by former prime ministers on the nation’s security. “It’s because of my father. He was a powerful weaving master, and controlled seven mills. He was a brute of a man, breaking the backs of the people who worked for him. He was such a presence; all the leaders I have met pale in comparison. He had the greatest voice in the world. Ohh, what a beautiful and powerful voice he had, and when he shouted….”
Bejan covers his face with hands, his eyes peering through his fingers, as if his father was looming over him. “And then, one day I saw him down on his knees, mopping the floor. He looked up at me and said, ‘Some water has spilled, and I’m worried that your mother will slip’. Human beings are complex creatures; we come in all shapes and sizes, and are capable of committing vile deeds as well as noble acts. I find it tremendously exciting.”

And Bejan has been privy to the best and worst in people. The priest-confessor relationship is epitomised in the questions he’s asked: Will I be successful? Will I be powerful? Will I be rich? Will I have any health problems? “There is a difference in the questions men and women ask. Men are reticent about issues concerning love; not so women.” But then, Bejan believes that men cannot love. “Love belongs to women. We are not equipped to understand love completely. We are inferior,” he says.

Bejan is not tempted to predict his future. “I’m so involved in the future of other people, that I have no curiosity about my future; I know that Ganesha is with me. I talk to him,” he says simply. He finds no conflict between his Zoroastrian beliefs and his love for the Hindu God. “But people are funny. If I predict a happy future, most are unhappy. It’s almost as if they want something calamitous to happen; then they’re happy. I take health seriously — I give my clients mantras, and so on. And in some cases, when the prediction is dire, I’m happiest when proven wrong.”

But Bejan tries to steer clear from predicting a client’s death. “You don’t want to go down that road. If you’re right, and there is a death, the sorrow I feel is too much. If I’m wrong, the client will come back to me and say, ‘See, I’m still alive’.”

But there are two questions that few ask him. “They never ask me this,” he shaking his head dolefully. “One is ‘When will I meet God?’ The other, ‘When will I find true happiness?’” I can’t resist, so I ask him when I’ll find happiness. Taking down a few personal details, he consults some ancient tomes, mutters to himself, and then says clearly: “In 2017, my dear, you will find happiness.”
t_anjali@dnaindia.net