One January evening in a small mining
town, Pralav decided to meet his old friend. His friend had returned to town
after five years. They had known each other since their first day in an
engineering college. For the most part of their job, they had been colleagues.
At the age of 57, Pralav, feeling quite right in his head after a few months of
dullness, wanted to visit his friend in his new house. Or, so he made it seem
to his friend.
Over the 32 years of his
occupation, he had gotten used to whispers that surrounded him. “Mad, he is
crazy.” “He is not in his right mind.” “Oh, what was he talking? Is he active
these days?” “Just listen to him.” “Poor man.” “It’s a pity.” “His life isn’t
even worth living.” PTSD has a strange way of unfolding. Two near death mining
accidents later, Pralav was admitted for psyche consult which perhaps would
have helped him had mental disorders been an open talk in the town. People
assumed him to be a mad man because he needed the consult. The whispers of
people became the whispers inside his head. It made him feel helplessly angry. He
began misbehaving unintentionally with people around him. The whispers echoing
in his head, all the time. As if it wasn’t bad enough, his wife described him a
Pagal when guests arrived at home.
His presence didn’t seem to make a difference to his wife’s tongue. Could he
blame her?
He had been financially lucky after
his marriage. His wife, he fondly said, was the Lakshmi in the house. He had
been blessed with two sons. The younger one was born with a defect in his
spinal cord that made it difficult for him to walk. His childhood was a series
of hospital visits, medicines and operations which resulted in a physically
handicapped adulthood. There was no point talking about the elder son. His
father’s mental disorder and people’s lack of understanding it shadowed his
life, his friends called him mad, teased and bullied him which resulted in
depression. He tried to jump off a bridge but ended up calling his mother to save him. He then drank phenyl in his hostel room and had to be
revived in the nearest hospital. In the end, he died, in an accident when his
family was away for his brother’s operation. Was it truly an accident? Pralav
wondered more often than not. How could he blame his wife, if after all these
years of grief, she had chosen to accept what she did not understand and have some
time of her own?
Pills. Pills after pills. Mad,
perhaps, he was a madman. He mused. His pills dictated his life. He slept
according to them; he was active according to them; he talked according to
them; he lived according to them. His life, at this old age, wasn’t his
anymore. What he did remember although, was the minefield crashing in his
vicinity and people—friends and family and doctors—avoiding him in the years
that followed.
As he drove towards his friend’s
house, he stopped in the local market for a while. ‘He has a girl, I should get
her something, perhaps a perfume’, Pralav thought. He strained his eyes to read
the fragrance type. Failing at it, he asked the shopkeeper to read it for him joking
that his old eyes did not allow him to read. He picked up some sweets along
with the bottle of perfume. It was the basic etiquette to not go to someone’s
house empty-handed. With that, he started driving again. When he reached, he
asked for his friend’s daughter. Affectionately Pralav began saying,
“Prosperous… happy…” He chuckled, “wish you a very happy… and prosperous… new
year.” A few seconds later, he added, “2018.” She wished him back. He gave her
the perfume and saw an uncertain expression on her face. He hoped for her to
like it. He asked her how her studies were, to which she replied ‘good’ with a
smile while toying with the perfume bottle. He offered her a candy, and then she
went inside her room.
He stayed there for more than one
hour. His friend’s wife was gracious enough to provide delicious snacks
immediately and she asked about Pralav’s wife. He politely replied that she was
sick knowing it was a general knowledge among people that the husband-wife did
not get along anymore. There was an uncertainty in his behavior and voice.
Sometimes the pitch of his voice did not match the context of the talk. His
voice grew louder as he expressed his disappointment with his doctors. In a
softer pitch he talked to his friend's wife. He almost sighed seeing the bored face in
front of him. He was perhaps talking too much but he needed to. He was grateful
that his friend was there to patiently listen to him.
Later as he drove back home with a headache caused by the strain on his eyes, he
smiled at the thought of his friend’s life. They were both brilliant students
in college. They had graduated on the same day. Yet, life has a
way of throwing curveballs. He was still angry at his fate. He wanted to blame
someone, but he didn’t know who to blame. He wished for the whispers in his brain
to stop. He wished that people would look at him in the eye and genuinely talk to
him. He knew. He knew everything that happened behind his back and many a times
in front of him. He did not have the patience to fight for himself anymore. He
could not give up on his life. His life probably meant nothing to others but
was still precious to him. He knew. He knew it could have been worse. His eyes
began to fill up with tears, as he thought on the lines of being a mad man in
this society. He wished for it to be a little less difficult. He wanted to reach his house as
soon as possible. He needed his pills to stop thinking and sleep till the sun
shined into his room the next morning. He needed it desperately. That’s how he
has survived his life, with a little bit of sunshine from a broken window in
his empty room.
In the darkness of the wintry night as he took the blind turn towards the highway leading to his
neighbourhood, he saw his older son in a luminous white room with a halo behind
him. He called out to his son, but his son walked away. Pralav laid on the trunk
of his car, bleeding from his head with a glass shrapnel in one of his eyes. He
saw the back of a truck in front of him. His last thought before blacking out
was, “I shouldn’t have postponed my appointment for eye check up for so long.”
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