2 States The Story Of My Marriage (36 page)

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‘Please don’t play with my life.’

‘I’m not doing anything! Be strong, move on,’ she said. ‘It’s not easy for me. So
please, let me be.’

She went back to her office, leaving me still sitting there burning with fatigue
and fury. I hadn’t shaved for ten days. Other girls in the cafeteria stayed away

from me. I resembled a Kollywood villain who could rape anyone anywhere

anytime. My flight didn’t leave until the evening. I had half a day and no money to

spend. Like a total loser, I decided to go to Citibank and visit Bala.

‘Krish!’ Bala said, shocked at my presence and appearance.

‘Hi, how is the champion of the South?’

‘I’m fine, but you look fucked,’ he said,

‘I am,’ I said and slumped in front of him.

Bala ordered coffee for both of us. He pulled his chair forward, eager to hear

gossip from the other office.

‘Is Citi Delhi screwing you? Don’t tell me you want to come back.’

‘Fuck off Bala, you think Citibank can get the better of me?’ I said.

‘Someone clearly has. Boy, your eyes. Do you have conjunctivitis?’

I shook my head. He touched my arm.

‘Dude you have high fever. Do you want to see a doc?’

‘I want a drink. Can you get me a drink?’ I said.

‘Now? It is not even lunchtime.’

My stomach roiled and I retched. Thankfully, nothing came out and Bala’s

office could maintain its pre-me conditions.

‘You are sick. My cousin is a doctor, I’ll call him. He works in City Hospital on
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the next street.’

‘What do girls think? We can’t live without them?’ I muttered. I couldn’t believe
I was venting out to Bala. But I needed someone, anyone.

Bala dropped me at the clinic run by his cousin, Dr Ramachandran or Dr Ram.

Dr Ram had returned from the US two years ago after being a general surgeon,

working on cancer research and collecting several top degrees. He told me to go

to the examination bed as he collected his instruments.

‘I’ll see you later then,’ Bala said.

‘You South Indians have too much brain but too little heart,’ I said to Bala as he
left.

‘I heard that,’ Dr Ram said as he came to me. He put a cold stethoscope on my

chest.

‘So, this is a situation involving a girl? Dr Ram asked.

‘What girl?’

‘When did you eat last?’ he said.

‘I don’t remember,’ I said.

‘What’s that smell?’ the doc said. He sniffed his way to my laptop bag. Stale

paranthas stank up the room. ‘What’s this?’

‘Last night’s dinner,’ I said. ‘Oh my laptop, I hope it is OK.’

I opened my laptop and switched the power on. It worked fine.

‘Can I see it?’ Dr Ram said, pointing to my computer.

‘Yes sure, are you looking to buy one?’ I said.

He didn’t respond. He spent five minutes at my computer and gave it back to

me.

‘What?’

‘You should rest and eat food for sure. But you also need to see a psychiatrist.’

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‘What? Why?’ I said. Sure, I am bit of psycho, but I didn’t want to make it

official.

‘What is the name of the girl?’ Dr Ram said.

‘What girl? I don’t like girls.’

‘Bala said she is Tamilian. Ananya Swaminathan who stays in Mylapore, right?’

he said.

‘I don’t like Tamilians,’ I screamed. ‘And don’t mention her name or

neighborhood.’

‘Good, because the psychiatrist I am referring you to is a Tamilian girl. Dr Iyer
is upstairs. Please go now.’

‘Doctor, I have to catch a flight. I am fine.’

I pushed myself off the bed. My legs felt as if the blood had drained from them.

I couldn’t balance. I fell on the floor.

Dr Ram helped me back up.

‘What problem do I have?’ I said, worried for the first time about my illness.

He handed me the specialist referral letter as he spoke again.

‘There’s no precise medical term. But some would refer to it as the early signs
of a nervous breakdown.’

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56

‘So, that’s it, I’ve told you everything.’ I said.

Dr Neeta Iyer broke into laughter as I finished my story.

‘This is insane. You find comedy in my tragedy?’ I was miffed.

She didn’t stop laughing.

‘I’m paying you to treat me,’ I said and checked the time. ‘And I had to leave for
the airport in twenty minutes.’

It dawned on me that I had spoken to her for four hours. I had no money for

this extravagance.

‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘you reminded me of my first boyfriend. He was North Indian.

‘You didn’t marry him?’

‘He didn’t want to commit,’ she shook her head.

‘Oh, sorry,’ I said.

‘It’s OK. I’m over it.’

‘Of course you are, you are a therapist. You should be able to cure yourself, if
nothing else.’

She walked to the window. ‘Ah Krish, it doesn’t work like that. A broken heart

is the hardest to repair.’

I sighed. ‘Do you accept Citibank credit cards?’ I opened my wallet.

‘It’s fine, send me a cheque later,’ she said. ‘You should have eloped.’

‘We thought we will win our parents over. Where’s the joy of getting married if
your parents won’t smile on your wedding day?’ I said.

She came to me and patted my shoulder.

‘You have to leave. So, what do I do now? Do you want pills?’ she said.

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‘You mean anti-depressants? Aren’t they bad for you?’

‘Yeah but depends on how bad you feel right now. I don’t want you googling

for suicide recipes.’

‘I won’t,’ I said, ‘I’ll probably wither away anyway. Is there another option apart
from pills?’

‘There’s therapy, sessions like this. It takes a few months though. I can try and
find a therapist for you in Delhi.’

‘No, if my Punjabi family finds out, I’m done. They’ll say I am mental or

something.’

‘You’re not. But you know, there is one thing you can try yourself.’

‘What?’

‘When you told me your story, why did you mention that episode with Guruji?’

‘At the Aurobindo Ashram?’

‘Yes, it didn’t really have a connection with Ananya or her parents. But you

remember everything he said.’

‘Yes about forgiveness.’

‘Yes, maybe it had some significance,’ she said.

I kept quiet. The clock in her room told me it was time for my return journey. I
took her leave.

‘Airport, vegamaa,’ I said as I hailed an auto.

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57

I knew I had to eat, my brain knew this, but my body wouldn’t hear of it. The day

after returning from Chennai, I only had soup at office; at home I pretended I’d

already had dinner. My mother asked me when I wanted to shave. She wanted to

schedule a meeting with a new girl. I told her I had decided to keep a beard for the
rest of my life. She made a face and left the room.

My father came home at ten. He looked extra tired. His normally tucked in shirt
was out, and his hair wasn’t neatly combed as usual. He sat in front of me.

‘I’ve eaten dinner’ he told my mother.

‘I don’t know why I even cook,’ my mother grumbled as she left the room.

‘You came back late last night,’ my father said to me. I had reached home only

at the midnight from the airport.

‘I had to work late,’ I said.

‘Everything OK?’ he said.

I nodded.

‘I had a really bad day,’ my father said. ‘My pension papers are stuck in

government offices. Bloody lazy buggers.’

I nodded without paying attention. My thoughts were all over the place, but

none in his department. I felt immense longing and loathing for Ananya at the

same time. I felt resentment towards my mother. My own problems, at least in my

mind, were far bigger than some retirement files stuck in a government office.

‘Now they have asked me to submit three different letters. I have to get them

typed tomorrow,’ my father said.

When my father had to suffer, he forgot his own vocation – of making others

suffer. He hadn’t shouted once since he had come home.

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‘Do you know a place where I can get letters typed? You have a computer, no?’

my father said.

‘Yes, I do,’ I said.

My father continued to look at me expectantly.

‘OK, I’ll type them now and get a printout from office tomorrow,’ I said. I

anyway wanted more work to distract myself. I opened my laptop.

‘Thank you,’ he said, words we did not know lived inside of him.

I wrote his three applications in the next thirty minutes.

‘How’s your friend? He said to me.

‘Which friend?’ I said.

‘The girl who came from Chennai to attend the wedding,’ he said.

The mention of Ananya was enough to stir up my emotions. I felt like someone

had punched me back in the stomach. Maybe I should take those anti-depression

pills, I thought.

‘I don’t know. Must be fine,’ I said after a minute’s pause.

‘You are not in touch with her?’

‘Everyone had busy lives, dad,’ I dismissed. ‘Your letters are done. I’ll get a
printout tomorrow.’ I shut down my computer.

‘It is good that we talk sometimes,’ my father said.

‘Good night, dad’ I said and left for my room.

I lay in bed and that is when the depression hit me full force. Dr Iyer was right,
no pill could be as bad for me as I felt right now. I lay motionless. I felt like I’d
never be able to get out of bed again. I thought of every person in my life. One by

one, I convinced myself how each of them hated me. If I were gone tomorrow,

they’d all be happier. And considering how crappy I felt, there was no reason for

me to stick around anyway. I had no one I could talk to about my situation, except

five hundred bucks an hour. I hated money, I hated Citibank, I hated my job and I

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hated all human beings on earth.

Calm down, Krish, this is going to pass, I told myself. This was the sensible me

talking. No baby, this time you are so fucked. This is how you will feel for the rest of
your life, the freaked-out me said. That’s nonsense. Whatever crap happens in life, tone
gets used to it. You aren’t the first guy facing a break-up,
sensible-me said.
Yes, but
nobody loves the way I do. So, nobody feels as hurt as I do,
freaked-out me said. Yeah,
right, sensible-me said and yawned, can we sleep? You know you need to.

Are you crazy? How can you sleep when we can stay up all night and worry about this
the freaked-out me said.

The world’s most sensible person and the biggest idiot both stay within us.

The worst part is, you can’t even tell who is who.

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58

‘Where’s dad?’ I asked my mother, ‘He hasn’t told me how many copies he

wants.’

Though I sat for breakfast before going to office, I drank only a glass of milk.

Solids were still indigestible. I wanted to rush to work and occupy my mind

before it sank into its black-hole hell again.

‘Morning walk,’ my mother said.

‘Why doesn’t he keep a mobile?’ I said as I wore my shoes to leave for office.

‘Get four copies of each, worst case,’ my mother said.

It wasn’t a big deal. However, it didn’t take a lot to piss me off these days.

‘Like I have nothing better to do in office,’ I said.

‘All you grumpy people in the house, please leave,’ my mother said and folded

her hands. ‘I don’t know when you will forget her.’

‘I don’t know when you’ll end your drama,’ I said.

‘This girl….’ my mother started.

‘Bye,’ I said hurriedly and sprinted out of the house.

I came late at night. I had stuck to juice and milk all day.

‘Again no dinner? Where are you eating these days, and look at you, so weak.

And please shave,’ my mother said.

‘Is dad back?’ I said, ‘Here are his papers.’

I took out the printouts and kept them on the table. My mother shook her head

and told me that he hadn’t come all day.

‘Please, give these to him,’ I said.

I went to my room and lay down in bed. Scared of black-hole land, I kept the

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lights on. I read the newspaper, paying extra attention to each article to keep my

mind busy. An item girl with her picture in a bikini said she wanted to be taken

seriously. I found her request quite reasonable.