The women in my family have been blessed with extra sensitive radars. My mother possesses an uncannily powerful sixth sense. My grandmother had too. She had known a month before her death her time was close. She had given precise instructions to my mother over the phone as to wishes regarding the disposal of her property and the continuation of relations with other distant members of our extended family. Two days later she was admitted to the hospital after a massive stroke and she left us after a month of hospitalization, the last two months of which she spent comatose.
My mother used to predict our grades when we were in school. She could predict my brother’s chicken-pox two months before the rashes broke out. My grandmother lived alone in the huge family house in another part of the country. My mother would turn cranky all of a sudden and we would guess that she had had a dream. Sure enough we would get a phone call asking her to hurry to her mother who had fallen ill.
She had shared some of her dreams with me. They were not obvious and only she could interpret them. Like seeing a particular acquaintance of ours who was long dead meant trouble for granny. Seeing granny meant some news of my uncle who is mentally challenged and is taken care of in a home run by missionaries. She had told my brother when the results of his higher secondary board exams were about to be declared not to be disappointed if he did not get what he expected. She secretly confided in me her knowledge of his score and when we did know the results, I realized that she had been close enough. Not that it helped my brother who was depressed understandably.
My gift is vocal. I just say things which I had the least intention of saying a moment before and they would turn out true. It scares me. Sometimes I just know things. From something as trivial as knowing how the story in a novel or movie would turn out the moment the characters were introduced, to things like knowing the contents my dinner even before stepping inside the house.
I just daydream about certain things, plotting events and imagining situations. These things actually happen leaving me with a haunting sense of déjà-vu.
I do not have a third eye or for that matter neither does my mother. I just wanted to say that knowing the future (even if vaguely) did not always help reduce the pain. My grandmother’s sudden stroke was a shock even if her daughter knew what to expect.
There have a lot of situations where I feel guilty for making things happen by saying that they would happen. Luckily I have not yet predicted anything even remotely significant but I did once tell my mother that she would be stuck with me at my granny’s place for three months when she had her tickets booked for the next weekend to return to my father.
The very next day the college to which I had applied for admission decided to indefinitely extend their joining date. So neither could she leave as planned nor plan to leave and come back in time for the admission as the extension was indefinite.
So she ended up staying till September. I had made the statement towards the middle of June.