The stereotype goes something like this: An astrologer must wear a giant rudraksha mala. There should be holy ash or a thick smear of chandan on the forehead. Their wardrobe must consist of nothing beyond saffron robes or kurta-pyjamas. They should be strict vegetarians, swear off alcohol, sit before a grand altar filled with Hindu gods, speak only of rashis and planets, and ideally, deliver predictions in a soft-spoken, divine whisper. And of course—top it all off with a long, flowing beard.
Well, let me confess right up front: except for the long beard, I don’t tick many of these boxes.
I wear what I feel comfortable in. Some days it’s jeans, some days it’s a kurta, and other days, whatever helps me chase my 6-year-old around the house without tripping. I enjoy food without obsessing over the vegetarian-nonvegetarian binary. I don’t need a dramatic altar behind me to validate my predictions. And I talk about life—not just Saturn’s transit or Mercury’s mood swings.
I’m an astrologer, yes. But I’m also a father, a writer, a filmmaker, and a 21st-century Indian who refuses to be boxed into clichés crafted more by pop culture than practice.
There’s a reason why astrology often gets mocked or dismissed in public spaces today. It’s not always the science that’s questioned—but the packaging. Too often, people mistake performance for depth, costumes for clarity, and conformity for credibility.
But let me say this: my astrology doesn’t rely on smoke and mirrors. It rests on study, discipline, observation, and the ability to connect seemingly unrelated patterns. I don’t need to look holy to be accurate. I don’t need incense to sense alignment. And I certainly don’t need to “look the part” to know your Saturn return is going to kick your backside if you’re not paying attention.
The moment we stop equating external appearance with inner capability—whether in astrology or any other field—we’ll be free. Free to trust wisdom when it shows up in unexpected forms. Free to listen without judgment. Free to grow.
So yes, I may not fit the stereotype. But maybe that’s the point.