Next day we start from where we had left off. Memories are running off in the room. They slow down again as my father is holding my hand and taking me to the neighbors’ house. He leaves me there along with my toy cycle as I catch his pants. They are going somewhere and had to leave me for some time. The neighboring aunty for some reason, I remember now, was always in the kitchen. It was as if the only part of the house she was allowed was the kitchen. I never saw her anywhere else in that house. The uncle takes my little hands, brings me to the drawing room and closes the door. He takes down his lungi and takes down my trouser and opens my shirt. He lays over on the bed and rubs his penis. He calls me in and lays me down stroking my ass asking me to rub my penis on the bed. He is talking to me as he rubs himself. I remember what he is talking about. I feel ashamed. The Traumafinder stops on the instructions of the Boss.

‘How old were you then?’

‘8 years.’

‘Would you like to discuss?’

‘Lecherously talking about an aunty. Raping her.’

‘Did you like doing it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you think about the aunty as well?’

‘Yes, but without knowledge about sex.’

‘Did you ejaculate?’

‘No. Felt pleasure.’

‘Fine. Let’s see what happens next.’

The memories move forward. My father comes back and takes me home. I have my dinner and go to my room. I start rubbing myself on the bed looking for that pleasure. Next day after returning from school, I close the door and start rubbing myself again. My mother knocks as she has to pick up something from the room. When she goes away, I am there on the bed rubbing. She comes back and sees me doing it. She screams at me while I button my pants. She brings me into the hall and makes me sit on the sofa. She proceeds to give me a big lecture on how this thing is wrong and I should never do it.

‘Would you like to tell me?’ asks the Boss

‘Guilt. Maa said its evil.’

‘Did you tell her about the neighbor teaching you?’

‘No. He asked me not to.’

‘Tell me about this voice Kabir. Do they instruct you to think about women you see sexually?’

‘Yes. Abuse them. Rape them.’

‘Do you remember how he talked to you on that day about the aunty, I mean his language?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘The voice you hear, the one that tells you to abuse women is his voice instructing you to do it to them like he wanted you to do it to that aunt in your colony.’

‘How that possible, been so long?’

‘I meant the voice in you comes out of your experiences with him dear.’

‘Have heard so many people in life, why only him?’

‘Because he was a part of the trauma you suffered in your childhood. This is sexual abuse. And it doesn’t matter if you had your pleasure. You were too young to be doing that thing. He has altered your sexual development. Can you connect to what I say?’

‘Yes, get it. Never had a girlfriend in life, is it responsible?’

‘In some ways yes. Also, I think the guilt your mother gave to you could have been harmful. Do you still feel guilty after masturbating?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Your sexual development is flawed and I am sure as you grew up it must have had an ill effect on you.’

I don’t feel good hearing it but it makes sense.

‘Let’s go to your episode at the Institute and see if we can find proof of this. Traumafinder.’

There is a click and the scenes change to when I am at the Institute with all my voices and hallucinations. The voices are persecuting me for making love to The-light. The friends, the faculty, and the head of the Hindu organization who were threatening me to marry her came over the screen with their faces.

‘Now listen, this persecution you suffered from your voices are the manifestation of the guilt you carried with you for so long. They took different forms but the guilt is the core emotion driving them.’

I try to make sense of it. I had that heavy feeling again.

‘But it’s good to know the source of your voice. Once we know the source, we can work around it.’

‘Yes.’

‘Let’s end it for today. Tomorrow we will discuss how to deal with this voice of yours. We will try to wash away this guilt, which you have carried away to your ideas of sex.’

I come back to the hotel. I am feeling terribly worn out. I sit on the bed and think about those incidents of the past. My hands are shaking. I have gone into a sort of trance. I am angry. Angry at my parents for not seeing what was happening. Angry at myself for accepting everything! How could I not see it was wrong! How could I stay with that act and that guilt for so long in my life! What do the other boys do? I remember not talking to my school friends about it. Whenever they would discuss sex or girls, I would keep mum pretending not to listen. But when I was alone at home, I would take pleasure in those thoughts. I didn’t even know that women had a vagina unless I learnt it in my ninth class. How was I having pleasure then? Without any awareness of sex! And this voice which is always asking me to have sex. The Boss says it is his voice. It has been with me for so long. I take my head in both my hands and cry. Cry for the sheer torture I had been going through for so long.

After a while, I go to take a bath. The hotel has provided soap and shampoo. I spend a good deal of time in the shower, the thoughts of today’s discussion not willing to leave me. I come out of the bath, get into clean clothes and take my laptop out. I open the Universities email and see a meeting which I have to attend this week. I am in the faculty recruitment committee. We have to interview candidates for academic posts in the Business School. I could attend the meeting on skype, the university had a flexible policy with regards to it. I will have to take leave from the Boss on the coming Thursday and Friday when these meetings are scheduled.  

In the evening, unable to get out the thoughts from my head, I call my mother to see if she could help me out with this phase of my life. I am hesitant in asking her directly. So, I pitch it to her in a very normal sort of way.

‘Maa, you remember Shrenik Uncle?’

She thinks for a while and then says. ‘Yes, what about him?’

‘I was close to him?’

‘Yes. He loved you very much. You would often ride your kids’ cycle and go over to their house. They would cuddle you, play with you, and also give you things to eat. In a way, they helped me raise you.’

‘How was Shrenik Uncle?’

‘Your father didn’t think very highly of him. But I felt he was a good man. He always asked me about my health and well-being. His wife was trouble, I did not like her.’

‘Hmm.’ It looked as if my mother was not aware of my abuse.

‘Why did Papa not like him?’

‘There had been some incident in the office between them. Your papa thought that Shrenik Babu was a cheater. He had duped some of the bank’s clients.’

I want to say to her that he duped me as well. Disoriented me sexually and gave me scars with which I am still suffering today. Yet I keep silent. I realize that my mother would not understand it. I ask about her and my father’s well-being as we talk for another five minutes. I go out for a long walk. I remember my childhood as if it was a complicated play and I had to rate and review it for a well-read magazine.