I have a very queer relationship with my epiphanies. They’ve been my door to revelations and discoveries, the gateway to realisations and uncomfortable shower moments. They have, in fact built to be the conscious self I am and have shaped the conscience I have.
As I have a pathological need to anthropomorphise everything I love and everything I deem important; this, thus is an attempt to imagine what if my epiphanies were collectively an invisible friend, very much human, and very much communicative. The idea is a quintessential 4 am one, and since I am prone to (and happily guilty of) writing at the dawn of the day, I pick up the pen (by that I mean, open the laptop).
My EpiphanyTM then, portrayed itself to my annoyingly active and wildly superfluous imagination as a splendid woman I’m in a weird relationship with – she was ravishing to look at and ravaging to deal with. Like a strong business woman who’d be your boss, telling you she’s your friend but doing the bare minimum to be called one. Sure, she’d help you out sometimes, but since you sadly understand the law of averages you figure out her talk was going to fit in place somewhere.
She’d be around sometimes, being the Betaal to my Vikram, filling my ears in regarding everything that I do – a live commentary in my ears which I definitely DID NOT need.
“Oh hey, you could have walked that route dude, sorry I didn’t remind you you’ve been here before.”
“OOOh, that girl saw you pick your nose yesterday, don’t expect her to say hello to you.”
“And, when your boss said to check the view from the office balcony he actually meant to know you better and you told him you have pending work, hahahahaha doofus.”
“And also, you’ve left the house keys on the door today.”
“Yeah, pretty stupid of you. Also, you must finish three projects today or your appraisal is gone, you’ve already told your boss you’re lagging, idiot.”
Sometimes, she isn’t anywhere nearby you. For a while it’s brilliant. Life is awesome, you live without fear, without nagging, and without consideration. You live a life that is happy, joyous, bountiful. You see no wrong, you do no wrong and you care about no wrong.
Until one fine day, you’re grinning and working on your desk, and she pops in, with binders and dossiers of notes and cumulative talks of what blunders and nonsense you’ve perpetrated thus far.
“Three weeks ago. The salesman actually, very elaborately scammed you of three thousand bucks.”
“Last week, your landlord’s young daughter heard you listening to some explicit songs, and has been singing it aloud in front of him, hence those texts.”
“That office girl still thinks you’re disgusting, she saw you sneeze into your hands and wipe them on your trousers yesterday.”
“And also,” she said with a definitive smirk, “the stunning girl at the cafe yesterday was actually hitting on you.”
REALLY? I WAIT.. yeah she was. ARGH.
It was an abusive relationship.
Enough, I decided. I need to stand up and get things going in my favour. Next time she pops in with her snark I’m not taking her nonsense.
So it happened. One fine day I was working in the office when I had to get some forms filled by my boss – some kind of performance review. I went in, explained the necessary and he smiled, okay fill in the form and bring it to me.
Confused, I told him, “Sir, you have to review me in this form.”
Sir replied, almost absentmindedly, “I’ll sign it. Fill it.”
I left the cabin, back to my seat, confused.
EpiphanyTM couldn’t resist. She yelled in my ear, “HE’S GIVING YOU THE OPPORTUNITY TO RATE YOURSELF YOU DUMBO”
I got that. Processed it. But I did want to retaliate.
“YEAH WHY COULDN’T YOU TELL ME THIS IN THE OFFICE, DUMBWIT?”
She looked stunned. I, the silent listener, actually fired back at her. I actually had confronted her. She tried to speak but no word came out. She slowly turned and walked away.
The voiceless had found a voice. Loud and clear. It was like the first time an adolescent retorts back at a parent. Like the slaves of Yunkai fighting back. Sirius Black’s escape from Azkaban. For her, it was probably the revolt of 1857. The French Revolution. Vive La Superego.
I went back home chuffed with myself. Changed, ate and went to bed.
Just as I was about to turn the light off, I saw her at the base of my bed.
She looked different.
Her hair was now short, bobcut with purple streaks. Her eyes had strong, black makeup. She wore a loose black, death metal T-shirt. Khakhi, baggy trousers. Tattoos on her arm. Piercings on her nose and face. A complete deadpan and resting bitch face.
Without wasting a second she spoke, loudly, without emotion, in an unwavering tone.
“People have always alienated you because you remind them of what they aren’t. You give love but don’t get it back, from anywhere. Not even from yourself.”
My eyes went wide with horror. My soul wept. My superego whimpered and apologized. My heart slowed down.
Oh, my word. Oh, my-my.
WHAT HAVE I DONE!?