by Preeti Madhusudhan
[box]Nick, a die-hard ‘Star Wars’ fan, has all that he had wanted of life and even more. One fine day, an epiphany occurs and life isn’t the same again. Based on the premise that there is a force that binds the universe, all pervading and omnipresent, and that this force can be realised and utilised by a person to his advantage and/or for the community’s benefit or can also be used for dark side or evil, Preeti Madhusudhan writes a story around the popular movie, Star Wars.[/box]
“Epiphany”. “Epiphany”. Joseph Campbell, the American philosopher, was stressing on the “pif” in epiphany, as though the vision that was divine and spectacular depended on its “pif”ness. “What?” “What are you saying?” This was Nick a.k.a Neelakandan’s ego, or alter-ego, as he preferred to call it. They held a regular dialogue on almost everything that appealed to Nick, he and his ego. The old interview that was being telecast on the Contra Costa county educational channel’s morning slot had caught Nick’s eye as he was flipping through the channels, homework propped against his knees. There it was again. E-piphfff-any. His blue eyes became bigger, moister each time he enunciated that word. Nick watched expecting Campbell to do a Yoda-like “within everyone is capacity for bliss, follow it you must, believe in it you must.” But all he said was in an annoyingly normal manner “Follow your bliss.”
Anything associated with the Star Wars series was nectar to Nick, or the local beer or Napa Valley wine or what have you, you know what it means. It was not so much a hobby of trivia as it was an obsession. It was a religiously cultivated passion. It started when he was in the ninth grade, studying with his friend for the Physics test the next day. They did not need to study for the test; they could set question papers for third year students majoring in Physics. But sometimes they needed to downgrade in order to come back to ground zero and score here so they could transcend someday to university level when they will already be eligible to defend their own thesis papers. It appeared to be one long excruciatingly dull progression of years for a pair of brilliant students claustrophobic in confinement. They could stand each other only out of necessity, as everyone else viewed them as freaks.
As a super geek blessed with average looks, Nick needed an edge, an aura, a sheath to not set him apart but belong – to a group, any group. Unlike your normal super geek who prefers to blend with the furniture, dreaming of his favorite Amazonian algae or calculating the fuel needed for the next pay-load satellite that he was helping NASA with, Nick was social or at least thought he was. Having decided when he was around 11 that he would do his graduate studies and doctorate in the U.S, he was looking for the object to obsess over, when he spotted a Star Wars poster hiding under a multitude of jeans and shirts that hung on hooks on the door of his friend’s room. It was obsession at first sight, or at least a decision to obsess at first sight. It was quirky, dark, evocative of power and it called out to him. He would later describe that as “the force” luring the “jedi “in him.
He loved it. He had been looking for something scientific (to sustain his interest), something cult-like (and hence always fashionable) and fun (people tire of statistical data on sports or movements on Mars Rover, after the first two minutes). Now, here he was at Berkeley, working on his doctorate. It has been eight years since he moved here. And the “force” was what got him through. His mentor, his Yoda, who also happened to be the Dean of his department, was a Star Wars fanatic; he even had a saber stashed away in his room buried beneath layers of papers, science journals, and dust, and days-old burger (or was it Panini?). He was most likely to take a bite to make sure. “Make not it a difference boy, days are for the empire not a jedi, the force that flows through me does so through this Panini too”, he would say, miming Yoda.
“Force is ebbing away from that Panini, sir, since it looks like last week’s lunch,” Nick would correct, trying hard not to grimace or puke. And then, he would urgently add, seeing the expression on the dean’s face, “But this only proves that force, like matter, just reincarnates. What was once a beautiful Panini is now a ball of stink; in other words, the Panini still packs a strong forceful punch on the olfactory nerves”. And Nick would sigh with relief as the Dean laughed.
At first he was just the brilliant boy from India, who was obnoxiously right on everything, disturbingly punctual (he submitted homework a day before anyone else did) and the Dean’s pet. As much as Nick enjoyed being all this, he yearned for attention and got just that with the release of the prequels of the Star Wars series. He hosted screenings of the first three or technically the last three movies in his tiny apartment. The house was more like a temple to the movie’s memorabilia and trinkets that Nick had created. There was a 3D laser projection of Princess Leia in his bedroom, a life-size C3P0 robot (patent pending) with the crisp British accent, which made his breakfast in his tiny kitchen and a personalized hover craft that ran on solar power (also awaiting patent) named Chewy after the rambunctious ape from Star Wars. When asked about the conspicuously absent Yoda, he replied “Looking at the master you are.”The movie was projected like a laser show, dinner included purple gray masses of squid (conveniently Star-Wars-like-gooey food, also “a Sicilian delicacy” the guests were informed) and murky brown swamps of drinks that were surprisingly delicious. He was a hit. For a person who had neither the time nor the inclination toward women (not that he was gay and like Mr. Jerry Seinfeld would say “not that there was anything wrong with that”) shunning that as a frivolous pursuit, he now had the phone numbers of every girl in campus and invitations to almost any event that involved people in Berkeley.
He had arrived.
It had taken time, but there he was. He had craved and yearned for it even when he knew he did not have the time for it. Now he was popular and did not know what to do with it.
It was three in the morning and he was cleaning his apartment, C3PO close at hand, its electronic buzzing filling the place with reassuring warmth when he suddenly felt overcome with weariness. He was what he had endeavored to be, Mr Know-all from Somerset Maugham’s story, the man everyone loved to hate. Now that he had made sure that he had surpassed loathing and edged it with a grudging admiration and inclusion, he was drained. As he watched Campbell he sensed it was futile. He felt years of obsession leave him like dead cells scrubbed off his skin.
“Epiphany”, Joseph Campbell’s voice rang clear in the room.
Well, he had had his, thought Nick. Shelving his paper that was due this week, he composed a mail to the firm that had been after his C3PO for months now. He handed in a letter expressing his desire to terminate his doctorate to a dumb-struck Dean who for once had nothing to say. “The force” in that room was dead for practical purposes. Within the week he had sold the rights to his personal robot-valet and the solar-powered hover craft and made money enough to make the Sultan of Brunei seem a pauper. Within the end of that fortnight he made the covers of The Times, The People, milk cartons, ice-cream tubs, toothpaste covers and even condom wrappers. He drank coffee with Oprah, pretended to sip a cuppa with Jay Leno, had a book written on him that came inclusive of movie rights. He was as much a cult as Star wars. This now irked him. He had got more than he had strived for. He had got it and was now nauseated with it. Try as he might, there was no shrugging it off. He was sick of it.
“Epiphany”, he heard it again. He listened through the interview ready to lick the screen like a dog would his bone or a teenager would, his rock-idol. The prequels were coming, he thought excitedly as he planned for the screening party of the initial trilogy.
Nick, a die-hard ‘Star Wars’ fan has all that he had wanted of life and even more. One fine day, an ephiphany occurs and life isn’t the same again. Based on the premise that that there is a force that binds the universe, all pervading and omnipresent and that this force can be realised and utilised by a person to his advantage and/or for the community’s benefit or can also be used for dark side or evil, Preeti Madhusudhan writes a story around the popular movie, Star Wars.
I was simply so excited as I read each sentence after another of this Asimov-meets-Lucas narrative. The description is so illustrative… I could almost see Nick in his room, and talking to his Yoda. And those Yoda-talks are perfect! There are so many lines in this short story that I can simply pick up and go gushing over.
I had read “A Pale Pink Dawn” and now this… you are just wonderfully gifted at describing things … at drawing a picture with your words!
Thanks! Thanks for the comments. Glad you liked the story.