Excerpt Tertius : The voices that can’t be drowned out

Do I miss the ringing phone? The blinking red light of the signal or the Blackberry? Do I miss the chaos, the confusion, the building tension before a deliverable is duly delivered. On some miserable days, God I do. Especially salary day or earlier salary day. It reminds you that the money ain’t coming anymore, wasn’t it worth the sleepless nights. And you still have sleepless nights you remember. You need another job to pay the bills, you don’t know what you’re good at, you’re confused yet again. Isn’t the known devil better than the unknown devil? Wouldn’t it have been a good thing to stay on in the familiar place where you knew all the rules rather than get lost in space?

Maybe, maybe not. The problem with the transition slide is that it conveys generally nothing. It’s a blank slate with a meaningless picture that needs no explanation except to signal that one section is over and another one is beginning. The trick is of the timing. How long the slide remains on before you’re forced to press Enter. There are way too many questions in space, they don’t move and they don’t get answered.

Meanwhile, I feel like Ram in exile. I’m the good one, the blameless one, the guiltless one, why doesn’t the world pay attention? I don’t know maybe because you’re a spoilt, self indulgent brat, says the voice inside me. You took the call, the big step away from the nest, now live with it, comes pat the voice inside my head.  Self recrimination is a terrible thing. The thing is, you can shrug off all the voices except the ones inside your head. The voice of good sense, the one that stopped you from all the foolish impulses, the one that doesn’t sleep or rest. It’s the midnight voice, the one that can’t be drowned out by blaring TV or blasting music.

How I wish for a soundproof room inside my head! Where the voice can be isolated and shut off. Mute permanently.  You know why people dread growing old? I used to think that it was because of the crow’s feet and the sagging skin in various unmentionable places, but that isn’t it. Age makes the voice louder and there’s no volume control button on the remote. In fact, there isn’t any control at all. The dream is ethereal. Its lighter than a fairy’s wing and it seems to be floating out of reach just like the sour grapes, the voice says. And its getting louder by the day.

How do I get there? How do I get to where I want to be? Show me the way. And voila, I’ve discovered God. The real voice inside my head. He’s there for me, inside me, outside me. Guiding my steps even though I can’t see the path. Its not random nor are the odds stacked up against me. I just need to start fighting again.  That’s the other voice in my head. Its weak but its there. And I’m listening.