A decade ago, in the middle of a heated argument, one of my close acquaintances called me a “hypocrite.” I lost it. I broke two chairs, shattered a few light bulbs (thankfully not the TV or the laptops), and only then did I calm down. The person apologised, took back the words blurted in rage, and the fight ended. We are great friends now.
But that moment left a permanent scar on me. It gave me enough reason to sit with a question that needed grave reflection: “Whom am I answerable to on the Judgement Day?”
At 50 today, I look back with some clarity. I have tried my best to live with honesty—towards my life and my profession. I never cheated anyone with a gemstone, never sold yantras, never suggested expensive pujas or remedial measures (my clients of over 20 years can vouch for this). I never corrupted the Indian system either—how I managed to escape that, I will write about another day.
But here’s the irony: in a materialistic society, a businessman, a film star, or a politician will always be more respected, celebrated, and worshipped. No one bothers about the deviant path a businessman took to make his fortune, the compromises a film personality made for stardom, or the corruption of a politician who clawed his way to power.
An astrologer, a saint, or a preacher of God’s words will never enjoy that respect. They are easy to mock, always a stock to laugh at—and that will never change.
Earlier, I used to get furious when strangers, who never knew me or consulted me, dismissed me as fake. Friends, acquaintances, relatives, even neighbours—were no less harsh. I even refused to do astrological readings for people who didn’t respect me—including my own mother.
Skepticism has always challenged me. After all, I studied Chemistry, then Journalism, then spent three years learning Vedic Astrology from a teacher. To have people dismiss my work as fraud used to burn me inside.
But with age, I learned. I realised the esoteric is not for everyone. It’s like trying to explain the science of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki atomic bombs to a cowherd. If he understands physics and builds a bomb, I will quit astrology that day.
I also realised something else: people’s respect for you and your profession keeps shifting. On the day you are at your best, no one may notice. And on the day you are at your worst, you may win accolades.
So, in the end—whom do you live for? Whom are you answerable to?
The answer is simple: only YOU—your conscience, your inner voice, your memories. And to God. Because when you are inhaling those last few breaths on your deathbed, no one else will matter.