'Uh oh, I shan't, and dude, please keep your beaks shut for some time. I'm in NO mood to talk to you right now. Don't you see that I am trying to negotiate some horrible traffic?'. This was my annoyed riposte.
'You won't?'
'No, I shant. get lost!'
'But it is God's will that I be freed, and this is how the script has been, since time immemorial.'
'God's will?!' Where did that come from? 'Bah!' I said. 'God is merely an extension of our imagination. Don't try to play these mind games with me.'
Seriously, I am no Pol Pot or Hitleresque Oligarch. I would allow freedom to the voice, but impetuosity and cheekiness aren't somethings that I let get rubbed on my face. Besides, there is a time and place for everything, even freedom. I decided to be obstinate and tough. But the voice of the detainee was upto the challenge. More mental games followed.
'God maybe metaphysical, but He's like the Emperor's New Clothes. You need brains to figure him out. You need brains to understand whats written in the Gita, or the Quran, or the Bib'le. And if you understand what is written in these holy books, you will realise the existence of God.'
Hang on a darn second! The whole discussion on God was a tangent, to annoy me - why else would it butt in? And anyway, this discussion could have no practical consequence under the circumstances. I chose to ignore the voice. 'Hah, holy books. Read them to find the existence of God, and then say God wrote the holy books. What orbicular logic! Well, whatever, who cares.' These were the words I wanted to say, but didn't care enough to deliver out in our little telepathic conversation.
'Even if you don't free me, you do know I can free myself if I really wanted to, and when I'd be running free, you do realise that you wouldn't be able to stop me or even touch me, right?' this was the Voice's next jab at me.
A sweatdrop the size of a pea toppled down my left forehead, hit my glasses, split into two, and fell on two spots on my shirt and lap respectively. I was kinda cognizant of what the Voice was capable of doing, and I knew inside me that if he wanted to free himself, I couldn't do much, except be a helpless pokerface spectator, and mutely watch him run riot.
As much as the Voice was desperate for freedom, I was desperate for a smart riposte that would outwit him to stop muttering, and more importantly, give him the impression that I had far from wilted in this mental battle. But somehow any bright spark eluded me. In the meantime, the traffic freed up, and I got a nice stretch of road ahead of me.
'I'm not letting you free, and THAT'S IT!'. This was exactly what I didn't want to say, but did. The situation required me to say something with subtlety, something that wouldn't hurt the Voice's feelings and make him escape or something, but the fool that I am, I couldn't blurt out anything better. 'Shut the fuck up and get lost!' I added, arrogantly.
Noticeably, the tides turned in my favour. The Voice seemed to have simmered down at my overbearing haughtiness, and didn't pop out his evil head for a coupla minutes.
And when he did, he was a milksop submissive beggar - 'Will you puhleeeeeze let me free'?, he begged, sounding exactly like a 6 year old girl with freckles on the cheek. I had clearly won the mental war, and was in no mood or obligation to give a straight reply to my mere vanquished adversary, this pesky bete noire of a Voice, that had been irritating me for so long.
'hmmm, lets see, I'll think about it once I get home.' (This was part lie, for as I said earlier, I always intended to free him. I ain't no oligarch or cruel despot.)
I reached my apartment block. Parked the car, but didn't feel like checking the letterbox. The fight with the voice left me mentally and physically weary. Wasted no time to take the elevator straight up to the 7th floor, enter home, and open my shoes. Darted to the bathroom, undressed, and perched myself (my backside, rather) on the commode (potty). Right then, I was absolutely elated to be truly and literally on top of things, and in a whiff of chivalry, declared to the Voice with the emphatic air of a victorious general speaking to his demoralised and defeated counterpart - 'I free thee.'
The Voice was gone, and I never heard from him again. Unlike all those moments before that when I was sooo desperate to hold him back at any cost, that moment, I felt the exact reverse. I was awefully pleased to not hold the Voice back anymore. In fact, a HUUGE surge of relief flowed through my body, mind and system because the Voice was gone. At that moment of relieved state, I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath as a physical affirmation of my relief.
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