For centuries, black cats have been shrouded in mystery and superstition. From being associated with witches to being considered unlucky, these feline companions have often faced unwarranted fear and prejudice. While I personally don’t subscribe to such beliefs, a particular incident left a lasting impression on me, reminding me of the power of personal experiences and the human tendency to seek patterns where they may not exist.

Black cats, in particular, seem to stir an ancient unease. In the distant corridors of human history, our ancestors shared their world with formidable predators, including large felines like sabre-toothed tigers. This coexistence likely etched a primal wariness of cats into our survival instincts. Over time, these fears evolved into myths, and black cats, with their shadowy elegance, became symbols of mystery—creatures that appeared and disappeared with ghostly silence.

Growing up in India, I was taught to revere all animals, and cats were often viewed as bearers of good fortune. Yet, the belief that a black cat crossing one’s path brings bad luck was not entirely alien to me. This superstition, rooted in European folklore, had travelled across cultures, finding resonance even in parts of India.

I’ve always prided myself on my rational thinking. But, as we all know, life has a way of throwing curveballs that challenge our carefully constructed beliefs. A particular incident during my college days left a lasting impression on my subconscious, shaping my spontaneous reactions to this day.

It was a regular evening, and my mother and I were returning home after running a few errands. The narrow lane we walked down was dimly lit, its silence broken only by our footsteps. Suddenly, a black cat darted across our path. My mother froze.

“Let’s go back,” she said anxiously. “We’ll take another route home.”

I brushed off her concerns. “Maa, we live in a scientific age. Black cats are just animals, not omens,” I said, confident in my reasoning. Reluctantly, she followed my lead, and we continued down the path, and by the time we reached home, the black cat was all but forgotten.

That night, just before dawn, tragedy struck unexpectedly—my father passed away. He suffered a massive stroke, and I rushed him to the hospital. As we sped through the city in a taxi, the flickering streetlights illuminated his still face, his eyelids unmoving. I clung to a fragile hope, praying the doctors would save him. But by the time we reached the Emergency Room at Safdarjung Hospital, he was pronounced dead. Ironically, it was the same hospital where I had been born two decades earlier.

Though there was no evident connection between the black cat’s appearance and his sudden demise, the coincidence lingered in my mind, stirring thoughts about the nature of chance and our innate tendency to link unrelated events. In the days that followed, my mother never once mentioned the black cat we had seen cross our path the night before. Yet, I couldn’t shake the gnawing thought: Could I have somehow prevented this tragedy? Was my dismissal of her concern a symbolic rejection of some greater, unknowable force?

In the haze of grief, a new question haunted me: had I somehow tempted fate? Of course, rationality tells me that a cat crossing the road could have had no bearing on the tragic events that followed. But in moments of sorrow, logic and superstition blur, and I found myself grappling with a strange sense of guilt. Could my dismissal of the old beliefs have contributed to this calamity? My mind said no, but my heart hesitated.

Over the years, whenever a black cat crosses my path, I find myself pausing for a moment. It’s not a conscious act of superstition, but rather a subconscious acknowledgement of an experience; it’s a reflex—a momentary pause to acknowledge a flicker of fear that I cannot quite extinguish. Is it superstition? Perhaps. Or maybe it’s just a peculiar state of mind that defies explanation.

The truth is, logic and superstition often coexist in our minds. We strive to be rational, but some experiences leave a scar on our psyche, causing us to act irrationally despite our better judgment.

I still believe black cats are beautiful, misunderstood creatures. But the memory of that evening serves as a reminder that our perceptions are shaped by both logic and emotion. Sometimes, even the most irrational beliefs can hold a certain power.

So, the next time you see me pausing for a black cat, know that it’s not about superstition. It’s about a story—a story of a quiet Delhi evening, a fleeting shadow, and an inexplicable connection to a moment that changed my life forever. I may never have the answers, but one thing is certain – the black cat will always hold a special place in my subconscious, a reminder of the fragility of life and the power of the unknown.

My father’s passing was a turning point, a stark reminder of life’s fragility and the limits of human understanding. Today, 41 years later, his memory remains vibrant, his presence felt in every step I take. And the black cat? It will forever hold a special place in my story, a symbol of the unknown, of life’s fleeting shadows, and of the enduring power of memory. A reminder that sometimes, the most profound experiences defy explanation, leaving us to grapple with the mysteries that shape our lives.