‘There is magic inside’

"Aao aao suno apni bhavishyavani, suno apni aage ki kahani…” His voice, like a mystical chant, cuts through the evening chaos of Juhu beach. Against the backdrop of the setting sun on this bustling stretch of sand in suburban Mumbai, Uday Kumar, 27, is inviting people to come and listen to some soothsaying, get to know the next chapter in the story of their lives.

He is no self-styled astrologer, no chirologist, no tarot card reader with a rose-ringed parakeet. Instead, he sets up a small, foot-long robot wrapped in decorative lights, sitting on a mysterious black box that stands on a four-foot high foldable table. “It’s called Jyotish Computer Live Story,” he says, introducing this reporter to the robot.

Jyotish Computer can analyse a person’s vibrations, Uday explains, as he hands the connecting headphones to an intrigued customer who has just walked up to him. After a brief pause, a feminine voice, speaking in Hindi, begins to unravel the secrets the future holds. At 30 rupees, it’s a steal.

Uday is the lone custodian of this ‘technological marvel’ he inherited from his uncle Ram Chandar alias Raju, who moved to Mumbai from his village in Bihar a few decades ago. Whenever his uncle went home to Bihar, he took stories of the city with him. “Chacha (paternal uncle) told us he had an ajooba (a strange thing) that can tell the future, and that’s how he was making money. Many laughed and thought it was a joke but I was fascinated,” recalls Uday. It was Raju chacha who introduced his 11-year-old nephew to the wonders of city life and the marvels of the machine.

Uday’s parents, farmers toiling on the few bighas of land they owned, regularly faced financial distress. As a result, Uday could not study beyond Class 4. When he decided to leave his home in Bihar’s Vaishali district and join Raju chacha in Mumbai, the thought of helping the family financially was also on his mind “Woh machine dekhna thha aur Mumbai bhi (I wanted to see the machine as well as Mumbai),” Uday says.

The machine his uncle used was crafted by artisans from Chennai and Kerala and made its debut in Mumbai in the late 1990s, recalls Uday. Raju chacha had met one of the artists and got the machine on rent.

He wasn’t the only one. “There were nearly 20–25 people in this [line of] work,” Uday says. “A majority of them were from the southern states, a few were from Bihar and Uttar Pradesh. They all had the same machine.”

Like Raju, they roamed all over the city with the gizmo, but Juhu beach was special for all the itinerants alike. Uday tagged along with his uncle, a fourth of whose earnings went into paying the rent for the machine. Priced at about Rs 40,000, it was too expensive for Raju chacha to buy when he began this business. Eventually he did buy it, leaving it as a legacy to Uday.

Uday, who had made many abortive attempts to build a similar gizmo himself, inherited the robotic fortune-teller after his uncle passed away. He quite naturally saw himself carrying forward this ‘ajooba’ tradition that had so captivated his imagination.

A decade ago, people paid Rs 20 to have a peek into their future. It’s only been four years since the fee was hiked to Rs 30. The Covid-19 pandemic dealt a blow to his business. “Many people have left this occupation,” Uday says. Now, he is the solitary custodian of this robotic relic.

Uday finds it difficult to survive on the earnings he makes with the machine alone and does various odd jobs every morning. His wife and five-year-old son live in the village, and Uday’s dearest hope is that his son should be able to pursue his studies in Mumbai.

Uday sets up shop on Juhu beach from 4.00 in the evening up until midnight. Weekends are the best days for his business, with many more eager seekers than usual. On busy days, his earnings could be anywhere between Rs 300 and Rs 500. All of which amounts to Rs 7,000-10,000 a month.

“In the village, people believe in astrologers, not machines. So, this doesn’t earn well there,” says Uday, speaking of his failed experiments to convince people in and around his village of the machine’s mystical powers. Mumbai is the place for him, he says, although the curious apparatus is sometimes more a source of amusement than revenue, with people on the beach stopping to air their sceptical views about it.

“Some find it funny and laugh at it; some get shocked. Recently a man was laughing in disbelief as his friend forced him to listen. But later, he was impressed. He told me that the robot knew he was going through some stomach issues and that he shouldn’t worry too much. He said he did indeed have stomach issues! There are many cases like this,” says Uday. “Those who want to believe, believe.”

“The machine,” claims Uday with a sense of pride in his testament to its mysterious resilience, “has never faltered.” Has it ever stopped working? No, but if it does, there is a mechanic in town to fix the wiring and get it back in action.

“I believe what it says. It gives me hope to carry on with my work,” Uday says. “There is magic inside and I still get fascinated by what the machine says about me. I will not tell you to believe it. Hear it for yourself and decide,” he says, as he hands over the headphones with a laugh.

This article originally published by People’s Archive of Rural India (PARI)