Solace

I escape the shooting questions, offered drinks, wild dances of the people I don't even know, and take the first step of the staircase. My head is buzzing with noises I can't handle, my feet are shaking due to the catastrophe I know I am heading to, I'm shivering because I don't know if I'm even gonna make it or no. Second step. I'm sweating already. My palms are wet and I rub them against the suit I'm wearing, which isn't mine, of course. Third step. I hear someone call out my name but I refuse to turn back. They'll occupy the little space that is left in me, I know, and I can't let them do that. I have very little of me left for myself, I can't let myself go now. Fourth step. I tremble. My body is aching due to fear and pain, I shouldn't have come here at the first place. I can't find any good reason for why I did come. Fifth step. My phone rings. It's the same person who was calling me a few steps back, remember? Yes. I look at the screen flashing bright enough to cut deep my eyes and let blood drip from it. But I keep looking anyway. The call disconnects and I slide the phone back into my pocket. Sixth step. I can feel myself fainting now. I have to remember henceforth, I am my priority. Never do the things you are uncomfortable doing, may it be for anyone that you immensely love or whatever. Just. Don't. Seventh step. I feel nauseated. Maybe I drank too much. I need to throw out. I can't breathe. It's difficult to go ahead with a heavy head that can burst out any moment and legs that are too stubborn to follow the instructions sent by my brain to move. I take a halt. I grasp air into my lungs and I run. Taking alternate steps I don't know how many times, I reach the terrace. And as the cold breeze clashes against my sweaty skin, I feel strangely good. Like everything I've been feeling until a few moments ago just fades away into the air. I can see sparkles in front of my eyes, but I know it's just in my head. I close my eyes and breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. And again. Deep. Deeper. As I open my eyes back into reality, I feel refreshed. I don't need to throw up anymore. I am not shivering, I'm not afraid of anything. It's like the night sky has liberated me into my own strength. I am strong. I feel strong. There's nobody around. I still hear vague noises of the loud music people are enjoying so much down there. But I'm past the phase that was running towards me as if it'd consume me. I take off my shoes and overcoat. I lie down on the floor, and it feels cold against my back that is just protected by a thin layer of the shirt I'm wearing. Even that feels calm and soothing. I look at the sky, the moon shines bright over my head, and there are lots of stars, some of them shining brightly while some of them are dim, but not so much that they go unnoticed. Looking at the stars, I feel all my worries washing away one by one. As I stare into the infinity of the universe, I somehow know that I am not alone. There is some spirit in the universe that guards me from everything, it's my shield. I sigh. The moon looks beautiful, and I realize how small my world actually is. I get this energy, indeed a positive one, and it engulfs me and breaks open a world of ethereality. Serenity. Calmness. Beauty. Solitude.

Heartbreak.

I don't miss you. You read it right. I don't miss you, at all. I don't even think of you these days, not intentionally. I can fake a laugh till my eyes get watery, and smile and smile, no matter what. Just that once in a day, maybe twice or thrice, all of it suddenly comes to a halt. I can't wait to be alone, because that's when I won't have to pretend that I'm fine. Suddenly time stops when I pass the spot where we used to hang out, and all the memories rush back at once. Sometimes, when a breeze passes through my hair, it reminds me of your tender touch, giving me goosebumps for a while. Just that when I laugh really hard, I am reminded of the moments spent with you. When it is the end of the day and I'm about to go to sleep, and I have all these things that I feel in my heart left unsaid, I remember you saying that you were here for me to listen to my rants. When I see others happily with their loved ones, I just wish you were with me, or me with you, or we could be together at some place. When someone mentions your name, I have this known feeling that I have stopped acknowledging, but it's there. My friends, who aren't really my friends, opine that I would be stupid if I still thought of you. When I experience something really overwhelming and my heartbeats increase their pace, I am vaguely reminded of the times I have been in love with you. Love, it's a word that has lost its meaning to me. But if someone talks about being in love and the feeling of it, you're the first thing that comes into my mind. When I look at myself in the mirror, and my sight falls over my face, the eyes you said you could drown into, the smile you said you'd die for, the beauty you said you'd treasure in your eyes forever, it all seems to be insignificant. I look at the places you'd touched me, and it feels like I want to rip off my skin from there, so that I can at least get rid of your presence in me. When I see my hand, deprived of yours in it, I remember how it was when you held my hand, saying it was for ever. But I know, it's all a shout in the void. I just feel it all intensely. But I'm firm on what I had said earlier, I don't miss you.

Death.

I sit alone in the dark room, illuminated by my thoughts. I can see the thoughts running on in my mind like a movie scene in front of me. As I try to blink, I realize that my eyes are already closed. Maybe I'm dreaming.  As I open them into reality, I freeze. I see him right in front of my eyes, holding a sharp, edged knife, coming towards me. I feel sweat drops dripping past my right eyebrow, but as it falls on the white marble floor, I realize it's blood. The red stains on my clothes are now clearly visible to me. He'd hit my head with something, and I'd fainted. And now he's coming again, to chop me off. But why? I don't remember. I'm horrified. I can't remember who he is, what my mistake is. Oh hell, I can't even remember who I am. All I know is a man whom I've majorly, majorly wronged is now coming to kill me. My mind instantly decides that I'd committed a huge mistake, and it is his revenge thing. I'm terrified at death, he's taking steps towards me, whilst I'm thinking of what I might've done to deserve this. Right now, more than knowing who I am, I need to know what I'd done. I still can't remember. He comes closer, puts his left hand on my shoulder, and paces the knife hard into my stomach. There's a sharp, churning pain that rushes through me, as I open my mouth. He takes the knife out to repeat the process again. I can't think of anything right now. I'm just engulfed by fear and pain. It's too much to bear for a single time. Maybe he could leave me like this right now and kill me later. But he slides back through my stomach again. And again. It's burning now, the pain is edged, and there's nothing I can do now to escape this. I can't run, I'm too damaged to even move. It's not only my stomach and head that's bleeding right now, but it's also my heart, for I don't know why he's doing this to me. Tears have abandoned me, I'm past the crying stage now. He hits me again, but this time, there's no pain, all of a sudden. Some scenes try to find their way in front of my eyes, but fail. There's nothing but blankness. Just a dark void stretches itself infinitely before me. No pain, no agony, no grudges. I feel free. Eternal.
Maybe I am dead.

Villain - Part Four

                                  OBSESSION

Wednesday arrives soon, as Amrita has been with me all the time. She'd asked me to stay with her at her place. I'd agreed, too, because being alone with my thoughts was not very recommendable by Dr. Mehnaaz.

I reach the café fifteen minutes early, and in a moment, Dr. Mehnaaz arrives, too. We both look at each other and smile. I get up to acknowledge her, but she raises her hand, as if signalling me to be seated. I still get up, and shake hands with her. Her hands are softer than me. Again.

"So, where'd we ended our last session?" She enthusiastically asks.

"Kartik," I say, staring at the table.

"Yes, so. What'd you like to have? Coffee? It was kinda good the last time." She says, and that makes me smile. She's cool, I like her.

“Yes.” I say, and she orders the same.

The waiter brings our order in five minutes, and I smile at the waiter. I'm kinda okay; I never knew talking helps this much, having someone to listen to us helps this much. I feel good, I'm recovering, I think. Maybe I will be okay.

Five years earlier.

My maternal grandmother passed away a month ago. I’d stayed with her since thirteen years, since my daddy got arrested (I think, I never looked back, ever) for killing my mommy. I'm 21 now. I've spent my teenage alone, with no friend other than my grandmother. She told me stories, made me good food, and had been with me throughout the darkness in my life. The final days I spent with my mommy, or you can say, my mommy's body, was the last time I saw her. The police then took her body, and then performed post mortem and after all the due actions, handed it over to my mommy's brother. He performed all the last rituals, and that's why I didn't get to see her. I was kept away; they thought it would affect me. Little did everyone know, the wound had already imprinted its dark shadow on my heart, never to fade.

The first few days were okay-ish. I’d cried a lot, but I’d people around me to support. My maternal uncle had been here with his wife and son all the time, so I barely felt alone. But now, when they’re no longer here, I feel this emptiness as if it would burst out of my heart, scattering over the floor. I desperately need some company. I need attention.

I go out for a walk, out of the house, as if out of the memories of my grandmother. I keep walking without a direction, thinking, crying. Suddenly, I realize a car is about to hit me, and I freeze. The person stops inches away from me, and gets out of the car.

“Oh, my God. Are you fine? Did I hurt you? I’m so, so sorry.” The person says. He’s wearing blue jeans, with a white t-shirt tucked in, and covered by a black leather jacket. He is attractive. There’s a thin layer of beard on his face, it makes him look even more desirable.

“I... I’m okay.” I sheepishly mumble.

“No, you’re not. You’re crying. I said I’m sorry.” He throws a confused look. I say nothing. He continues, “Come, I’ll drop you home. Tell me where d’you live?”

“I don’t want to go home!” I exclaim. He gives the same confused look again, and I make up for my stupidity, “I mean, I just came out. I, eh, I have some work.” I say, but he still looks unconvinced.

“Then tell me where to drop you?” He asks, to which I instantly lie, “I’m going out for a coffee.” I’m surprised at the ease at which I speak, though he knows I’m lying.

“Would you mind if I accompany you?” He asks, to which, I again yell, “What?”

“It isn’t a compulsion, I mean, I was just suggesting. You can refuse.” He says, turning to his right, looking at me from the corner of his eye. “Okay, let’s go.” I say. He asks me to sit in his car, and I do, without a second thought.

 I’m unsure, though. I’ve just met him, okay, not even met. I just ran into him. And we’re going for a coffee. Is it a date? Wait, I don’t even know his name yet. I think I should refuse, but he has already started driving. I stay mum.

“Oh, by the way, I’m Kartik.” He says, thrusting out his right hand.

“Shivani.” I say, shaking hands with him, asking him to leave my hand and drive. I think he’s into me. But it’s too early. Or maybe, I sounded desperate when I agreed for the coffee. Okay, maybe I am desperate for some company.

We reach the coffee shop and sit facing each other. He talks a lot. I like the way his eyes varies in its sizes depending on what he’s saying. I kinda like him. It is too early, I remind myself.

He asks for my phone and saves his number in it, when I tell him that I live alone. “Call me if you need anything, I’ll be there.” He says. I’ve carefully managed to hide about my past; I just told him that I lived with my grandmom who passed away a few days ago, and so, I’m alone. Some things are better left unsaid.

After the coffee, he drops me home. I’m overjoyed that I’ve finally found a friend, a person to be with. I take the newspaper and sit, looking for jobs. I need to work, too.

But then, it strikes me. Do I really want this? Can I trust him? I’ve seen my mom suffer; do I want to turn out to be like her? I like Kartik, and I’m sure he reciprocates, but am I sure to take things at the next level? I’m afraid so.

The next morning, I call Kartik to know what he is up to. He says he’s glad I called, and that he’s coming over. I’m hesitant, but I cannot say no to him. In half an hour he’s knocking at my door.

“I haven’t been able to sleep the last night. All I thought about is you.” He says, blushing a bit.

I’m so nervous right now; maybe it’s even visible on my face. “No, no, take your time. I’m just being straightforward. I’m bad at hiding things.” He winks, making me smile.

“Let’s wait, Kartik. I’m not certain about anything right now.” I say. He agrees.

Today.

“I had a thing about Kartik since the first day we met, but I decided to take it slow. I didn’t want to mess it up. It was special. He was special. But I didn’t know denying my feelings would...”

“Would?” Dr. Mehnaaz asks.

“Make me obsess over him.”

Four years ago.

It’s been a year of pure friendship, at least from his side. I can’t think of anything but him. What he must be doing, whom he must be around, who would hit on him, blah. I’m just insecure, insecure that he’d walk away. But why would he? I won’t let him.

It’s his birthday today, and I’m gonna confess that I love him. I’ve asked him to come over at 1, but it’s already 1.10, and he isn’t here. I’m calming myself down, trying not to get angry, making myself understand that he might be stuck somewhere. But why is everything else important to him? Am I not?

The door knocks, and I know it’s him. I open the door, and hug him. “Where’s my gift?” He right away asks. He thinks I’m gonna gift him some stupid videogame or watch. He’d once told me he hasn’t had his first kiss yet. My plans are wicked.

Being a girl, I get on my knees, and thrust my hand out. He’s SURPRISED, with all the letters in the uppercase. “Kartik, I love you, too. I always have. Do you promise to be mine, the rest of our lives?” I say, and he holds my arms and makes me stand up. “Of course!” He yells, and exclaims with joy. I’m so happy.

I cup his face in my hand, and plant a kiss on both of his cheeks. “You wanted your gift, right?” I say, and ask him to close his eyes. As soon as he does so, I kiss him, and he returns the favour.

Today.

“But, I always had a problem with his friends, colleagues, God, even neighbours.”

“And why did he leave?”

A month ago.

Our relationship was not an easy one. I remember my mom had once told me, to think about myself first, and my happiness as such. My happiness, but does it mean being without him? Maybe.

“Shivani, I’m fed up. You have a problem with everything I do. The people I talk to, the ones who talk to me. You want yourself to be always prioritized in my life, but get this straight. I have a life apart and ahead of you. You cannot impose yourself on me like this. God, let me breathe. Let me live, let me be free.” He says, and sits down on the floor, holding his head.

“Am I this bad?”

“Oh yes, you are this bad. Okay? You are. Four years, and you still don’t understand me. I don’t know why you are this way. Isn’t my love enough? Every story has a villain, and in ours, it’s YOU. You’re the villain in our love story. Chuck, I can’t take this anymore. I’m leaving.” He says, and I don’t stop him.

Tears flow out of my eyes, but I know I’m the one at fault. Maybe I am wrong in loving him to this extent. I understand obsession is bad, but how do I help myself? Maybe living without him will help.

He doesn’t even turn back, I know he’s done. He’s gone.

Today.

“He’d said, I’m the villain, but he never cared to ask me why I was that way. Everyone knows that a villain is evil, but what makes a person a villain? I wasn’t the villain. Maybe if he knew about my mom, he’d have a different view about me, maybe if he’d experienced the time I spent alone after the death of my grandmother, he’d think elsewise. I wasn’t the villain. There’s a reason I thought of only my happiness. I’ve seen my mom die, starving for happiness. I wanted him to prioritize me over everything because I know what it feels like to be left alone. I wasn’t the villain.” I begin crying. Dr. Mehnaaz puts her hand on my back, and rubs it gently.

Until then, I see Amrita coming. I realize it isn’t time yet. She joins us, and Dr. Mehnaaz says that we’ll continue the next time. We have a brief conversation on how I’m improving and then she leaves.

After Dr. Mehnaaz is gone, Amrita turns to me.

“I have something to tell you.” She says, and points to a person sitting on the next table. Seeing him, I freeze. I’m unable to speak, and just look at Amrita.

“How could you?” I begin to say, but the person comes up to me and hugs me right away.

“God, I missed you, Shivani. I’m sorry.” He says.

“Kartik...”

“Don’t say anything, I know, I overheard you and your doctor. I’m sorry, but I did. I missed you and tried contacting you, but couldn’t. So I called Amrita and she told me about your condition, and I felt so miserable for being the cause of your sadness. She told me you’re seeing this doctor, and I wanted to know what had made you this way. I’m so sorry, I love you. And all this while being without you, I’ve realized that I belong with you. I can’t be without you, Shivani. I love you.”

“Dr Mehnaaz doesn’t know that he was here, hearing everything. It’s against her privacy policy. But I had no other option, he had to know everything. I’m sorry, too.” Amrita says, and I melt down.

“Oh God, you two. I love you both. Thank you so much for everything, I love you.” I say, and hug both of them, and they hug me back.

I suddenly realize something, and release them. I take my phone and call Dr. Mehnaaz. “Did I forget something?” She asks, to which, I say, “I’m okay, now, Doc. I think we’re done. I’ll pay your fees, we don’t need another session.”

“You sound lightened up! Okay, great. Take care.” She says, and disconnects.

I hug Kartik again. “I love you,” he says. “I love you.”

Villain - Part Three

                           The Truth



Dr. Mehnaaz curves her lips into a measured smile, and looks at me. I sip my coffee and let a sigh out. Taking a deep breath, I start speaking.

20 years earlier.

I'm sitting in a corner of the room, my legs folded into my stomach, hands around them. My hair is tied in a bun, mommy tied it. I'm horrified at the sight, my daddy is hitting my mommy, and she’s lying on the floor, blood spilling out from her left eyebrow. He hits her a lot. It's a routine.

After some time, daddy goes out of the house, angrily. I just look at him as he goes; I wonder why he's so furious. As soon as he shuts the door, mommy gets up and wipes her face with the loose end of her saree. Her bangles make a clinking sound, and that calms me down somehow. I take deep breaths as she comes near me. I know what she's gonna say.

"Vanu," as she always calls me, "Your daddy's a good human being. He just gets angry a lot. Don't worry for me, I'm good. I understand that he gets furious sometimes, and hurts me, but if I won't understand him, then who will?"

I can play the sound of her voice in my head, I'm a mere six year old, but I can. I think I'm mature enough in this tender age, and as a habit now, I've come to hate my daddy. He's a monster, I know he makes mistakes, and my mommy covers them for him. Mommy's the best. She comes and sits beside me. I don't realize but I'm crying, too. She wipes away my tears, and hugs me. I think that I know what she's gonna say, but today, she speaks differently. Her eyes seem smaller than usual, she's afraid of daddy.

"At times in life, you face difficulties. You think you'll get over them, you think you'll try hard and be enough. Life keeps offering hard times to you, but you can't give up. Not because you don't want to, but because you've come so far trying to get over it, that you cannot turn back now. Always remember one thing in life, don't cling to a mistake just because you spent a lot of time making it."

Her words keep spinning in my head. I try to make sense out of it, but fail. I don't know why she said that. Maybe she’s covering up for Daddy again. But she didn’t sound like that. She didn’t sound usual. She gets up and goes inside and soon gets busy with the household chores.

Today.

Dr. Mehnaaz is folding her hands, and listening to me carefully. I stop to breathe; getting those images in front of my eyes still makes me restless. I stand up, and walk around the table for a bit. Dr. Mehnaaz doesn't ask me to sit and talk, only. I like that about her, she's cool. She doesn't force me to do anything. She lets me take my time.

It's 3.57 pm, around an hour since I came. I've never been this comfortable around a doctor, but it's different with Dr. Mehnaaz. She doesn't seem like a doctor; I can tell from the time I have spent with her, she's a good person. I don't know her story, but she's a good person. I suddenly notice that we're wearing the same ring. I raise my hand and show it to her. She smiles.

I sit back again, and place my hands on the table. She keeps her hand over mine, and assures me that I can speak. She's there to listen. I blink, as if saying a yes. I continue.

  

20 years earlier.

It’s Thursday today, daddy will take mommy to the temple. That’s a chance for me to go and play out with my friends. Normally, daddy doesn’t let me go out. Nor mommy. Thursday is the day of the week we look forward to.

Soon, daddy comes home. Mommy’s ready, she’s always loved temples, and the serenity therein. She’s looking nice today, my beautiful mommy. As soon as daddy comes home, she hands him a glass of water. Daddy’s imbalanced, his steps are crooked and gnarled, and it doesn’t take mommy much to realize that he’s drunk again. Again.

Mommy says that she’d to go to the temple, but daddy grabs her hand. She tries to free herself, but daddy’s strong. His grip is firm. He doesn’t let her go, rather he takes her to the bedroom, and she starts screaming in pain. I don’t know what happens in there. Most of the times, mommy’s moaning, crying in pain and all I can do is hear her screams. I’m prohibited to go inside.

I sit in my corner, that’s my usual place. I wonder if our neighbours don’t hear my mommy’s screams. I wonder why they don’t save her from daddy. I clutch my frock, and close my eyes. So many screams.

After some time, daddy comes out, adjusting his clothes. He’s drenching in his sweat. I get up to go inside, but daddy asks me to wait. Mommy comes out in a minute or so.

I hug mommy, and daddy leaves again. I wonder where he goes. Mommy takes me and sits on the sofa. She’s gonna say something to me. I can read that in her eyes, her actions. It is as if she’s measuring the words she’s going to say, so as to have a greater impact on me. She’s thinking about which words to emphasize, which words to speak aloud and which to whisper. She wants me to understand, learn and inculcate certain things. I know that.

“Vanu,” she begins, “what do you want to be, when you grow up?”

She’s asked me this question millions of times before, and I know what answer she expects, exactly. “I want to be happy.” I mumble.

“Right, and do you think I’m happy?” Another question. What am I supposed to answer to this, yes or no, I know she’s got something to say ahead. I say nothing.

“Listen carefully,” she says, “YOU are important. No matter what relationship you build in future, you always remain constant. People come and go; but all you need to know is that you cannot please everyone. Learn to value yourself. Keep your happiness above everyone else’s. Be who you are, always. Always. Never give yourself too much, learn to love yourself. Think for yourself and your happiness, I repeat, your happiness.”

She again disappears into the kitchen. I cannot comprehend why she talks in puzzles, maybe I’ll understand later in life. Right now, all I know is she was talking about her, daddy and their relationship.

Today.

Dr. Mehnaaz speaks the first time since I’ve started speaking. Her voice is soothing, too.

“So, there were issues between your mom and dad, their marriage was a problem. And every unsuccessful marriage has an impact on the kids.” She says, more to herself.

“Yes, mommy and daddy always argued, daddy always hit mom, until that day...”

“Which day?”

Eighteen years earlier.

I'm sitting in the same corner, this time more horrified than ever. I can't breathe, I can't see clearly. I feel nauseous. I knuckle, sweat beads forming on my forehead. I want to scream, but my voice doesn't come out. My heart is pounding, clearly audible to me. I'm holding my doll, tightly, and my breaths become heavier and heavier. Daddy's hitting mommy again, but it's different this time. A rage has taken over him; he's not stopping at all. I'd run to stop him, but he pushed me away with a slap. His hand is hard; my head hit the corner of the table. I'm bleeding, too. The doll I'm holding is wet now, I'm sweating so much. My vision is blurring more and more with every passing second, and before I realize, I faint.

When I wake up, daddy's nowhere to be seen. Mommy's lying on the floor, bleeding from her stomach. I'm afraid to go near her; I'm afraid daddy will come back and hit me, too. I stay in the corner for indefinite time.

A few days later, the house's stinking, a rotting smell is in the air. Mommy's still lying on the floor, unmoved. I think she's dead. Daddy didn't return. Whenever hungry, I ate whatever was in the house, but that seems to have finished by now. There's nothing to eat, I’m starving.

Occasionally, people banged the door of our house, I think because of the smell, but I never dared to open it. What if daddy came back? He’d kill me, too. This thought kept me from going out, and letting anybody in. Seeing mommy lifeless makes me cry all the time, but I’m afraid to go near her.

I want her to get up, and talk to me, but it is been so many days now, I’ve understood that she’s not getting up, ever. I’m lost in my thoughts when the door bangs again. I’m startled, but I don’t move to open it.

What if daddy’s back?

I’m terrorized. I go and sit under the bed, when the person banging the door breaks in. There are four men, and a woman. All dressed in khaki coloured uniforms. They’re the police, I guess. The neighbours would’ve called them. I still don’t trust anybody. I still don’t move.

They come near the body and start examining it. They’re searching in the house, and involuntarily, I cough. They hear me, and everybody starts looking for me, and after a while, one of the inspectors bend down to see beneath the bed where I’m hiding, and finds me. He takes me out, gives me water, and asks my name.

“Did you see who killed her? Do you know anything, beta?”

“D-d-daddy.” I say.

Today.

Dr. Mehnaaz is visibly shocked. She clutches my hand and closes her eyes, as if assuring me. I smile.

“So, is this it? Is this why you’re so disturbed?”

“Yes,” I say, “and Kartik.”

“Who’s Kartik?” She asks.

Till then, we see Amrita coming towards us. She’s smiling and waving, and I wave back, too. She comes and sits with us. Smiling at Dr. Mehnaaz, she asks me about how it went, the session. I smile and say well.

“So, Shivani, I’ll see you on Wednesday, same time, same place. See you. We’ll talk about Kartik.” She says, and gets up to leave. Amrita and I stay back for yet another round of coffee, while I see her going, adjusting her hair.

“We’ll talk about Kartik.” It keeps spinning in my head.

P.s. Stay tuned for the next part, to find out what role Kartik has to play in Shivani's life. Be in touch. Love.

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.

Villain - Part One

            I have just woken up. Looking here and there for some time, I sit on my bed with legs folded and palms wrapping my face. I want to cry, just that I cannot. Tears have distanced themselves from me. I know, I have been wrong all this while. I know why he walked away. It was entirely my mistake. I made it miserable for him. The way I am, I know he deserved more of everything, I know he has done the right thing. I still feel bad about him not being there with me right now. This feeling of hollowness doesn’t seem to break me down, I'm just very sad.

            I really loved him, but he chose to walk away. What else could have he done, anyway?

I still sit, not knowing what to do. I decide to take a mini tour in my home. I walk through the corridor, the living room, the kitchen and the study. Reaching the balcony, I stop. I go into the fresh air, feeling the breeze against my skin. It’s cold. I rest myself on a chair nearby and keep looking down the balcony. There are many people, busy in their lives. Not even an ounce of what they feel is visible on their faces. I’m trying to forget what had happened. Doesn’t look like I’m succeeding, though. Whenever I close my eyes, the image of his smiling face flashes across my mind and makes me feel a little more numb than before.

Am I the only one who feels this hollow and numb?

I see a lady, waiting for the school bus, with her son. She looks tired, early in the morning. It isn’t even 8 a.m., the day hasn’t even begun. As the school bus arrives, her son crawls in and waves a big goodbye with a wide grin on his face, and the lady does the same, just with a flying kiss, too. After the departure session, she gets back to her home, invisible in a fraction of seconds. There is a man selling tea and coffee, too, down there. Seeing him, suddenly, I realize I need some coffee too. I get up and go into the kitchen, and make a cup of coffee. It gets a bit more than a cup, so I drink the excess in a rush, burning my tongue.

Why am I so careless about myself?

I’m wearing an old green pyjama, with a blue boys T-shirt, three sizes, too big. I don’t even bother to change into good clothes, or bath. Or even brush. I’m being lazy and unhygienic, but I don’t give a fuck. I don’t know why, I feel immensely tired, mentally and physically, too. I take my cup of coffee, and drag myself to the balcony again, and rest myself on the chair. I sip my coffee and realize that it’s turned out to be a bit strong than what I actually like. I don’t mind though. I fold my legs on the chair, trying to get in a comfortable position, and lean on the grill. I tilt my head on my right hand, closing my eyes for a nanosecond. I can see my fingernails, painted yellow and pink, and the ring in the index finger. Mom had said that ring was for good luck, but oh. I feel my saliva dropping out, and I quickly clean it with my shoulder sleeve. I rub my face with my palms and sip the coffee again. It’s still hot.

Am I even normal?

My hairs are a mess. I had coloured them brown, with a blonde strap highlighted. They looked nice, but right now, I am a mess. And I don’t even bother to comb them. They keep falling over my face, because of the early morning cold breezes, but I’m too lazy. I close my eyes, exhale, and rub my palms over each other. I sip my coffee once again. My neighbour is going to her college, and she sees me in my balcony. She shouts, “Bye Shivani Di!” from down, and I just smile at her, not knowing if I should wave back or scream like she did. I gulp down the coffee; some of it spills down, and come back to my room. I search for my phone, and dial Amrita’s number. She’s my best friend.

I wonder if I should really talk about it to anybody.

“Hi, Shivani. Are you okay?” She asks.

“I don’t know, can you come over?”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

She hangs up. I sit there till she arrives. About fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rings. Amrita has bought pastries, and I grab those from her hands. She takes a spoon to eat, while I start eating with my hands. She looks at me; I don’t care to explain myself. The unmade bed, the messed up house, the unhygienic me, the spilled coffee, and my weirdness, it’s all enough for her to understand what I’m going through. I’m still eating the pastry and my hands are sticky as some of it falls over my lap and the floor. I tilt my head and look at her, licking my lower lip, hairs falling over my face again.  Amrita walks to me and puts her hand over my shoulder. We both know what she wants to say.

That, I need to see a psychiatrist.

                      ***

P.s. Part two coming soon. Stay connected. Love.