The Waiting Room
Chapter-1; Meera.
I remember it was a sunny morning with strokes of wind passing by the walls of my terrace as they converged. Amma sat on the floor on a mat, her palms outstretched towards the sky, either trying to block the sunlight or absorbing every atom of it.
I sat at the opposite end; my earphones plugged in; listening to Rehna Tu from Delhi-6; daydreaming what if I also had a fanatically chaotic family like that; and a terrace all hustling bustling with everyone running errands.
Looking at amma, I begin to evaluate the lines engraved on my very own hands, dreaming about their fate and their reality when I hear a loud voice echoing through the house “Meera! come down; it’s time for your appointment.”
Reality descend down and stares me in my eyes. It’s time to visit Abhik.
It all started two months back. Me- being a normal (?), simple(?) high school teenager studying in a small school at Banaras, the holy city of UP; faced my first of what were frequent episodes.
It was our weekly English test. It was the usual- I was to copy from the person next to me, submit and run off to the Ghats after school. Instead, I think Ganga Maiyya had charted another course for my route. On being served the question paper; I began going through it frantically calculating mentally how much time I’d be left to pass staring outside when’ when I started feeling heavy. It was as if someone just multiplied the weight of air infinite times and sent it all to sit on my chest like a ferocious ruler on its throne. Soon it got harder to breathe, to make sense of things around me. I felt something trickling down my spine only to discover it was sweat soaked panic and terror- as if this was it- the commencement, the middle and the climax of the next world war. A million thoughts raced my mind and God only knows if that is what made me dizzy.
I rushed to the washroom; crawled up to bring my head and knees together; sobbing like an infant. By this time I was trying to breathe so fast; as if I’d forgotten the act all together. I was struggling to make sense out of all the events in my small space.
An hour later; my teacher found me.
Abhik.
I remember setting my alarm for 7am. It was almost dawn, and I needed to get in some hours of sleep before life brought upon its mystic course again. It was hard to sleep in the new room, the new home. I was new to Banaras and Banaras was new to me. We just didn’t get enough time to get to know each other to sleep comfortably around.
I had a long day ahead of me. I had three new appointments at my new clinic, which meant I had to be on top of my game. Invariably, I glanced towards my phone; it was 5:20 am. A thousand tabs open, even more unchecked missed calls and yet Shuchi’s name wasn’t there.
She was the hope I needed.
I shifted to Banaras 2 months back from Lucknow. I left my well established job in a top hospital as a clinical psychologist to open up my clinic here- Ummeed (Hope).
In a city so mythologically deep and diverse; with its rooted connections to death’ you’d expect the biggest sorrow to be the loss of a loved one. Even I entered this city with the same mindset. There is however, definitely more to it. The vicious swing of death does make stops midway at common man’s problems.
I remember studying about the atmosphere in school when I was younger. My teacher taught me that it envelopes the earth all around and wraps it safely. Also, that the atmosphere had several layers to it. I think grief of death is Banaras’ atmosphere. But there is so much life below the atmosphere; it’s almost overwhelming.
Swinging from these thoughts; atlast my mind entered a slow paced world and i drifted off.
Radha.
Jhanvi! Jhanvi!! Where are you? Please come to mumma bacche! Jhanvi! See your mashed potatoes are not gonna wait for you they will go back, come out bacche! Jhanvi!!
I was frantically looking for my five year old Jhanvi who had found yet another new corner in the house to hide. Like every other persistent parent desperate to feed their kid, I was the pilot of Potato Spaceship today destined to land in Jhanvi’s mouth. If only!
You know she’s usually a wonderful kid. She eats, sleeps, plays and goes for her appointments routinely. Over the past 6 months, this was the third specialist we were visiting. The ones till now were professional, sweet, warm but Jhanvi never liked them. I think she never found a connection to make her stay and hence would end up hiding before every appointment. Today was one such day.
I’d taken an off from work; my work being a startup in its initial stages of Banarsi handloom sarees and suits. Jhanvi’s father; and sometimes my husband- Mayank would seldom help us out with the house-work and support me with my start up too.
I was a routinely happy multi-tasker- a mom, a wife, a home maker and an entrepreneur. There was however this empty, shallow part of me which wished Jhanvi would get better. Soon.
I ran down the stairs, found her hiding behind the shoe rack trying to build a mountain from all the slippers she could spot. She wouldn’t look at me, she was too busy being the architect of her own world. I wish sometimes she would hug me tight. Someday maybe!
Today I wished for a new hope.
