Next morning, I have my first class at 10:30 a.m. I wake up with a dread that I had slept over and missed the class. But the time is 9 a.m. I start thinking about how I will take the class. The bus is to leave our society at 10:20 a.m. I get ready with as much speed I could. In my mind, I am going to a battle, and I have to prepare for it. I am so tense that I decide to take a class in my apartment before I face the actual one. At 9:45 a.m., I open my class presentation in the hall of my apartment. Imagining that students are sitting in front of me, I start teaching.

‘Good morning everybody, today I am going to take the introductory class of Microeconomics. Let’s start with why do you wish to study microeconomics as business school students? Can anyone tell me the reasons for it?’

I see a hand of a dark silhouetted student up. He moves his lips.

‘That’s a good reason.’ ‘Whatever the answer of the student, never disappoint them. Every answer has some merit. Even if the answer is off the mark you have to connect it to the right answer in front of them. What a brilliant teacher he will be. Fantastic. Speak loudly in the class. Whatever you speak should be clear to the students,’ said the captain.

 ‘You see, Economics is the mother of most subjects you study in the business schools. Be it subjects in finance or subjects in marketing. If your concepts in economics are sound, it will be easier for you to understand the concepts in marketing and finance. In today’s class, let me give you a brief overview of the course outline, the books we are going to follow, and the evaluation criteria.’ I open the course outline on my laptop. Suddenly my bladder gets heavy and I need to take a shit. I run to the bathroom.

After coming out of the bathroom, I have fifteen minutes. I sit with the presentation on the sofa and keep making mental notes of the things that I am going to say in the class. When the time is up, I go down to board the bus.

My journey from my office to the class is carried with my head down and my heart in my stomach. The song, ‘Kholo kholo darwaze, parde karo kinare, khuti se bandhi hai hawa, milke churao sare,’ is playing in my mind.

‘You are a sad man. You will not be able to perform. Nothing good will come out from the class. It will turn into a disappointment. They will laugh at you,’ said the grieving voice.

‘You can speak. If you can stand there for one and a half hours, everything will be alright. You have to stand there with the presentation, nothing else,’ said the elegant one.

I enter the class. The students are seated. It is their first class at the University as well. I transfer the presentation on to the laptop with my pen drive, get the projector connected, and start the presentation. Everyone is looking at me. I think I should say something to welcome them.

‘Welcome to the University. This is your first class so I take this opportunity to wish you a happy time at your college. As you know, our first class is about Microeconomics, hence in today’s class I would like to give a brief introduction about the course, discuss the course outline, and the marking scheme for this course.’

I take them through the course outline. I can sense that some students are keenly interested in what I am saying, while many of them have lost interest. This disappoints me. When I have finished giving them a brief summary of each session, one student raises her hand.

‘Sir, I am Parkhi. I have not had economics in my higher secondary school. And from what you are saying, I have also not had mathematics in my higher secondary. I am from a biology background. Some students here are from an economics background, hence the course will be easier for them. Can we have extra classes for students like us?’

I get angry at this.

‘Parkhi, we have office hours for your section. It’s written in the course outline. You can discuss your doubts with me during these office hours. I am not aware of the provision of extra classes.’

She shrugs her shoulders as if the whole day she had had a disappointing set of news and this was one more added to that list. Another hand rose up.

‘Sir, myself Anmol, which book do we have to follow in this course?’

‘It’s Intermediate Microeconomics by Hal A Varian.’

‘Do we need to buy it?’

‘You should. But I would also send you the slides, so you do not need to rely on the book. You can study from the slides itself. That should be enough.’

I finish the class a bit early as there is no plan to start with the first lecture. When I get back to my office, I sit down. I am tense. ‘They are going to complain about you for sure. You have not worked hard on the course outline. They need special attention. I am sure they are going to complain about you. You will be thrown out of the University. They will know you have schizophrenia and a professor having schizophrenia cannot be left alone with these students. You have been a disappointment. You have given pain to them.’  I put my head down on the table and close my eyes. I am feeling sick and tired. After lunch, I decide to head back home and sleep.

In the evening, as usual, Sabina calls.

‘Hello, how was the first class?’

‘Nothing great. Your’s?’

‘Oh. I had a lot of fun. These students are insane. They even want to meet me at home now. Come over, let’s discuss about the important issue of the first class at the University.’ She laughs.

‘At 8.’

At 8, I am walking towards Sabina’s apartment. ‘Go away. You will not be able to live here for long. There will be a complain for sure. You will be asked to leave.’ The dread comes back again. I see a brick slab made for sitting and sit on it. I look at the sky. There are many stars today. ‘Count. Count. You disease born. Doesn’t know how to teach and goes to a class. It is clear that you will have to leave. Inform them that you have schizophrenia and get away. Otherwise, they will take you to the police. These children have rich parents. They will not leave you for troubling their wards. Count. Count the stars you man of pain. You deserve to die.’

The song, ‘Ye taara wo taara har taara, yeh taara wo taara har haara, dekho jise bhi lage pyara,’ is playing in my mind. I keep sitting on the slab looking at the stars and hearing my voices for the next half hour until I get a call.

‘Where are you, not coming?’

‘Five minutes.’

I rise up with an effort and walk towards her house. In between, a faculty of the business school passes me. He is taking a walk with his wife. I stare at him. But he does not greet me or even look at me. He keeps talking to his wife. ‘Now you got the proof. He knows. Everyone knows. Your first day and the students have complained. Why wouldn’t he talk to you if your class had gone well! Now you have proof as well. You are doomed,’ said the grieving voice.

‘This disease born is fucked. He is a man of pain now. His time has come. He will have to stop giving pain to people.’ My whole body is burning hot and fills with anger. The voice has overtaken me. I have started believing it. I concur with it.

‘Fuck this bastard. Go and die you bastard.’

But I hold on to my action and reach Sabina’s house. She as usual is rolling. I want to ask her if there is any complain about me. 

‘Students will complain about me.’ There is a sheepish smile on my face. She raises her eyebrows.

‘Why? Did something untoward happen in your class?’

‘They would have realized that I have schizophrenia.’

‘What makes you say that? Did you do or say something about it in class?’

‘No.’

‘Then you are delusional.’

‘They felt it.’

‘How will they feel it?’

‘I am afraid.’

‘Do not worry. These kids are good. They do not judge their teachers. Nobody would care unless you did not do something rubbish in class. You were teaching the first year undergraduates, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh. They are cool kids. I taught them as well. Showed them some scenes from the movie ‘Corporate’, you know. They were attentive, some of them.’ She takes a long drag and continues. ‘These kids think a good deal of themselves, they think they are smart. Ha. They will never go through the experiences that we went through in our hostels. I was talking to a few of them after the class.’ Then she looks at me seriously. ‘You should not care about what they think. Your job is to teach well and clear their doubts. That’s it.’

‘Yes,’ I nod my head. I feel a little light.

‘By the way, I talked to my father. He said I should not try psychoanalysis on you. I am not trained and all that shit.’

‘Oh.’

‘But something is better than nothing no. And who needs to train to be a psychoanalyst. They sit and listen to what the patients say. I can do that as well.’

Even though I am sure she is wrong here, I could not say anything. It is as if given my condition, I would let her do anything she wishes. Nobody wanted to help me out in a personal way except her. And so, I kept quiet at this.

‘Last time I realized the kind of anger you have got deep within. Let’s explore that anger within you and try and find the reasons for it.’

‘Fine.’

‘Should we do it today?’

‘O.K.’

‘Let me smoke one more so that I get prepared to listen to you.’ She picks up the rolling paper.

As she smokes, I am preparing for what to say to her. I do not want it to be like the last time. I wish it to be scholarly and sophisticated. But the voices inside me are neither. Yet I am not feeling any fear because it is Sabina who is listening to me and she does not judge me the way other people do.

‘What are you thinking?’ she asks.

‘Of what to say.’

‘You should not. Let the thoughts come freely to you, uninhibited. That is when they will reveal their true form.’

I stop preparing and look out of the window into the darkness of the night, a darkness which I could associate with so easily.

She finishes her joint and stands up to pull a chair like the last time and sit at the head of the sofa.

‘You can lie down on the sofa looking at the opposite wall.’

I did what she had said. My eyes focus on the white walls on which hung a picture of Goddess Durga. I hear her voice.

‘Now speak to me about your voices.’

‘Voices irritate me.’

‘What do they tell you?’

‘Bad things. Negative. Hate them.’

‘Are there voices in your head right now?’

‘They will come.’

‘Relax and let them come. Tell me what they say.’

I drop down my shoulders, spread my hands on the sofa, and loosen my tightly clasped fingers. There are no voices. This makes me happy. Then they come. ‘She is fooling with you. Don’t believe what she says. She is high on hashish and plans to rip you off. She will take you to doom. You are a man of sadness. She will make you sadder.’

‘They have come.’

‘Speak what they are saying. Do not feel shy.’

‘You are passing your time with me. Making a fool out of me. Will take me to doom.’

‘Do you think that is the case?’

‘No.’

‘Keep going. What else do they say?’

I relax again. It is difficult. I am feeling stressed deep down. This arrangement is making me uncomfortable. ‘$ #$%^ #$% #$% #$% #$%^&*&^ #$ #$%^ #$%^ #$%^ #$%. #$% #$%^ #$%. #$% #$%^ #$%^& #$ #$% #$%^&. #$%^ #$% #$% #$%^.’

‘They know why I am spending so much time with you.’

‘Do not be the interpreter. Let the voices flow. Let them come out.’

I knew I cannot do that. Something in me wants to do that. It is now a question of wish versus control. Maybe she will not take it otherwise. Or maybe she will. I did not wish to lose her friendship. I decide to lie.

‘Want me to fuck someone all the time. Very aggressive. Angry.’

‘What do they say?’

‘What do they say? What do they say? Why do you keep asking me?’ I rise up angrily.

‘Calm down Kabir. Unless you tell me exactly what your voices say, how will we be able to have an honest conversation?’

It is unfathomable to me, this woman’s stubbornness. Doesn’t she understand I cannot say what the voices tell me? But if she is so adamant, let me tell her then. Let her take the shit I take all day and all night. I knew it would come. I started speaking what my voices were telling me.

‘Tell her now you eater of shit. You have to say it to somebody someday. Say it to her.’

‘What do they want to tell me?’

‘Tell her you bastard. Tell her you need it.’

‘What do you need?’

‘I think I should go.’ I rose up again. I could not look at her. She asked me to lie down and complete the process.

‘What do you need?’

Silence. I focus hard.

‘Son Papadi’

‘Are you hungry?’

‘No.’

‘Then why do need a Son papadi?’

Silence again. I control myself.

‘Something. Something.’

What is this something something?’

‘$% #$%^&*, $%^& #$% #$%^&* #$%^ #$% #$%^ #$ #$% #$%^ #$% #$%^&. #$ #$ #$% #$%^ #$ #$%^ #$% #$% #$ #$%^& #$%^ #$%^&*. #$ #$%^ #$%. #$%^ #$ #$%^ #$ #$%^&.’ I almost shouted.

She did not ask any question. ’You have done a great job. At last you speak. Very well. $%^ $%^ $% $%^ #$%^ #$%^ #$%^& #$% $% #$%.’ I hear the chair move.

‘I cannot do it Kabir.’

I sit on the sofa as well. She sits beside me.

‘I am not taking it otherwise. Please do not get agitated or think about it. I know these voices are not in your control. But they are seriously sick. You deserve a better treatment my dear. How can you live with voices like this?’

‘Sorry.’

‘I can understand. Do not worry about me. But think of how to get rid of them.’

‘Have no idea.’

‘There must be a way. I don’t think I can help you out this way though.’

She starts rolling another joint.

‘You brought me back to normalcy man. I need to get high again.’ I look at her. She is smiling to herself