Next day when I wake up, it feels heavy. I have a class in the afternoon. ‘What will you teach in the class? Fuck the class. Don’t go to the class. They don’t like you, you are a sad man.’ Again, the fear shows up. I brush and bathe. The plan is to prepare for the class. ‘Why will you prepare for the class? You are a stud. You don’t need to prepare for the class. Go and teach what you know,’ said the female leader. I open the pdf file of the document I am supposed to teach today. There is absolutely no will in me to study this file. I had studied it when I was a PhD student. ‘You remember everything. You are a genius, remember people used to say that. Go and deliver, that’s it,’ said the captain.  I close the file and start watching YouTube. After half an hour, I open the file again. I read one paragraph. ‘Indian Prime Minister instructs you to go and teach out of your memory. There is no need for preparation. We wish to see if you can teach from memory. Not only the Prime Minister, we all want it too. It’s not a chip but we are connected in some way.’ I say to myself these are my voices and I should not listen to them.  But I cannot study and decide that instead of making a presentation, I will put up the pdf in the class and teach directly from it. I close the file.

In the class, I put up the pdf. ‘Let’s see if he is a genius. Let’s see if he can teach without preparation. All of us are watching. The Vice Chancellor is also there.’ I see the face of the University Vice Chancellor. How will I teach this way, I say to myself. Yet I start speaking. I give them an introduction of the topic. ‘He is all right. He can teach. No, let’s wait till the class finishes. He will make a mistake.’ I am standing there in front of fifty college students listening to the voices and teaching at the same time. In the course of five minutes, instead of speaking, I start reading from the pdf file. I keep reading a paragraph and as I go onto another, there is a question. ‘He is listening to the question. Can he hear it? Yes, he can.’  I half hear the question and answer it to the best of my knowledge. After I answer, I ask the student if the doubt is clear. She nods her head in a yes. ‘His answer is wrong. He does not know it. They are sure to complain against him.’ I have realized by now that I am reading from the pdf. The question from the student gave me the idea to read and ask them what it means and explain to them the meaning if they are not able to grasp it. Hence, I focus on the pdf and read every paragraph with care. Then I ask the class if they understand the meaning. If not, I would explain it to them. This way of teaching helps me. We go slow, yet there is something I am contributing as a teacher to their understanding rather than plainly reading the pdf file. When the class ends, a few students come to me to ask questions. ‘You won us, you did great. He can teach without being prepared. Bravo.’

I decide not to repeat this feat again and prepare before classes. I feel elated the whole day, and in the evening, I call Sabina. She does not pick my call. Probably, she did not wish to be in touch with me after the incident. I feel I should say sorry, she had tried to help me. I message an apology for my behavior the previous day. In an hour she calls back. She says she is shopping and that I should meet her in an hour in her apartment. When I go in, I see a heap of shopping bags spread in the drawing room.

‘What did you buy?’

‘Lots of things. You can’t go shopping at this god forsaken place often. I bought everything I need for the whole month.’

‘O.K.’

‘How have you been? How are your voices?’

‘Feel good today. Voices not so harsh.’

‘Nice.’

I sit on the sofa and pick up the book kept on the table. It’s titled ‘The Hate you give’.

‘What is it about?’ I ask her.

‘Oh, it’s a wonderful book. About black lives in America.’

‘The central theme?’

‘The hate you give to young black people is injurious to their wellbeing. I read a lot of African American literature.’

‘Good.’

‘I told my father about the last time, you know. Not everything, but the jest of it.’

Shame runs through me when I hear it. Her father would definitely have asked her to stay away from me.

‘He scolded me for doing that to you. He is very particular about these things.’ She smiled. ‘I am sorry Kabir, I should not have taken you on that path. It was childish of me.’

I am amazed at this behavior.

‘Your concern enough. Don’t mind.’

‘No but seriously. If it had worked no, it would have done wonders for you. I have seen people get treated by this method.’

‘Medications may help.’

‘Nopes, the medicines are to give you control over life. My father says these medicines do not get rid of the voices for most patients. They can only subdue the voices. And they work to numb you. The medicines can only work if the cause of the problem is known. The cause of schizophrenia is still not known.’

I grasp this truth. The medicines have made me numb and lethargic.

‘Made me fat.’ I smiled to her.

‘Yes, there are side effects. Hey but my father said I could do something for you that could help you.’

‘What is that?’

‘I could talk about your past.’

‘My past?’

‘Yes, your past.’

This gives me jitters. I knew my past is not to be talked about. Something in me has put it deep inside my body, in lesser-known corners. I have tried hard to get away from it.

‘How will that help?’

‘My father suggested a book ‘Living with Voices’ by a group of European psychiatrists and caregivers. I have downloaded it on my kindle.’

‘What is the book about?’

‘It has the stories of people who got cured from hearing voices. It is their story. We could learn from it.’

I want to hug Sabina. She is making an effort. She asks.

‘Did you make any progress in our research about the economics of mental illness?’

‘Doing lit review. Will come out with research questions soon.’

‘We need to move fast on that. It will take some time before we can complete the draft and then we also have to submit and take that long process of acceptance and publishing by the journal.’

‘Yes.’

‘I hope we can do it fast. I want to publish in the best of journals. Can we meet tomorrow in your office to discuss the progress?’

‘Sure. What time?’

‘After lunch.  At 3?’

‘Done.’

‘O.K. Now you give me a brief description of your past.’

‘Not smoking today?’

‘No. Today I want to stay sober.’

I tell her about my family and my past in brief. She listens to me in rapt attention keeping the palm of her left hand on her chin. The children outside have gone back to their homes. It is so silent around that I can even hear her breath.

‘Kabir. It’s safe to say that you have had a troubled past. Your past is the reason for your problems. It seems to me that since you went to IIT, things have been good.’

‘Yes.’

‘O.K. Then it’s clear we will have to work on your past. You may have had childhood traumas because of your family.’

‘Yeah, maybe.’

‘All this is nothing. These are all vague words. She is a sad woman. She is making you sad. It has nothing to do with your childhood. Both of you are so sad,’ says the grieving voice.’

 ‘Will go. Enough for today.’

‘Fine. Let’s work on it. Let’s focus on our research from tomorrow as well. I will see you in your office?’

‘Sure.’