Every night, I hear someone talking to me. Softly in my ears, yes I think in my ears, but I am not sure. It just feels like I am absorbed into something, where the words are penetrating me, like through a sponge. I have often thought about it, about the "person" talking to me, but his words are so prevalent, I find it difficult to concentrate on his entity. Rather, I listen to him.
I am 45 years old, placed just right in what the society calls, the Middle Age boat. And its been years I have been listening to him. Sometimes he is too demanding, sometimes soft, and other days, he is just there; Present. But he is there all the time, watching me.
I wonder how he knows everything about me. Even those things I might have secretly fancied about, or the dread of some mysterious object which perhaps I had never embodied. I never feared him, not until that day.
I was 16. Youthful, inquisitive, charming, the dream boy of several girls of my age. In short, just Perfect. I had a dream of my own, to get into the best engineering school of the country. I knew I was smart enough, there was just one thing that concerned me. My best friend was my worthiest adversary.
The day was not far off when we would sit for the exam of our lifetime. Tuitions, notes and revisions captivated us, stealing even the miniscule of time spared for enjoyment. I worked on the problems with my best friend till one day, he fell ill. We were just 10 days away from the E-day and there he was on the bed, the flu withering away his body. I feared he would miss the exam, and prayed to someone every night(I was and am not exactly a theist) that he would recover soon.
One day (a week before the exam), my brother surprised me with an email, and I should say, I had never loved my brother like that before as I did on that day. The mail contained a set of questions prepared by some friends in his network, who were attending my dream school. It was a master list, with key questions that had a 90% chance to appear on the exam. Suddenly I felt weak inside, as if I was nothing without that list, I had no hope whatsoever to get through the exam without those set of questions. Someone whispered to me "This can make you win"; it was not a familiar voice, but what it said made me feel stronger. I was happy that day. And mildly fearful. That night, I could not sleep. I did not pray.
Just the day before exam, my best friend called me up to ask about my progress. He was much better and was going to appear for the exam the next day. I was too occupied memorizing the master list, and could not talk much. He asked if I had learned something new. I lied.
That lie never felt like worth a penny of guilt when the results came out. I had made it into my dream school and not just made it, I stood amongst the toppers who had all the privilege to choose the stream they wanted to get into. My best friend did make it in the lower ranks, and chose not to take admission in that school. I missed him for sometime, the fun we used to have together, but I am not aware if I ever missed his competition. On that front, I was rather relieved.
I wouldn't say that I had a euphoric life since, but I did wear the shoes which millions would aspire to be in. And after successfully serving a multi-national company and having built a house for my family, the doom's day cast its shadow upon me. I was laid off without any distinctions for the drops of sweat I had shed for the company over all these years.
It did not feel like the end. It felt like several years of life had been rewinded and I stood there at the entrance of the examination room. Someone reminded me of my friend. It was the same voice that was with me all the time, talking to me all these years. He was calm, always, even if I avoided listening to him. I realized only then, that he was not the only one watching me. There was someone else, I had heard him that day. I had obeyed him. He made me lie.
That night was appalling. I was amidst an argument, a stronger, more familiar voice, trying to convince me, to make me realize my mistakes, and a meeker, but more imposing, making me believe that I was always right. I could not find a way out of that strife, no matter how hard I tried. It was more than just a shadow; it was like a parasite.
Those arguments had become more frequent. They were there mostly when I was alone, but sometimes they even captured me in a crowd. I don't know how they did it, how they found me, even when I was with people. The worse part was, I was losing my capacity to think. I was waiting till one of them decides something for me. I had become dependent on someone.
Suffering with these painful mind games for several days, one fine day I received a call for interview in an esteemed company. I got it through a reference. This was The opportunity, I knew, and an impulsive voice bellowed, "Grab it with whatever you have". I worked hard, prepared and kept myself engaged in studies to avoid listening to any arguments. Unusually, and thankfully, there were none throughout this time.
On the morning of the interview, the news from my neighbors apprehended all the emotions one could imagine. The uncle staying next to us, was a dear friend, and a reverent person, very close to our hearts. He had suffered a major heart attack and had to be taken to the hospital immediately. I was the first person at hand, and perhaps the only one there who they could blindly trust. The issue was, I had to make a decision. I depended on someone.
There were arguments again. And this time they were all the more painful. Pain smeared with the feeling of emptiness, with the incapacity of not being able to think, with a guilt of something, with the love and trust my neighbor had for me, and such numerous things. It was no more a one to one brawl; I felt like the insect trapped mercilessly in the web ready to be consumed. Or perhaps I was already on the way to consumption.
Two voices, which was which, I could not tell. Both were imposing today. One forced me to rush to my neighbor and the other made me think of my interview. And suddenly I found someone pulling my arm and carrying me forward out of the door. My steps were moving across the lawn towards my neighbor's house. I felt like someone breaking into the web and saving me. I realized my ambience just when I saw the uncle lying motionless on his bed. Abruptly, the shrill sound of aunty's cries penetrated my ears and that was the only voice I could hear. My daughter had rescued me.
I drove him to the hospital and stayed there, till the operation was done and we received the news of his successful revival. I felt happy and calm. Everything around me endured silence. It was all enigmatic.
I missed my interview that day. And it has been 5 months since I received another call. But one thing has surely happened. I feel free; free from the one watching me. And I feel safe, strong and independent. There have been no more arguments, and my sleeps are painless. At 45, I am no more a toy of the brutal and the kind; I believe in myself and make my own decisions. I have become the "Master of my Soul".
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