Often when I write answers in an exam paper, I picture my Dad explaining my answers to me in that logical tone which he always, always uses to explain something, anything in fact, to me and my brother. I hear his voice and his tone, right down to the way he says because. BE-cause; extra emphasis on the 'be' followed by a slightly calm 'cause.' After the exam paper, I usually find myself, psycho-analyzing myself; my mind's choice of voice and reasoning. It's almost as if, my conscious mind had become a patient and I, my hollow self, has turned into a shrink. A shrink for myself for the next fifty seconds of silence besides the stench of relief and fear in the air and the monotonous voice of the invigilator telling the whisperers to shut the fuck up, while I'm just sitting down screwing with my brain. I actually miss the entire experience: the anticipation, the distractions, everyone else's hilarious thinking face, one of the rare moments in life where time is worshiped like a God. I miss the little moments in between thinking for an answer and writing down the answer, that moment in between where I share this special bond with this voice, with my Dad's voice. This Father-Daughter like bond, this mutual connection. It's one of those rare moments when my Dad can actually agree with me and my thoughts. I am completely aware of the fact that it's just my own consciousness taking the form of my Dad's voice and communicating with me. It's just that moment when my Dad's voice starts telling me the answers I've constructed myself in my head, I picture him looking completely content and satisfied with the way I'm handling my life, with the way I turned out to be, with what I've accomplished so far. Mr. Maniyam, ladies and gentlemen.
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