Next day, I discuss this news story with Boss. She says that places where pressure is high and expectations are big, depression is common. The support system in our country is pathetic and the stigma associated with mental illness is big, so big that it can eat up your career. The social and professional structures are built on the expectations and characteristics of the normal people and they generally do not yield space to the mentally ill. Empathy is scarce and little sprinkles of it are found here and there. The actor must have felt the pressure and people would have shunned him doubling up his pain. I could relate to it even though I was not as big as the actor. She asks me not to think about him too much and focus on my own recovery. The Traumafinder rises up.     

‘Traumafinder, move slowly.’

It starts from where it had left yesterday. My father goes back to the kitchen, and prepares the food. It is close to evening. He sits on the sofa quietly for an hour and then goes out. I hear the scooter starting and wheezing off. I know where he is going. After his debacle in the share market, he had started drinking heavily. Every evening, he would go to the only club in town. He had made friends there and they would get drunk. He was always late when he would come home. I would wait for him anxiously. When my father went to drink, my mother would never cook dinner. She knew that he would bring chicken chilli from the club. He knew I loved it.

Drinking fires you up like a rocket, which when it takes off is ready to go into the parts of the universe, it seldom traverses. When my father would drink and then he and I would be sitting in the dining room having our chicken chilli, we would hear him talk. My father never got aggressive or derogatory to me. But he was sad. And even in sadness he was humorous. Sometimes he was so funny that even my mother, who would be listening to the conversation lying on the bed in the bedroom, would laugh at him.

I am looking at my father who has returned late in the night and is eating. My father smells of whisky, that strong acrid smell, and he would sometimes moan when he is eating. He would occasionally lift his head and say.

‘Eat Eat. Don’t you like it?’

‘I love it.’ I reply.

‘This is the presentation from the Pit and Pit Company which I am the President of. Why wouldn’t you like it?’ said my father in his sheepish tone.

My father, who is pulling out meat from the bone, all his white teeth visible, starts laughing. I smile.

‘What is this company?’ I ask unable to get the drift.

‘Your father has gone deep into a pit and opened for you this company called Pit and Pit company. It has only one branch, this god forsaken house.’ He laughs again. I am not smiling.

‘I hope this company flourishes.’

‘As this company flourishes it would go deeper into the pit.’ He laughs hard and slams a hand of his on the table. A piece of chicken flies off from the plate to the floor. Nobody picks it up.

My mother, whenever she would sense a lively conversation would come and sit in the dining room.

‘Come on Maa. Sit.’ I say.

She gives a short laugh.

‘Curse me,’ said my father with a giggle.

‘Why will I curse you?’ she said in a whisper.

‘If she has her way, I would be in the center of the earth, the deepest part of the pit.’

I want to say please don’t have this conversation.

‘He wants to be in the pit,’ said my mother. My father looks at her and shakes his head. 

We have almost finished dinner. There is silence. My father has become serious again. I sense that something is going to come from him.

‘You don’t know it, but your father is a genius. He is a genius.’

Silence. More to come.

‘This bitch has ruined my life. All ruined.’ He looks with blood shot eyes at my mother. She senses it.

‘I am going to the other room. He is drunk and out of his senses.’

‘Stay, you bitch,’ shouted my father. ‘Going away. After eating away my fortune.’

‘You have ruined yourself. And you are blaming me. Look at you.’

‘Maa, please don’t speak.’ I say.

‘Why shouldn’t I speak? This man has ruined my life too.’

I feel that a fire has been lit and the flames are going to spread. And my stomach is burning from inside, my heart is racing.

‘I have ruined your life.’ My father hits the table hard and stands up.

‘Papa, please eat your food. Please.’ I say touching my father.

‘If, if I was not there, you would have been a beggar begging in some street in your city. I have suffered you for so many years. What do you think your status is?’

‘Hum Hum..Begging the streets, you say. If I was not there, you would be begging on the streets. And what status are you talking about. I am better read than you. My father is a Zamindar. You don’t even compare.’

‘Look at her.’ My father looks at me. ‘Talking like a snake. Arey, when you were walking naked on the roof in the nights, did you fucking brother or your father even ask once, even once, about you? They don’t even bother to talk to you. They have shunned you. It is only me that has looked after you. And all you have done is curse me, curse me all the time. I cannot do any work properly. I cannot concentrate on anything. I have a family to look after. Oh God.’ My father starts crying putting a hand on his head. I go to him. I look at my mother in anger. She goes inside and lies down on the bed.

‘I will get you out of trouble Papa.’

‘You cannot do anything. We are doomed. You are doomed being in this house. Nothing can change. The more the things change, the more they remain the same.’

This kind of talk made me anxious. I want to tell him that it is not true. I do not believe in it. We had learnt at school that when life throws challenges and problems at you, you should be strong enough to solve them. I knew there was a problem at our house. I had no idea how to solve it. As a boy, I had no resources to solve it. I did the only thing I could do.

Boss stopped the Traumafinder.

‘So did the grief of your father seep into you?’

‘Yes. He grieved continuously. That we are doomed. Nothing will come of us.’

‘Your father must have had a difficult life himself, providing for you and for your mother. A sick wife without any community support is a burden which is heavy and his loss at the share market would have been too much for him. It is very obvious that you borrowed his sadness. Children learn from their parents.’

‘Possibly.’

‘Let’s look at the third voice you have, the one which grieves. Do you think it resembles your father’s voice?’

‘Yes.’

‘I thought so. We have to work on this voice too. The approach will be the same. You need to talk to the voice. What do you think you will say to it?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘Can you tell your voice that there is nothing to grieve about? That you are safe and sound with a good income, a good house, and some nice friends? That you have a lot to look forward in your life with regards to your future. That you can look after your parents. That you are a successful man.’

‘I am not sure of this with this illness I got.’

‘Yes, this is a problem. And you are working on it. But do you have those problems right now where you are?’

‘No. I don’t.’

‘Exactly. You do not have reasons to carry the grief with you all along. Times have changed and so should you. You are safe now, there is no one to challenge your sense of security and that is how you should behave in your life.’

‘It is true that I am safe. And that I have a decent life. But how do I get rid of this grief?’

‘By saying no to it. You have to say no to the sadness in you. Life is full of beautiful things and it is your time to enjoy those things. You have so many interests to follow: books, movies, research, and teaching. You are perfectly capable of following them and excelling in them. You are not dependent on anyone. Drowning in grief will take away all the sense of beauty in you. Staying happy is in your hands and you must make it a choice for you.’

‘That’s true. I get it.’

‘Warm up to this thought and discuss this with your voice. If you talk to your father, give him a sense of security and hope. And tell him clearly that you are not happy about him hitting your mother, and you will take him to the police if he ever intends to do it again. This will work out, I am sure.’

‘Will do that.’

‘We will end our session today. I will see you tomorrow.’

I light a cigarette as soon as I enter my room. I look out of the window as I blow smoke on the glass. The smoke takes different shapes after collision with the glass. Sometimes it is a river flowing down a mountain, other times a balloon rising up the sky. Once it is a wailing man and once just for a second it is the shape of a cacti in the desert.

I am thinking of our session today. During my undergraduate days and also my PhD, I had heard many of my friends talking of their fathers as their inspiration. During these sessions, my response was staying silent. In those days, my father used to drink in the night and call me to lament. I would pick up his call and listen to him with a heart telling me to shut the phone up. But I never kept the phone down. Once when I was raging in my house in Mumbai, my father called me twenty-one times in the night. I had not wanted to pick up the phone and talk to him. Finally, I picked up and spoke to him in a language that would hurt him. He still kept calling me sometimes after that. Eventually the calls stopped when I fell ill.

I seldom called my father. Today I called him.

‘How are you doing Papa?’

‘Doing all right. The weather is good and so is the mood.’ He laughed.

‘How is health?’

‘There is pain in the back. I find it difficult in the bathroom.’

‘Consult a doctor?’

‘I am thinking of it. I will go in a few days.’

‘Papa, your debts. Maybe I can help.’

He fell silent.

‘Clear it out together.’

‘Yes beta. I will tell you when you come home. It’s a bit complicated. Life is full of complications. And shit.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Yes, I will talk to you. Don’t worry. You focus on your health and job.’

‘Go for walks?’

‘Yes, everyday.’

My father had changed over the years since my episode. Now he drinks occasionally and doesn’t create any ruckus. He never gives me those lamenting talks over phone.

‘Was thinking of bringing Mummy to my place and taking her to the psychiatrist here.’

‘Do whatever you feel like. I have no idea how to get her well.’

‘Don’t worry Papa. Things are good and they will be better. Things will change.’

He didn’t speak for a while. Then he laughed.

‘Beta, the more the things change, the more they remain the same.’

I never liked this dialogue of his which I had heard so often.

‘Sometimes things change for good and forever.’

‘We will see. You take care of yourself and keep calling me sometimes. It feels good to hear your voice.’

‘Yes. I will. Take care. And one more thing Papa. I want to make it very clear that I will not tolerate any abuse you give to Maa. She has been trying very hard and it is our responsibility to help her and support her. If you are not good to her, specially if you do any physical harm to her, I will make sure you pay for it. Is it clear?’

My father did not speak for a minute.

‘You always were a Mama’s boy.’ And he hung up.

‘Nothing will change you asshole. Your life is a complete waste. You have every reason to die. You are in shit.’

‘I am not in shit. I am recovering. Things are good.’

‘No. You are wrong. You are in deep shit. You are doomed.’

‘I am not doomed. I have everything I need. I am good.’

‘Tell me what you have. I don’t think you have enough. You seem to be in shit.’

‘I have a good job, good life, good friends, good place to live in. I am improving the relationship with my parents. What else do you want?’

‘You still do not have a woman. You are in shit.’

‘I will talk to the Boss about it. Things will get better.’

‘No, they will not.’

‘They will. I am sure about it.’

I talk to the voice like this. It feels good. I try to convince it things are good. It would not budge. But my efforts did one good thing for me. The anxiety which followed this voice is beginning to fade away. I gain some confidence over this voice. The other voices came too and I converse with them. It takes the rest of my day.