Villain - Part Two

                       DESPERATION

Amrita’s hand is still on my shoulder, her eyes speaking what she cannot convey. I feel equally bad, or maybe, of course, more than her. She’s being empathic; she’s at least trying to understand me. Unlike others.  A tear escapes my eye. I’m sitting on the couch, and she comes in front of me. I hug her belly as tight as I can, and break down.

“Do you want to talk?” She asks, carefully measuring every syllable, caressing my hair.

“I don’t know,” I plainly say, “everything’s just crowded inside. It’s difficult.”

“What is difficult?”

“Existing.”

She releases herself, and I notice that her kurti is wet because of my tears. It gives me a weird sense of satisfaction that I have finally cried. I take a deep breath and exhale it slowly. Amrita takes out her cell phone, and calls someone. I overhear the conversation, of course, only from Amrita’s side.

“Hello, is it Dr. Mehnaaz?”

“I actually wish to see you, can I get an appointment?”

“Yes, will do. Yeah. Yeah, sure. Thank you.”

She comes back to me while I’m still soaking in my tears. She tells me she’s talked to a counsellor who can probably help me through the chaos that is currently going on in my life. I’m already panting. How on this earth am I supposed to open up about the deepest secrets of my life, that too to a complete stranger? I just nod.

A short thought finds its way in my mind, “Every person on this earth has a story. There’s a sequence of events, either joyful or tragic, or maybe a balanced combination of both, that constitutes a person. All the happenings make him the way he is. And, every person matters. Every person’s story matters. This is how the planets and galaxies are made. Nothing would be the same even if one single person, amongst such a big crowd, didn’t exist. But sadly, everyone is so busy writing and living their own story, they hardly have time to help others create theirs.”

Then why does the counsellor help others? Has she created her perfect story?

I say nothing of this sort to Amrita. We just sit in the bedroom, doing nothing. I’m still as numb as I was, before Amrita came. She’s sitting in front of me, hoping that I speak something. I don’t, though. I mentally compare both of us. She’s wearing a green kurti paired with black leggings. Her hair are perfectly set, and her eyes, ideally decorated with mascara. Her lips are painted pinkish red. She’s put up black coloured nail paint, suiting her fair skin. Compared to her, I feel ugly. With my overflowing tee and unmade hair, I suddenly feel the need of a shower, just, just to matchup with Amrita.

I get up, when she asks me if I need something. I nod, and mouth a ‘shower’ and that makes her smile from the corner of her lips. It is my home, I think, and I should be the one asking her if she needs something. Suddenly it strikes me; I haven’t asked her even for water. I’m so irresponsible. I still don’t care.

I take my clothes off, and turn the geyser on, and also the shower. As the warm water falls over me, I feel strangely good. I should’ve bathed a long time ago. I just stand in the shower, thinking. I wonder how the doctor is gonna be. I wonder if she’d be young or old, fat or thin. I think about Amrita, our friendship, and about how she’s helping me with the toughest phase of my life. And then, it strikes back. I suddenly feel like I’d burst out. I want to scream. And that’s exactly what I do, without even realizing.

“Kartik...” I yell, as loud as I can.

Hearing this, Amrita rushes towards the bathroom, and bangs on the door.

“Shivani, are you alright? What happened? Do you need my help? Shivani!” She calls from the other side of the door. I’m sitting on the bathroom floor, the water falling all over me, crying loudly. I know Amrita’s gonna be worried. But there’s no stop, I just cannot control. I’m weeping.

After a considerate amount of time, I get up and turn the shower off. I wipe myself and put fresh clothes on. Amrita is still waiting outside, and as soon as I open the door, she hugs me. I absolutely love her sometimes. She assures me that she’s there for me, no matter how worse it gets. I suddenly feel overwhelmed, and hug her right back.

After we’re done sharing the best-friend-moment, we again go to the bedroom, sit for a while. The time is around 12.30 pm, and so Amrita suggests we go out for lunch, and meet Dr. Mehnaaz, with whom my appointment is scheduled at 3 pm. I agree.

We go to a nearby restaurant and eat some really tasty food. It’s still time for the appointment, so we just roam here and there, walking, occasionally looking at each other and smiling. Unknowingly, I ask her, “Am I mad?” To which she reacts in a fraction of seconds. She says that I just need help to cope up with the most difficult situation in my life, and it’s perfectly normal, and that I’m very strong to have survived till now, and that she believes in me that I won’t succumb to the pain even in the future. I’m looking down as she’s saying all this. After she’s done, she lifts up my chin and makes me look at her and asks, “Okay?” I just smile.  She envelops me into a brief embrace and says, “We need to go, Dr. Mehnaaz is waiting for us.”

She takes me to a café, and I’m visibly surprised. I’d thought it would be some old, worn out hospital, and my appointment would be in some cabin located in a corner, with its roof about to fall anytime soon, and I would smell all the hospital crap and my blood pressure would raise. But it is nothing of that sort; we are at a clean and hygienic café, and Amrita points out to a lady sitting on a table in the corner.

“There she is, Dr. Mehnaaz.” Amrita says. I just look at her in awe.

Dr. Mehnaaz is in her mid-thirties, with newly formed wrinkles on her face. She’s wheatish complexioned, put on a maroon lipstick with actually matches her skin tone and the colour of dress she’s wearing. She’s dressed in formals, a white shirt, maroon (or brownish, I can’t quite figure out) trouser and blazer. Her hair are long, but she’s perfectly set them, though they’re left open. She has an appealing face, no one would be able to resist any of their secrets, if such a person would want to hear and cure them. I’m suddenly more comfortable, and Amrita and I walk up to her. As soon as she sees us, she stands up and greets us with a simple, yet elegant “Hello, I’m Mehnaaz,” and asks us to be seated. What I like the most about her is that she’s ordered two coffees already.

“Now, I’ll take your leave. I’ll be here by five again. Good luck, Shivani.” Amrita says. I’m startled, but yes, I know that such kind of privacy is needed. Confidentiality from her side, I understand. I just smile and nod. Amrita leaves.

Dr. Mehnaaz and I are seated and she is looking at me, as if studying my face, my movements. Five minutes later, she asks me to have my coffee, and I’m surprised that she isn’t forcing me to put forth my agony before her. She’s made such an atmosphere that I, myself, want to talk and tell her everything.

“Shall I say?” I ask her.

“Of course,” she smirks, and nods, and her eyes assure me everything’s gonna be just fine, all at once.

That’s when I begin to narrate her the entire 26 years of my existence, the things that’ve made me what I am today.





P.s. Interested to find out what Shivani's story is? Stay connected and wait for the next part. Love.