How to drive jinxes away

Barcelona attack confirms the jinx sentiment, says the author

Do you ever have the feeling that you are jinxed? (My wife, of course, likes to believe I am the jinx.) Nevertheless, I can’t help feeling spooked every time there is news of another attack, because, in an unnerving way, I can’t help thinking, but I was just there. The timing may vary by a few weeks, or a few months, or even a few years, but it’s like a peculiar creepy-crawly sensation down one’s back that the bad guys are following you no matter where you are, and that some day they’ll catch up.
 
Barcelona’s recent attack confirms the sentiment: Didn’t we just walk down Las Ramblas, loaded with shopping bags and without a care in the world? It was crowded with tourists, and everyone was having a good time, which is exactly what you’re expected to do on a holiday. (Except us, of course — I recall my wife and I having a spat because I thought the second lunch she’d had was exactly the reason she’d put on weight during the holiday. She called me some rude names, in turn, that I cannot draw attention to in this newspaper.) Who would have thought some crazed person would drive a van through tourists, no different from us, killing and maiming them in an act of terrorism.

 
The Rome car explosions on Via Marmorata in the centre of the city happened exactly where we had stopped by a traffic island to enjoy our gelatos. I can still remember the piquancy of the flavour. The Westminster in London is where we returned on several occasions, even taking the time to take selfies, and have the pictures to prove it. Only, they remind us of what followed, which makes the memory an unpleasant one. Blasts in Bali? We were in the self-same spot in Kuta. Paris: tick. New York: ditto. Sanctions against Doha? You can bet I was in the Qatar capital on a working trip some while back. Visited Kathmandu? The temblor that shook the Nepalese capital was inevitable. Either the world is becoming a more dangerous place, or the gremlins of misfortune are trying to get me to pay heed.

 

Stay at home? I’d like to know who believes it’s a safer place. Some years ago, I persuaded my wife to get herself a perm — and have lived to regret it forever. Having preened in front of the mirror, and loved the way her new look suited her, my wife was horrified at her friends’ giggly reactions, and that lent fury to her actions. Which, dear reader, led to her taking a pair of scissors to my hair as I slept that night. Since this happened long before the recent spate of hair chopping incidents across north India, I couldn’t blame it on unhappy, distraught spirits. Besides, my wife was more than happy to take credit for it.

 
Others might make light of these coincidences, but at least one person — whose salary is dependent on my well-being —has decided to take remedial steps instead. Mary, our long-time cook and general guardian of the family, now performs complex rituals every time I have to travel outside the city. She brings out limes and chillies, burns spices over a flame, chants incantations to chase away evil spirits, asks me to blow on powders in her palm, and in general behaves like a friendly occultist. Strangely enough, instead of irritating me, it has a placating effect. It’s nice to know someone is in charge of booing the jinxes away.