Prologue

It was my first day in a business club. It was my first beautiful Saturday evening after I became a Chartered Accountant. My close friend Karan suggested that I join a business club (one where he was already a member) where people from different professions get together to make contacts, to build up rapport and, most importantly, to widen their client base – not to forget to add a few more female friends in their lives.

There was a small birthday party of one of the club members that day. When we arrived, the cake cutting was already over, but I could take advantage of the snacks and cold drinks that followed. Karan introduced me to a few of his friends both male and female. Too many formal ‘hiiiis’ and ‘helloos’ took place – something that irritates CA like me the most.  I got to know that there was only one CA present there and that was me. Being a self-proclaimed entrepreneur, Karan was busy bragging about his newborn venture, K R Securities – an investment consulting, share broking firm. I took a glass of cold drink – disposable glass, mind it – and sat in one corner of the hall. While I was enjoying my cold drink, I was also trying to figure out the profession of the people from their faces. Karan waved his hand twice so that I joined his group, but I preferred to sit alone. Deep in my heart, I was cursing Karan as I didn’t find any merit in wasting money on such clubs. Anyways, I had tried on a trial basis, I had clarified at the first place that if I like then only I will subscribe.

All of a sudden, a lady – not more than thirty – appeared from nowhere and parked herself on the vacant chair   next to mine. Suddenly I realized that joining the club was not that bad an idea after all, especially since the membership fees were really quite reasonable. Her profile appeared pretty and she had a well-built figure. She, too, had a glass of cold drink in her hand. Busy surfing her phone, she was rolling the glass in her soft hands and was taking such small sips that I wondered if the cold drink was rationed by the club! She was wearing tight black jeans which revealed the shape of her beautiful legs. Her red T-shirt displayed the shape of her healthy breasts incredibly well. She wore a pair of sandals, the heels of which added two-three inches to her height. I could not take my eyes off her. If you're a bachelor man, you can understand.  I was so busy looking at her that I forgot all about my cold drink for a reasonable period of time. I guessed that she was a Chartered Accountant considering she, too, was alone.

 ‘Hi…’ I said approaching her. She turned towards me and I could barely say my name, ‘I am Sachin. Sachin Mehta’

‘Hi…’ she reciprocated and flashed a fake smile. She said ‘hi’ but she didn’t say her name. Attitude, huh? Do I ask her name? Why do I ask? I don’t care. I gave a thought.

Two minutes later when she put her phone aside.

‘What is your good name?’, I finally asked. Why do bachelor men have an urge to strike up a conversation with a beautiful woman, even when a woman is ignoring?

Her phone rang and she updated that she had already reached the club. She hung up.

‘Oh! I am sorry. I am Dr. Shobha Dixit’, she replied

‘Humm...Dr Shobha Dixit. So, are you a gynaecologist?’ I asked

‘If I am a woman and a doctor, is it necessary that I be a gynaecologist, huh?’ she asked, giving me a dirty look.

‘Oh! I am sorry. I have always an impression that when a woman is a doctor that means she is a gynaecologist’, I gave a nonsensical reply

‘Why on the earth do you have such an absurd impression?’ She queried

I fell silent.

Both of us kept quiet for a while. Then she took out a card from her purse, handed it to me and said, ‘I am a psychiatrist’

My eyebrows went up. I was meeting a psychiatrist for the first time. I remember needing one badly when I was preparing for my CA Final exams.

‘I am a Chartered Accountant’, I blurted proudly even without her having asked me. I realised that fact later. Since I had recently passed my final examination and I was a ‘new’ CA, my excitement was justified, or so I thought. For me, becoming a CA was no less than eradicating corruption from India!

Karan saw us from far away and rushed to us. He greeted Dr. Shobha. They already knew each other. He introduced us and asked us to join him for snacks. I refused, so did Dr. Shobha. He left disappointingly.

'So you're Karan's friend', she smirked as Karan left.

I finished the last sip of my drink. I noticed that she, too, had finished her drink by then. I took the glass from her hand and dumped it in the dustbin. I was proud of myself – I had been taught etiquette in the General Management and Communication Skill class during the CA course. I guessed– I had impressed her.

‘So Doctor, I want to compliment you, may I?’ I asked

‘Is anybody on the earth give a compliment after seeking permission? What is that? Throw it’

‘Doctor, you look gorgeous’, I praised her.

‘Oh! Thank you, Mr CA’, she said. Her cute girlish Mr CA immediately transported me to cloud nine. ‘Oh! Just for your information Mr CA, I am married’, she added.

Did I ask for her marital status? But I knew for a fact that people reply regardless of what is being asked. I decided to toy her as it challenged my manly ego.

‘Dr Shobha, you are married, that is fine but please note that just because a football game has a goalkeeper, it doesn’t mean that Ronaldo can’t score,’ I taunted.

‘Are you flirting with me, eh?’ she asked. Now that was a question that CAs like me were not good at answering.

‘Nope, but what if I say yes’ I laughed.

‘My husband is a bouncer, Mr CA’, she said, giving me one of her looks.

‘Bouncer! That means he stands outside the night clubs?’

She gave me an irritated look and said ‘His single smack would be enough to you’

‘Oh! Really? That’s nice. But I am afraid not. I am a black belt in karate’, I lied. I didn’t know karate

‘You seem to be a funny guy’, she said.

‘Yeah! I am funny but I don’t stand outside night clubs’, I laughed

‘Not funny, I didn’t find anything laughing here, huh!’, She said

‘I don’t want to make you laugh either’,

‘Shut up’

I fell silent. By that time, I was convinced that it was going to be my last encounter with a psychiatrist, at least this psychiatrist. She turned her face to ignore me completely. How very girl-like! We didn’t speak for a while and neither of us bothered either. But after a few minutes, I realised that I was defeating the purpose of joining the club, if in case I joined.

‘Mr. Sachin, what the hell are you doing?’ a part of my brain asked

‘What?’ I replied

‘What? What? You’re a professional, yaar. Don’t do such a kiddies behaviour’, a former part of brain turned aggressive

‘She is professional too. She had started, I didn’t,’ I defended

‘Are you fighting with a woman? Boss, respect them. Learn to give respect, and then expect respect from others’, now a third part of brain jumped into the matter

‘What do I do now?’ I relented arguing

‘Say her sorry’, rest two parts of brain said in unison

‘No boss, why do I say Sorry?’

‘Sachin, my good boy, say her. Say her sorry. You will feel so much relieved from inside. Try it, my boy’, the third part of the brain said calmly. My third part of the brain is very diplomatic. All good things I do on the instructions of the third part of my brain.

‘Okay fine. I’ll say sorry to her’, I concluded. Finally, arguments ended

Two minutes later:

I took a deep breath and said ‘Dr. Shobha...’

She looked at me.

I gathered myself and said ‘I am sorry’

She looked surprised for a while and turned her face. I knew it. I knew it. But, my stupid brain parts don’t understand.

‘See, she didn’t accept my apology. She turned her face curtly’ I complained to my brain parts

‘Chill my boy, chill. Say one more time sorry’, one of the brain parts said

Two minutes later:

‘Dr. Shobha, would you like to have another cold drink?’

She looked at me and kept looking at me. She smiled and nodded. The brain parts celebrated.

For the love of the opposite sex, I had kept my male ego aside and offered my hand for friendship. How can you afford to lose a female friend especially when you lack them?

I hurriedly brought two glasses of cola. I gave her a glass and settled down on my chair.

‘You know, Sachin--’

‘Please call me Mr CA’, I interrupted

She burst into laughter. I had managed to do what I was good at – breaking the ice.

‘Okay, Mr CA’, she said sarcastically.   ‘Post marriage, three people have proposed to me, including your friend Karan’

‘But, I am not--’ I wanted to say that I am not Karan but she interrupted me.

‘Okay, let’s start afresh,’ she said

We both were Gujaratis so we started our conversation in our mother tongue. Well, that is what all Gujaratis do. She started by saying that her husband, who had asked her to come there, hadn’t arrived yet. As expected, her husband, Roshan Dixit, too was a Mumbai-based doctor – a heart specialist and a close friend of that business club owner. She had recently got married to Roshan, whom she had met in the USA while pursuing her doctorate, and had shifted from Ahmedabad to Mumbai. Then, we chatted about our respective professions. I did not have much to say as I was still hunting for a job. She had a lot to say about her profession – she was a highly qualified psychiatrist who charged her patients on an hourly basis! So much so for prescribing antidepressants and sleeping pills, I thought, but she argued fiercely that she believed more in sessions and therapies and that is what she charges her patients for. She insisted and I had to give in. Whom was I messing with?

‘Anyways, Mr CA, tell me something about yourself’, she broke the flow of my thoughts about the poor patients who could neither afford her advice nor her medicines.

‘Technically, I have nothing to speak about. I am like the dust that has settled in the soles of your sandals. You have achieved a lot, while I haven’t even started my career as a CA,’ I said. I could see the pride in her. Again, I had done what I was good at – taking others two feet above ground level. ‘I want to touch your feet so that you bless me’, I acted as if I was falling on her feet.

She laughed loudly as if she had heard “the joke of 2011”.

‘Fine. What else do you do?’ she queried

‘I write’, I said ‘I love to write’

‘Ah! So I am in conversation with a writer,’ she said.

‘Sort of’,

I finished my drink in one go. I waited for her to finish, but she was enjoying her drink and going really slow.

‘So, what are you writing about?’

‘Ammm…. that’s yet to be decided’, I replied. Again, she laughed. I wondered what was there to laugh about. Laughter is the best medicine, but if you laugh without a reason, it implies you need medicines. Anyway, girls, in general, are confused about where to laugh and where not to, so they laugh on everything.

‘You are quite funny,’ she said, finishing her drink.

‘Actually, I am searching for a story to write on’, I said. It was my standard justification.

‘What you have written so far?’ she asked.

Quite unashamedly, I said, ‘Nothing. Just a couple of articles, a few short stories. That's it’

‘Humm....’ she said like she had some idea.

‘If you’re serious about writing, I’ve a story for you to write on’, she said.

I looked at her curiously.

‘Doctor, don’t make fun out of a poor writer’

‘I am serious’

'Will you charge for that story, right?’ I asked

'Not at all. I’m an avid reader. I read a lot. If you've a talent, I think I should help you’,

‘What do you want me to write on?’ I asked

‘Love story.  In case, you want to write a love story’

‘Love story? Huh’, I thought for a while

‘Yes, love story. Do you want to write?’

‘If it is yours, then no, thanks.’ I said mistakenly

She turned furious in nanoseconds. She got offended. She crushed her glass in her hand. Then she threw it on the floor and crushed it mercilessly under her heels. Poor glass! I wanted to form an NGO for the welfare and protection of disposable glasses.

‘You fool, idiot, can’t you keep your mouth shut? She was about to help you’, the first part of the brain yelled.

I fell silent

‘Now, what the hell are you thinking? Either pay for your mistake or rectify your mistake’, another part of brain ordered

‘Say her sorry. This time extremely sorry, idiot’ both parts shouted.

Two minutes later:

‘Dr Shobha, I am sorry. I was joking’, I said. Sometimes, we should not do things we are not good at. ‘Dr Shobha, I am extremely sorry. Doctors are a form of God. And yes, I do want to write a love story or at least give a try’

She didn’t speak for a while, but then, all girls on Earth are made of the same clay – hard from outside but soft from inside. She forgave me after my third apology.

‘It’s not my love story’, she clarified

‘Then whose love story is it?’

‘One of my patients’

‘Your patient’s?’

‘Yes. His name is Keval Bhatia. He is suffering from a psychological condition called Attention Deficit Hyper Active Disorder’.

ADHD is a condition in which the patient loses control over his emotions. He becomes very angry or much tense at the slightest provocation.

‘What caused ADHD in Keval?’

‘Well, he was deeply in love with his classmate in college. For some reason, they couldn’t be together and that caused ADHD in him. It is a long story’

Until then, I did not want to write a love story. If I were to write a love story, then, by far I would have written my own eight to nine stupid love stories. Okay fine, not eight to nine but let me count, two to three, yes sure two to three love stories.  Actually, I wanted to write stories on crime, suspense, drama, thriller, murder mystery. But, the love story of a mentally disturbed person was enticing me.

‘How is he now?’

‘He is completely alright now. Couple of more sessions to go, but he is fine.’

I nodded.

‘Anyways, I have no story on hand to write on, then, why don’t I write a love story. What’s your call on such development brain parts?’ I asked their opinion. All brain parts agreed.

Two minutes later:

‘So, where do you want me to start from?’

‘Are you sure, you want to write a love story?’

‘Yes...at least I can try’

‘Okay then. I will share his details with you – whatever I have managed to gather during my sessions so far. You can compile the details and weave your story around those details....’

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa...Dr Shobha. Hold on’

Neither did I like that idea nor did it seem fair.

‘What?’ She asked ‘I don’t have that much time I sit with you to help you writing’

‘No, no. I am not expecting that. Can you do me a favor instead?’ I said

‘What is it?’

‘What if I meet him in person? What if I sit with him? What if I hear his story from his mouth? What if I try to know him a bit and understand his point of view – I want to feel what he has felt so far. I can write well if I try to step into his shoes…’

‘He is in Meerut, Uttar Pradesh. He comes for his sessions. He returns the same day after his sessions.’

‘I thought he was based in Mumbai.’

‘He was in Mumbai to pursue his graduation. After mess ups in his life, he returned to Meerut. He is from a middle-class family and his entire medical expenses are borne by his US based friend, Rohan Arora. Keval has nobody in his family except his mother.’

‘Okay. I am ready to wait till he comes for his next session. You just fix up our meeting when he comes. I will wait. I have a lot of patience and I am in no hurry. Give your number and take down mine, so that you can let me know when he is here’

She gave me her number which I stored immediately. Then I called her number so that she could save it in her iPhone.

‘But what if he doesn’t agree to meet you?’ she asked. ’He is a jerk’

She had a point.

‘Then I will keep my search on for another story’

‘And if he agrees then what I will get in return?’ Again, she had a point. Nothing is free in this world

‘A complimentary copy of my book if it gets published! Otherwise blessings!’, I replied blatantly

‘Deal!’

Neither of us had bothered to check the time. When the clock struck nine, we were jolted out of our conversation.

‘God! It’s nine, I got to go’, she said and stood up to leave. She dialed her husband and informed that she was leaving. Her husband made a fool out of her, I guessed.  After an informal bye, she left. I, too, decided to leave as Karan was not in a mood to leave the club as his main party was to start after nine. I informed him that I was leaving and headed home.

‘Dr. Shobha is a bombshell, isn’t she?’, Karan winked before I left.

I had got the story provided Dr Shobha called me. But, it was a mystery whether she would call or not. Why would she call me? She hasn’t known me for long.  I am not her friend. I should continue my search for a story. I should neither waste my time waiting for her call nor survive on the hope of meeting Keval Bhatia. I must keep my search on. She is a busy psychiatrist who might not even remember me two weeks down the line.

v  

 

A month and half passed by, but she didn’t call. I was tired of looking for a job and decided to go home for some days. I had barely reached home and touched my mother’s feet, when my mobile rang.  It was one o’clock in the afternoon. I picked up the phone, inhaled and exhaled. After I disconnected the call, I told my mother that I was going back to Mumbai.

It was Dr Shobha Dixit’s call. It was Keval’s session the very next day. She informed me that during this a month and half, she had spoken to Keval Bhatia about me but he had consistently refused to meet me. But when she spoke to him again a day before, he agreed to meet me. I told her that I was back at home for a most awaited mini vacation with my family. But she insisted that I drop the vacation and go back to Mumbai. She added that it was the right time to meet Keval as he was fairly calm as compared to his rather unpredictable behavior.

Two minutes later:

‘You have just come, my son’, my mother said. ‘You haven’t even had a glass of water’

‘You have come after so long and going back already...’ my brother joined in. ‘We have planned a CA-completion party for you tonight’

‘I understand but I have to go. If it doesn’t happen now, it wouldn’t happen ever’, I said as if I was a soldier and war was declared at the border and I got a call from my battalion.

On the condition that I would return soon, I was allowed to leave. My brother called a travel agent and got me a ticket for Mumbai. My mother quickly made some snacks for me. I didn’t unpack my bags. I had anyway carried only two pairs of clothes, two novels and my dear laptop

 

v  

 

The next day, around five in the evening, I reached Dr Shobha’s clinic in Andheri. Six o’clock was the time for Keval’s session but I reached early so that I could chat with Dr Shobha, but in vain, as she was too busy with her psycho patients. I wondered how she could handle so many psychos in a day. I could see psychos of all ages – from teenagers to octogenarians.

She had her last appointment with a patient at 6 o’clock. She doesn’t entertain any patient after six, her psycho receptionist informed me. That meant that she had scheduled Keval’s session at six so that no one would disturb us during the session. I killed time sitting at the reception as Dr Shobha refused to let me in her session room. Finally, the clock struck six and it was time to meet the psycho. I walked towards the doctor’s room as all the psycho staff packed their bags to leave for the day – that included the psycho-cum-cute receptionist.

I knocked at the door. ‘Come in.’ Her voice was like the tinkling of hundred bells in my ears. I went inside. She had a sprawling cabin. There was a glass room just behind her cabin which she used to conduct her sessions in. I saw a man sitting in the session room. I assumed it was Keval. When did he come to the clinic? I didn’t notice, maybe because I was busy observing a sexy psycho receptionist.  I saw him carefully. He looked so healthy and normal that it was difficult to say that he had any problem.

Dr Shobha stood up and greeted me. We shook hands and I sat across her on a luxurious leather chair. Such a lavish office was made up of psychos’ money. I wanted to ask her about Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder but didn’t as it was none of my business. In any case, I had surfed some odd websites to get a basic idea about ADHD and concluded that it was a deadly mental condition. Without wasting time, Dr Shobha and I marched towards the session room. For the first time in my life, I was meeting a psycho. I sat beside Dr Shobha while Keval was sitting facing us on the other side of the table. He looked at me as if he would smack me. I was almost scared, but then, he smiled and I heaved a sigh of relief.

‘Keval… this is Dr Sachin. As I have already mentioned, this is your last session with me. You are alright now’, she said. I looked at her with a poker face. I wondered when the CA became a doctor. Then, she continued, ‘You have to narrate what you have narrated to me so far about you and your girlfriend’ ‘See, Keval, no camera is on for this session. Don’t be nervous. Dr Sachin is very friendly, isn’t it Dr Sachin?’ she turned around to look at me.

‘This is cheating, Dr Shobha,’ I whispered in her ears. ‘You said that he has agreed to meet me – and I am not a doctor.’

‘Shhh…’ Dr Shobha gestured with a finger on her lips. ‘He did not need to come for this session, but I arranged it for you and so you are going to pay for this session!’

My body trembled in fear at the thought of paying her! I nodded but within seconds, I changed my mind before my brain parts created any scene.

I took a deep breath and turned towards Keval. ‘Mr Keval Bhatia, let me introduce myself. I am not a doctor. I believe no relationship can be built on the pillars of lies. I am a CA who is aspiring to be a writer. I want to write a book on your love story. I met Dr Shobha in a business club where she mentioned about you. Ever since then, I have been waiting to meet you. And, I think I must start my work with the truth.’

Keval Bhatia looked like he was listening to a fairy tale. Dr Shobha gave me a weird look. ‘Yes, it is up to you to share your experience with me. I will be more than happy to write your story and will be thankful to you for the rest of my life for giving me this opportunity. If you do not wish to share anything with me, I will continue to search for a story’

For the next five minutes nobody uttered a single word. I waited for another five minutes and stood up to leave. Dr Shobha sat clutching her forehead. She could not meet her eyes with us. I walked towards the door when Keval called me.

‘Sachin… ’ I turned and looked at him.

‘What you do you want to write exactly? Please take a seat’

I smiled and walked back to my seat. I wondered if everything was falling in place.

‘You know, I want to forget what I have gone through so far, but, in vain. I like your honesty. I am ready for what you want to know?’ He said

I smiled inwardly as things were happening bang opposite to what I had expected.

I turned to Doc ‘I will pay you, Dr Shobha, if you leave us alone,’ I whispered in Dr Shobha’s ears.

I needn’t have brought the topic up as she hadn’t called me for money but to help me. She smiled and said, ‘Okay, I am sitting in my cabin’ As soon as she left the session room, I felt like a doctor sitting in front of an ADHD patient. Dr Shobha was a very practical person. Not only did she not charge either of us for that session, she also ended up spending her own money on tea and biscuits. In return, I offered to take both of them out for dinner.

‘Okay, Mr Bhatia, you may start from any point you would like to,’ I said and Mr. Bhatia started