I tried to eat, but couldn’t. I had not eaten anything for three days. I hid the paranthas in my laptop bag when she wasn’t looking.
‘Shipra masi had recommended another girl. They have bungalow in Shalimar Bagh. Would you like to see her?’ she said.
I stared at my mother.
‘What?’ she said.
‘I’ll marry her. No need to see her. Fine?’ I said.
‘Krish, don’t say like that. When have I forced you?’
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‘What is the point of me seeing these girls? What am I supposed to check out in one hour? Her complexion? Figure – fat or slim? Is the marble in her home real? None of this matters when you have to spend your life with the person, so might as well save time. The parents should do the meeting. Whoever massages your ego more, say yes.’
‘What happened to you? These multinationals are sucking your blood,’ my mother said.
‘Can you apologize to Ananya’s parents?’ I said.
My mother didn’t respond. She stood up from the sofa and went into the kitchen.
I followed her ‘Why can’t you do it?’ I said.
She didn’t answer me. She dabbed at dishwashing detergent with a sponge and scrubbed the utensils. She addressed an imaginary audience:
‘First a useless husband, now a useless son. I had thought, after my son’s marriage. I will get respect. I said yes to his choice of girl, but at least behave like the girl’s side. Now he wants me to fall at their feet. What is so great about this girl? Shipra is right, everyone is selfish.’
‘Stop it, mom, I am not telling you to grovel. You can apologize over the phone.’
‘Apologize for what? Is it wrong to expect what is due to me? Didn’t I look after your grandmother until she died?’
‘Didn’t Ananya help set Duke’s family right? Didn’t you say yes then?’
‘I was wrong. I hadn’t met her parents then. I’ve never met such a dry breed of people. Look at how they eat dinner, like it is a punishment. Ananya’s mother –
does she ever laugh? Dark from outside, dark from inside.’
The doorbell rang. My father had come back from another of his lacklusture business ventures. I switched off the TV and opened the door. I had told him the partial truth about Goa. I had said there was an office conference there and that I AskManiG.com
was taking mom along. I had become quiet after my return and didn’t even bother to fight with him anymore. He came inside and noticed the silence between my mother and me. There were several evenings these days at home when no one spoke to anyone.
‘Have you decided to stop talking to your mother, too?’ my father asked as he sat on the sofa and removed his shoes.
It’s none of your business, would have been my usual response. But I had fought enough with the world. Another argument wouldn’t have yielded anything.
‘We’ll be fine,’ I said. I wished my mother would bring his dinner soon.
‘Are you not enjoying your job?’ my father said.
‘The job is good. They said I’ve a great future,’ I said. I don’t know why I said the last line. Somehow, I felt the need to tell my father I was doing well.
‘Why are you upset with your mother?’ he said.
Ok, it was enough. ‘It’s none of your business,’ I said.
‘Are you telling me my own family is not my business?’ he said.
‘Dad, enough. I am too tired to argue.’
My mother brought him dinner and I went back to my room. I took out Ananya’s pictures. I tossed and turned in bed wondering what to do next. When you can’t sleep, your mind comes up with weird schemes. I couldn’t do it over the phone. I had to go in person to do it.
I woke up at four and took a shower.
‘You are going to office now?’ my mother said as she heard me get ready.
‘I have a presentation, I’ll be back late,’ I said.
I took an auto to the airport. I plonked a month’s salary to take my cross-country joyride.
‘Same day return trip to Chennai please.’ I said at the Indian Airlines counter.
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55
Chennai seemed embarrassingly familiar on my second trip. I could throw in Tamil terms and negotiate with autos. I knew the main roads. I reached Ananya’s office at eleven.
‘Hi, I’m Krish,’ I said to the receptionist.
‘Oh, that Krish,’ she said and called Ananya.
Ananya came out. I opened my arms to embrace her, but she shook hands.
‘I came for the day,’ I said, as we sat in the HLL cafeteria.
‘You shouldn’t have,’ she said. ‘What’s with the unshaven look? And why do you seem so weak? Are you sick?’
‘I want to meet your parents,’ I said.
‘There is no use. No matter how charming you are, they don’t trust you anymore,’ Ananya said.
‘Do you trust me?’
‘Irrelevant,’ she said.
‘I’ll go to your place,’ I said.
‘Don’t, Harish’s parents are in town. They will visit my parents today.’
I took a deep breath to keep my temper in control. ‘At least spend the day with me,’ I said.
‘I can’t. I have work. Besides, it is not good for my parents’ reputation.’
Blood rushed up my face. ‘What reputation? What about Ahmedabad? What about when you’d lie to them to meet me in Chennai? What about Ratna Stores?’
My voice was as loud as my body was tired.
She stood up. ‘Please don’t create a scene at my workplace.’
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‘Please don’t play with my life.’
‘I’m not doing anything! Be strong, move on,’ she said. ‘It’s not easy for me. So please, let me be.’
She went back to her office, leaving me still sitting there burning with fatigue and fury. I hadn’t shaved for ten days. Other girls in the cafeteria stayed away from me. I resembled a Kollywood villain who could rape anyone anywhere anytime. My flight didn’t leave until the evening. I had half a day and no money to spend. Like a total loser, I decided to go to Citibank and visit Bala.
‘Krish!’ Bala said, shocked at my presence and appearance.
‘Hi, how is the champion of the South?’
‘I’m fine, but you look fucked,’ he said,
‘I am,’ I said and slumped in front of him.
Bala ordered coffee for both of us. He pulled his chair forward, eager to hear gossip from the other office.
‘Is Citi Delhi screwing you? Don’t tell me you want to come back.’
‘Fuck off Bala, you think Citibank can get the better of me?’ I said.
‘Someone clearly has. Boy, your eyes. Do you have conjunctivitis?’
I shook my head. He touched my arm.
‘Dude you have high fever. Do you want to see a doc?’
‘I want a drink. Can you get me a drink?’ I said.
‘Now? It is not even lunchtime.’
My stomach roiled and I retched. Thankfully, nothing came out and Bala’s office could maintain its pre-me conditions.
‘You are sick. My cousin is a doctor, I’ll call him. He works in City Hospital on AskManiG.com
the next street.’
‘What do girls think? We can’t live without them?’ I muttered. I couldn’t believe I was venting out to Bala. But I needed someone, anyone.
Bala dropped me at the clinic run by his cousin, Dr Ramachandran or Dr Ram.
Dr Ram had returned from the US two years ago after being a general surgeon, working on cancer research and collecting several top degrees. He told me to go to the examination bed as he collected his instruments.
‘I’ll see you later then,’ Bala said.
‘You South Indians have too much brain but too little heart,’ I said to Bala as he left.
‘I heard that,’ Dr Ram said as he came to me. He put a cold stethoscope on my chest.
‘So, this is a situation involving a girl? Dr Ram asked.
‘What girl?’
‘When did you eat last?’ he said.
‘I don’t remember,’ I said.
‘What’s that smell?’ the doc said. He sniffed his way to my laptop bag. Stale paranthas stank up the room. ‘What’s this?’
‘Last night’s dinner,’ I said. ‘Oh my laptop, I hope it is OK.’
I opened my laptop and switched the power on. It worked fine.
‘Can I see it?’ Dr Ram said, pointing to my computer.
‘Yes sure, are you looking to buy one?’ I said.
He didn’t respond. He spent five minutes at my computer and gave it back to me.
‘What?’
‘You should rest and eat food for sure. But you also need to see a psychiatrist.’
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‘What? Why?’ I said. Sure, I am bit of psycho, but I didn’t want to make it official.
‘What is the name of the girl?’ Dr Ram said.
‘What girl? I don’t like girls.’
‘Bala said she is Tamilian. Ananya Swaminathan who stays in Mylapore, right?’
he said.
‘I don’t like Tamilians,’ I screamed. ‘And don’t mention her name or neighborhood.’
‘Good, because the psychiatrist I am referring you to is a Tamilian girl. Dr Iyer is upstairs. Please go now.’
‘Doctor, I have to catch a flight. I am fine.’
I pushed myself off the bed. My legs felt as if the blood had drained from them.
I couldn’t balance. I fell on the floor.
Dr Ram helped me back up.
‘What problem do I have?’ I said, worried for the first time about my illness.
He handed me the specialist referral letter as he spoke again.
‘There’s no precise medical term. But some would refer to it as the early signs of a nervous breakdown.’
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56
‘So, that’s it, I’ve told you everything.’ I said.
Dr Neeta Iyer broke into laughter as I finished my story.
‘This is insane. You find comedy in my tragedy?’ I was miffed.
She didn’t stop laughing.
‘I’m paying you to treat me,’ I said and checked the time. ‘And I had to leave for the airport in twenty minutes.’
It dawned on me that I had spoken to her for four hours. I had no money for this extravagance.
‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘you reminded me of my first boyfriend. He was North Indian.
‘You didn’t marry him?’
‘He didn’t want to commit,’ she shook her head.
‘Oh, sorry,’ I said.
‘It’s OK. I’m over it.’
‘Of course you are, you are a therapist. You should be able to cure yourself, if nothing else.’
She walked to the window. ‘Ah Krish, it doesn’t work like that. A broken heart is the hardest to repair.’
I sighed. ‘Do you accept Citibank credit cards?’ I opened my wallet.
‘It’s fine, send me a cheque later,’ she said. ‘You should have eloped.’
‘We thought we will win our parents over. Where’s the joy of getting married if your parents won’t smile on your wedding day?’ I said.
She came to me and patted my shoulder.
‘You have to leave. So, what do I do now? Do you want pills?’ she said.
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‘You mean anti-depressants? Aren’t they bad for you?’
‘Yeah but depends on how bad you feel right now. I don’t want you googling for suicide recipes.’
‘I won’t,’ I said, ‘I’ll probably wither away anyway. Is there another option apart from pills?’
‘There’s therapy, sessions like this. It takes a few months though. I can try and find a therapist for you in Delhi.’
‘No, if my Punjabi family finds out, I’m done. They’ll say I am mental or something.’
‘You’re not. But you know, there is one thing you can try yourself.’
‘What?’
‘When you told me your story, why did you mention that episode with Guruji?’
‘At the Aurobindo Ashram?’
‘Yes, it didn’t really have a connection with Ananya or her parents. But you remember everything he said.’
‘Yes about forgiveness.’
‘Yes, maybe it had some significance,’ she said.
I kept quiet. The clock in her room told me it was time for my return journey. I took her leave.
‘Airport, vegamaa,’ I said as I hailed an auto.
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57
I knew I had to eat, my brain knew this, but my body wouldn’t hear of it. The day after returning from Chennai, I only had soup at office; at home I pretended I’d already had dinner. My mother asked me when I wanted to shave. She wanted to schedule a meeting with a new girl. I told her I had decided to keep a beard for the rest of my life. She made a face and left the room.
My father came home at ten. He looked extra tired. His normally tucked in shirt was out, and his hair wasn’t neatly combed as usual. He sat in front of me.
‘I’ve eaten dinner’ he told my mother.
‘I don’t know why I even cook,’ my mother grumbled as she left the room.
‘You came back late last night,’ my father said to me. I had reached home only at the midnight from the airport.
‘I had to work late,’ I said.
‘Everything OK?’ he said.
I nodded.
‘I had a really bad day,’ my father said. ‘My pension papers are stuck in government offices. Bloody lazy buggers.’
I nodded without paying attention. My thoughts were all over the place, but none in his department. I felt immense longing and loathing for Ananya at the same time. I felt resentment towards my mother. My own problems, at least in my mind, were far bigger than some retirement files stuck in a government office.
‘Now they have asked me to submit three different letters. I have to get them typed tomorrow,’ my father said.
When my father had to suffer, he forgot his own vocation – of making others suffer. He hadn’t shouted once since he had come home.
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‘Do you know a place where I can get letters typed? You have a computer, no?’
my father said.
‘Yes, I do,’ I said.
My father continued to look at me expectantly.
‘OK, I’ll type them now and get a printout from office tomorrow,’ I said. I anyway wanted more work to distract myself. I opened my laptop.
‘Thank you,’ he said, words we did not know lived inside of him.
I wrote his three applications in the next thirty minutes.
‘How’s your friend? He said to me.
‘Which friend?’ I said.
‘The girl who came from Chennai to attend the wedding,’ he said.
The mention of Ananya was enough to stir up my emotions. I felt like someone had punched me back in the stomach. Maybe I should take those anti-depression pills, I thought.
‘I don’t know. Must be fine,’ I said after a minute’s pause.
‘You are not in touch with her?’
‘Everyone had busy lives, dad,’ I dismissed. ‘Your letters are done. I’ll get a printout tomorrow.’ I shut down my computer.
‘It is good that we talk sometimes,’ my father said.
‘Good night, dad’ I said and left for my room.
I lay in bed and that is when the depression hit me full force. Dr Iyer was right, no pill could be as bad for me as I felt right now. I lay motionless. I felt like I’d never be able to get out of bed again. I thought of every person in my life. One by one, I convinced myself how each of them hated me. If I were gone tomorrow, they’d all be happier. And considering how crappy I felt, there was no reason for me to stick around anyway. I had no one I could talk to about my situation, except five hundred bucks an hour. I hated money, I hated Citibank, I hated my job and I AskManiG.com
hated all human beings on earth.
Calm down, Krish, this is going to pass, I told myself. This was the sensible me talking. No baby, this time you are so fucked. This is how you will feel for the rest of your life, the freaked-out me said. That’s nonsense. Whatever crap happens in life, tone gets used to it. You aren’t the first guy facing a break-up
,
sensible-me said. Yes, but
nobody loves the way I do. So, nobody feels as hurt as I do
,
freaked-out me said. Yeah,
right, sensible-me said and yawned, can we sleep? You know you need to .
Are you crazy? How can you sleep when we can stay up all night and worry about this the freaked-out me said.
The world’s most sensible person and the biggest idiot both stay within us.
The worst part is, you can’t even tell who is who.
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58
‘Where’s dad?’ I asked my mother, ‘He hasn’t told me how many copies he wants.’
Though I sat for breakfast before going to office, I drank only a glass of milk.
Solids were still indigestible. I wanted to rush to work and occupy my mind before it sank into its black-hole hell again.
‘Morning walk,’ my mother said.
‘Why doesn’t he keep a mobile?’ I said as I wore my shoes to leave for office.
‘Get four copies of each, worst case,’ my mother said.
It wasn’t a big deal. However, it didn’t take a lot to piss me off these days.
‘Like I have nothing better to do in office,’ I said.
‘All you grumpy people in the house, please leave,’ my mother said and folded her hands. ‘I don’t know when you will forget her.’
‘I don’t know when you’ll end your drama,’ I said.
‘This girl….’ my mother started.
‘Bye,’ I said hurriedly and sprinted out of the house.
I came late at night. I had stuck to juice and milk all day.
‘Again no dinner? Where are you eating these days, and look at you, so weak.
And please shave,’ my mother said.
‘Is dad back?’ I said, ‘Here are his papers.’
I took out the printouts and kept them on the table. My mother shook her head and told me that he hadn’t come all day.
‘Please, give these to him,’ I said.
I went to my room and lay down in bed. Scared of black-hole land, I kept the AskManiG.com