Epiphany

EPIPHANY

January

Damini’s desk was cluttered with crumpled pieces of paper. She was working on a draft for a local magazine. The draft was coming along terribly and if she was being honest with herself, she would have realised that this wasn’t the first time. 

Her writing had lost its former fluency. Damini rubbed at her tired eyes, it was 1 AM in the morning and her weak vision couldn’t put up with all the exertion. She put her head down and stared at the ink across the papers.   

The same handwriting, over the years, had now changed. It used to be a messy scrawl in her english notebooks, showcasing the impatience to write more and more and more. This writing was impeccable. Damini hated it. If anything, it showed just how much her imagination had deteriorated as time passed. She’d lost her love for writing, and she doubted if she’d ever get it back. 

February

She’d missed this, the smell of old books. Bibliosmia will forever be her much cherished addiction. Damini walked along the aisle, skimming through the books under the label ‘Rick Riordan’. She pulled out a book and glanced fondly at the illustrated cover. ‘The Battle Of The Labyrinth’ it read in bold, golden letters.

Her mind flashed back to a vague memory. 

“Damu!” 

Glancing up annoyedly from her book with a spoon in her mouth, a ten year old Damini said “What is it?! I’ve told you guys not to call me when I’m reading.”

“It’s lunch! You should be talking to people, not caved up reading like an old lady!”

Damini turned to a girl on her left who also had a book tucked on her lap. “Srishti, this is why we’re best friends.”

Laughing at the memory, she placed the book back in its place. She continued down the aisle, skimming as she went, when something hit her. Momentarily stunned from the collision, Damini blearily looked at the person she’d barged into. It was a schoolgirl, still in her uniform. She looked slightly lost after the collision, but regained her composure.

Looking up to Damini she said “Excuse me, could you please hand me that book over there? It’s called ‘ The Battle Of  The Labyrinth’. Thank you!”

Damini amusedly watched the girl dash to the counter and place it on her already large pile of books. Now that she thought about it, that kid reminded her of someone. If only she could remember who. 

March

Damini sat at the table, trying not to show how nervous she was. God knows why she’d agreed to be a judge for this essay competition. She herself had participated in many, as a result of heavy insistence by her english teachers. But that didn’t- by any means- qualify her to judge one!

Trying to maintain a calm facade, she smiled at the other two judges. One smiled back and the other simply ignored her. Her reverie broke as a volunteer slammed down a pile of papers on the table. Flashing her a toothy smile, the girl said “Those are all the papers ma’am!”

She heard someone announce “Results in two hours!”

Damini stared at the pile in dismay, doubting whether all three of them put together could finish this much in that time limit. 

After about forty five minutes of reading through essays on climate change, patriotism, global warming, pollution and an odd one about mathematics, she was fed up. Irately she pulled the next one off the pile and started reading it. Damini was surprised and her eyes eagerly skimmed the page. This was beautiful writing! But what really caught her attention was the last line.

In times when people see black and white, writers see a world of color. 

When the results were announced that essay didn’t win the prize. But later, Damini found the girl who wrote that particular essay and told her 

“Thank you for being a writer.”

April

It was fourteenth of April. To anyone this day is nothing special. Correction: To anyone who wasn’t a Tamilian this day isn’t anything special. Tamilians celebrated their new year every year on April fourteenth. They donned their traditional costume, gathered in large groups and most importantly (at least in Damini’s opinion) ate lots and lots of sweets.

Damini’s face took on a smug expression as her cousins stared at her dark blue saree in slight jealousy. Walking up to her mother, Damini whispered in her ear “Amma, this outfit is foolproof!” Giggling like schoolgirls the two wandered off to the sweets table. 

Just as  Damini was about to take a huge bite from a murukku, one of her innumerable relatives spotted her. “How are you Damu?,” she greeted Damini in Tamil. Reluctantly placing the delicacy back on the table, she replied “Ok athai. How have you been doing?”

“Fine, fine,” she said “but tell me this, the other day I was scrolling through that one app and I found this one poem. You used to write those, no?”

Damini’s hand which was stealthily reaching towards her snack froze in its way. Quickly regaining her composure, she let out a laugh which sounded forced to her own ears. “Athai, you and your apps. You don’t even know what Youtube is, now off you go, Radha is calling you.”

With that she made a quick escape.

No matter how many sweets Damini ate that day, the uneasy feeling never left her stomach. 

May

Damini cursed, trying to navigate through the various people on the sidewalk. She was late for her meeting and her boss would have her head if she didn’t turn up soon. The magazine she worked for was not one of the best. It was nothing special, but it paid for her meals. 

Later that day, Damini tiredly grabbed a coffee from the counter and flopped on the plastic chairs which were strewn across the office canteen. Sipping at the bitter concoction, she rubbed her pounding forehead and cursed her boss. The woman had gone bat crazy, taking out all her temper on Damini. God knows what had gotten into her boss. 

Suddenly, someone sat down opposite her. Looking up, she noticed it was Ramesh, one of her seniors. He was quite nice, at least, better than the others. “Hey,” he greeted casually. Then, he pulled out his laptop and a book, and began to type rapidly while occasionally looking at the book. 

“What are you doing?,” Damini asked interestedly.

 “Submitting an entry for a story column.” 

“Oh,” Damini said, “but why do you need that book?”

Looking at her strangely, Ramesh said “What do you mean? I’m just changing up this plot a little. Can’t pour my heart out for a quick buck.” 

Damini physically reeled a little in shock. Hastily grabbing her drink, she nodded shakily to Ramesh and left the canteen. Trashing her coffee, she hurried to the bathroom and quickly shut the door to her stall. 

Plagiarism. The worst crime for a writer. Worse than murder. Even if the thought had crossed her mind a few times during particularly terrible writer’s blocks, it had remained a thought.

Damini covered her face with her hands. Somehow she felt she’d let down all the writers of the world.   

June 

Damini sat in the living room, her television crackling off. She was half asleep, but it was only 6 o clock. She’d been working on a draft for long hours the day before. Tiredly getting up from the couch, she made her way into the kitchen to find something to eat. Just as she was opening the top shelf, she heard a familiar sound. 

With an immediate shift in her mood, she ran to the window and threw it open. The smell of mud filled her senses, and the rain-cooled air soothed her skin. Hurriedly grabbing her keys from the counter, she banged the door shut and raced up the flight of stairs leading to the terrace. In the small apartment, the terrace was Damini’s chosen haunt.

Basking in child-like joy, she spun in circles until she was dizzy. She sat down, exhausted, in the middle of the terrace, and looked up at the pouring heavens. The scene was almost poetic. Something like…………

Heaven’s tears down they fall,

Soothing sins of mankind all,

The chill in the bones will remind,

That we still have more to find.

Damini caught herself before she could think further. ‘What just happened?,’ she thought.

‘Did I just think up a poem?’

July 

Damini checked her watch. It was 11 PM. She was really beginning to question her choice of career. It was long hours and less wages. Was it really worth it? Shutting the door softly so as to not wake her elderly neighbours, Damini made her way to the bedroom. She pulled open the bedside drawer to put away her things. Rummaging around she found a yellowing piece of paper. Opening it she read-

They gave me no wings and told me to fly,

They gave me tears and told me not to cry.

Her eyes widened in recognition. That day was ingrained in her brain like no other. 

“Class 10! Class 10!,” the teacher yelled desperately, willing the unruly bunch to calm down, if only for the sake of her abused vocal cords. After what seemed like an eternity, the chaos died down and the teacher seized the opportunity to speak. “I want you all to write down something poetic. Remember the Robert Frost poem we read last class?”

In reply to the blank stares, the teacher simply sighed and said “Oh, just do what I said.”

After a few minutes of confusion, the class quieted down as the students contemplated the assigned topic. Just as a few began scribbling down their ideas, one hand shot up in the air.

“Yes, Damini?”

“Miss, I’ve come up with one. Can I read it out to you?”

“Yes, please,” the teacher answered with a smile. 

“They gave me no wings and told me to fly,

   They gave me tears and asked me not to cry.”

Damini looked up to see impressed faces and applause. Her cheeks flushed with pride and her face burst out in an ear-splitting grin as she sat back down.

Damini slowly climbed into bed, pulling the quilt over her. She curled into herself as tears silently streamed down her cheeks. 

She was sick and tired of not being able to write.

August  

Damini walked up to the cabin where her boss was seated and knocked on the door. “Come in!”

Upon entering, Damini softly shut the door behind her. “Ma’am the report on the festival is done.” Her boss looked up from the monitor and smiled slightly at the report on her desk.

“It’s a day early, Damini. Consider me impressed.”

Picking up the report, she flipped through it, and said, “Damini, how many times do I tell you? Your writing is too dramatic for a report. You need to be a little more subtle with your language.”

Damini hung her head, and tried to stop the tears leaking from the corner of her eyes. She managed to choke out the words “Sorry ma’am. I’ll make sure to do better next time.”

Nodding once more for good measure, she grabbed her rejected report and swiftly exited the cabin. She rushed to the bathroom all the while cursing herself. Her boss had upbraided her hundreds and thousands of times, so why was it hitting her now? That incident last month had made her emotionally vulnerable and she couldn’t despise the current situation more.

September

Damini checked her reflection in the mirror once more. Completely satisfied  with what she saw, she stepped out of her flat after grabbing her keys. ‘Today is going to be nice,’ she thought to herself. She was eating out after ages, so she’d made sure to book a reservation at her favourite restaurant.

A few minutes later, Damini got out of the cab and her smile grew when she saw the sign ‘Little Italy’. Even if the food was pricey, she could afford it since she rarely ate out. Walking into the restaurant  she took the table tucked away in a corner of the restaurant. Just as she was settling into the sole chair at the small table, a voice called out to her.

“Damini?! Is that you?!”

Startled, she turned around in her seat to see a woman, who seemed to be of her age, waving frantically  at her. Damini cupped her hands over her mouth, her eyes widening as her realization struck her. “Srishti!,” she screeched causing half the people in the room to look at them as they hugged. Srishti seemed to realize that they had created quite a scene and dragged off Damini to her table. Catching a hold of a passing waiter she said, “Excuse me, she’ll be eating with us, so include her bill in ours.”

Srishti cut off Damini’s protests with a surly glare and pointed to a man sitting at her table “You see him? That pathetic excuse for a big brother? He’s paying ‘cause he got promoted. You thought I was going to pay? You must be delusional!”

As soon as their food came, Srishti noticed a lull in the conversation. She looked amusedly to her side, where Damini was wolfing down a serving of caprese salad. Laughing quietly to herself, she turned back to her own plate. 

“Dev!,” Srishti scolded her brother “Stop eating like you’ve never seen food before.”

Shrugging her off, Dev continued scarfing down his meal. 

He skimmed the menu and commented “Damn, these descriptions are so fancy. Kind of like Materchef on a paper. Say, Damu, weren’t you good at this stuff? Dramatic descriptions?”

Damini’s forkful of salad froze in midair as she started coughing violently. Srishti thumped her on the back, and a surprised Dev quickly apologized. Damini waved it off and said “Yeah, dramatic writing, that got old real quick.”

Even though she hadn’t been around Damini for years, according to Srishti, anyone with common sense could say Dev had clearly struck a nerve. 

October 

Damini’s neighbors were a couple in their late sixties. They had been amazingly welcoming when she’d first moved in. Today, they’d called her over next door, because their much beloved granddaughter, Jiya was coming over. She’d readily agreed, up for any human interaction other than the ones at her workplace. 

She rang the doorbell, and as soon as the door opened Damini smiled and said “Hi aunty! Thanks for calling me over.”

In reply the old woman said “No problem kanna. Come in!”

Damini spotted Jiya on the floor of the living room sitting with her Grandpa. “Jiya,” she cooed to the five year old “do you want to hear a story?” 

The girl looked up from her toys and excitedly hopped about saying “Story time! Story time!” Damini laughed and pulled Jiya down to sit beside her.

For the next couple of hours Damini narrated numerous stories as Jiya raptly paid attention to each and every detail. “Jiya,” Damini finally said “aunty and uncle also want to spend time with you, so shall I go now?”

Jiya’s smile turned upside down and she said “But stories……”

Damini laughed and simply pinched her cheeks in reply. She left the house saying “Bye aunty, bye uncle!”

Damini leaned against the wall between the doors and let out a happy sigh.

November 

Damini was running a late shift and she just wanted to rush home when her phone pinged. Opening whatsapp, she looked at the message. 

Batch Reunion! Guys, you have to turn up. It’s in school, next month on Christmas. If you don’t turn up, I’ll kill you all! :)

Damini laughed at Srishti’s typical choice of words. As her laugh died down, it dawned upon her what exactly was happening next month.

She was going back to the place where it all started.

December

Damini fidgeted in her salwar. Getting out of the cab, she paid the driver and turned to the building tentatively. ‘VIDYA MANDIR’ the huge letters were supported by huge pillars. Damini hesitantly walked into the compound, making her way past the football grounds covered with red soil and up two flights of stairs to her classroom. Their classroom. She watched as everyone turned to her and immediately there were rambunctious noises of greeting. 

Damini’s face broke out in a smile, her apprehension forgotten. 

“Ay! She’s here, our legendary poet!”

“Aw, Damu, I’ve missed your overly dramatic writing.”

“Damu, Damu, read me some of your poems!”

Almost overwhelmed with happiness, Damini walked to the crowd at the center of the room. For the next three hours, they joked, laughed  and recounted the most cringeworthy moments. Many times Srishti and Damini would laugh at inside jokes, leading to indignant protests.

 Damini gazed happily at the scene and slowly realisation struck her. 

All those days spent raising  hands, screaming answers, writing and learning. It’d all started here, in this building with all these amazing people. Damini excused herself and climbed down the stairs to the ground. 

She walked out of the building and got into a cab.

Damini knew where she was headed.

Fin.

‘In times when people see black and white, writers see a world of color.’

• Apsara Feroze