I reach on time on Monday and sit on the sofa. Boss did not raise her eyes to greet me. She is engrossed in the papers. She takes notes every day after I leave. She has already gone through my memory to understand my problems. She is a true professional.

‘Traumafinder, let’s start.’

 The scenes move. I know I have immersed myself in the preparation for the Indian Institute of Technology JEE exam. I have been bred as a horse to run this race so many students of our country run. Getting into an IIT is like taking a dip in the Ganges. It would purge you out of all your past sins. IIT’s are no more engineering Institutes. They have ceased to be an engineering Institute long time back. They are temples. If your child goes into an IIT, then they have a divine blessing. Gods are going to smile at them and give them all they want in life.

I could make out glimpses from the scenes. I have taken tuitions for some topics. Tuition teachers who prepare students for IIT are like local stars, local celebrities in our town. They are popular for their individual idiosyncrasies. One of them would start one of his trigonometry classes with the phrase ‘Parabola, hyperbola par ellipse kyun nahi bola? (Para spoke, hyper spoke, so why didn’t ellipse speak?’. There is one who teaches Organic Chemistry. He claims he has developed a four-step process to solve the mechanism of any organic chemistry reaction. This is quite a feat, and if proven correct, should be in contention for the Nobel Prize in Chemistry. Then there is a physics teacher who teaches mechanics. He is obsessed with TV, radio, and I.E.Irodov, the famous Russian writer whose book is popular amongst IIT aspirants. Every class he would bring up his favorite topic and whatever the problem was, he would use them as metaphors to solve them.

These memories pass through in my mind looking at the scenes. As Dickens has said, ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.’ This held true for those times. Under the sickness of my mother and the cribbing of my father who had turned sarcastic over time, I imagine molecules and atoms dancing around, electrons jumping like little children, colors mixing with each other to produce new colors, pulleys with monkeys scrambling about, complicated electrical circuits with resistors and capacitors and flashing currents flowing though, mathematical formulas revolving around my head, variables copulating with each other to produce new variables, expressions differentiating and integrating, and so much more. Everything I read, I imagine. They have intruded into my daydreams and there is no more cricket or films. I am gripped by the frenzy. The charm of solving a problem and checking anxiously for the solution at the back of the book is unmatched. The discussions with friends revolve around questions of past years of IIT and the alumni from town who have made it big. The whole air is mingled with the smell of IIT exam. Everybody wants to get into these temples of a country where God, even though omnipresent, smiles rarely. Boss asks the Traumafinder to move slowly.

I see myself frantically searching for something. I am moving around the house overturning every nook and corner shouting. My father is sitting on the sofa silently whereas my mother is shouting at me. I finally zero in on the locked wardrobe. I ask my mother for the keys and she refuses. I plead with her. She finally rises slowly, slides her hands inside the pillow, and gives it to me. I open the wardrobe, throw all the clothes out one by one and finally see it. My admit card which has my roll number on it.

I run down and take my bicycle to the cyber-café. This time I choose the one which is different from what I had been to for my Class Xth board results. I nervously hand over the card to the operator who is chewing paan with lips so red they could paint a whole wall. He types in my roll number. I pray to Goddess Durga, my hands clasped at the back. He presses enter and there is the hourglass hovering around. The song, ‘Aa dekhe zara, kisme kitna hai dum, zam ke rakhna kadam, mere sathiya,’ is playing in my mind. I have stopped breathing. My heart is beating hard. The screen loads leisurely. My legs are shivering. Finally, there is the message. I have made it through. There is relief. The operator turns back, rises up, and shakes my hand. I give him the whole 100 rupee note I had.

 I come home and give the news to my father. He rises up happily and raises me in his arms. He shouts for my mother who comes running too. He goes to her and hugs her. Then he goes to the telephone and starts calling his relatives to give the news. My mother is smiling too. I am standing there numb not knowing exactly what to do next. Boss stops the Traumafinder. 

 ‘Why was your admit card hidden?’

‘My mother thought IIT was some evil ploy my father had created. One of her delusions.’

‘How did you feel at this moment?’

‘I didn’t feel anything. Only relief.’

‘This is what stress and helplessness do to you. When you see your mother sick all the time. When your father is cribbing like anything. When they fight regularly. When you are angry and can’t do anything except study and crack an exam. When you have no outlet other than concealing your emotions and doing what others do. Slowly and slowly, day after day, month after month and year after year, when things repeat themselves as if pain had bought your home and decided to live with you. When you see your friends happy in their caring homes. When you cannot play because it is a waste of time. When you don’t want any of your friends to visit your house because they might want to use the toilet which is not clean. Or they might sneak inside the bed and find all the dirty things stacked there for years and years. When an outsider knows what’s happening in the house, yet never talks to you about it and you have to keep pretending, keep lying that everything is all right. When you seem to become the only hope of the family that is in tatters. When you are preparing for an exam which is arguably the toughest in the world. When you have taken vows which are supposed to make you look strong but they are weakening you from inside. When your every plea and every cry is either laughed upon or unheard of. You become numb.

You close yourself to everything else. You pass by the dirty table many times which has a used plate on it. You can pick up the plate and keep it in the kitchen. You may have done it many times before. But you stop doing it. You stop looking at the dirty table. You stop looking at the dirty toilet. You stop looking at your father and your mother. You stop feeling things that you would feel in a normal circumstance. You stop giving signals of your distress because you know nobody will hear them. You stop hearing to all your emotions except the one which says ‘study’ because that’s the only emotion of yours which is heard and appreciated. And as time passes by, your numbness becomes stronger day by day. You become so quiet and so detached that when you actually succeed you don’t feel a god damn thing.’

I nod.

‘Children have to learn how to express their emotions. You never learnt that. Your reaction was to put your head down and study. We see this in your episode as well. Instead of expressing your anger, your love, and your frustration, you shut yourself up in your room and tried to study. Instead of discussing what was happening to you with someone, you kept everything to yourself. This is not healthy. You have to get rid of this habit. Talk. Talk about your emotions. Talk about your past. It’s all right. Healthy people do it all the time. You have to get things out of your system. You are no more at your house. Stop going back to those days in your mind. Research has shown that people who suffer from trauma keep going back to their traumatic memories with little triggers. For someone like you with a genetic predisposition to schizophrenia, it developed into a full-blown psychosis because of the environment you were in. We will discuss in the next sessions how the environment at the Institute triggered you.’

I understand it. I am going back to my home again and again.

‘Yes, I think I will change.’

‘There is no need for the past to reoccur. You are safe and secure. You have all the ingredients to live a happy life. Get your past out of your system.’ Boss said the last line with a heavy voice as if the information was a nail she had to drill in me.

‘I get it. I am safe now.’

‘Yes. Every time you feel like you are going home in your mind, speak to yourself. Tell yourself there is nothing to worry. Pick up the phone, talk to your friends. Tell them what you are feeling. Ask them if you should feel that and listen to what they have to say.’

‘Sure.’

‘We will end it today. I will see you tomorrow.’

I return back enlightened. It is true that even though I have voices and hallucinations, I am secure now. People around me do not give me any anxiety. I am free to think and work on what I want. This is what I have wanted my whole life. Peace and freedom. A sense of calm descends over me as if I am standing in a sea listening to the frolicking waves.

I open my mailbox and see Sabina’s email. She calls me immediately.

‘Are you done for today?’

‘Yes. Back to the hotel.’

‘I sent you the model. Have a look when you are free.’

‘Will go through it.’

‘You know this idea occurred to me while I was talking to my father. You sent me the literature review of altruistic behavior in economics. I have modeled altruism in business decision making. See if things fit.’

‘Included the benefits to the mentally ill?’

‘Yes, there is a section on that.’

‘Will read it today.’

‘You know, I have decided to quit weed and hash.’

‘How did that happen?’

‘My father. He convinced me to do it. He said it was aggravating my pains.’

‘Congratulations.’

‘Thanks. So now only beer when we get back together. Let’s finish the first draft of this paper in these holidays. I am desperate to send it a good journal.’

‘Where to send?’

‘We will send it to some good economics journal. It’s your choice.’

‘Will think and tell.’

‘You do that. I need to take a break.’

‘Will send the first draft soon.’

‘Cool. How are your sessions going?’

‘So many things to understand.’

‘Yeah, stay there. You will get better.’

‘Hope so.’

‘I am sure. I need to go. I will talk to you soon. Take care.’

I download the word file and start reading the model. It looks simple. That is good. She had proved that the productivity of a business would be higher if employers and employees have altruistic behavior. I have a feeling a good journal will accept the paper. We have a solid literature review. After reading it twice, I reply to her email by praising the work and calling it fantastic. She immediately replies back with a smiley. I begin work on the conclusion.