The Knock

5 years ago

He sat on a crumpled bed stained by ash and tears. A fulminating cringe erupted in him-for himself, for his love lost, for this untimely decision and this apparent lack of composure into his mind. He couldn't stop the sobs. The room echoed back in gloom and guilt while his best friend trotting back and forth in front of him, cursing his ex. 'burn all the photos'" she said.

But Aftab had nothing to say. He was lost. He was unsure whether it was doomed to fail or led that way. "That was unhealthy what you had" Shaishta would tell him, burning up and smoking up. 

Thunder emanated from the clouds, on what was, a relatively calm November evening. Today it wasn't going to rain, because it already had enough. Aftab looked at the windows, glistening in the flashes and the roars the clouds made, unaware that the thunder was running towards his hall room with increasing pace and angst. And then they knocked his door-only to shatter what was left of him. He immediately collapsed on the floor.

********

5 years later

It was not a very active day in the hospital. I was working with jail inmates who suffered from schizophrenia, so life wasn’t a picnic. I worked as a psychiatrist in IHBAS and Rehabilitation and behavioural therapy was my forte. A recent trip to a shady party encouraged me to talk to a woman who was looking uninterested in the fiasco which was unfolding in front of us. She was a grief counsellor from Hyderabad and was currently working on pathological liars and mindfulness.

“boring party? perhaps’ I asked her. She looked at me, rolled her eyes and started with the most unconventional line, “there is something about loss which makes us grieve in our lonesome moments. Unfortunately the world around a grieving human doesn’t give one time to reflect.”

“I beg your pardon” I reckon my greeting had ruffed her in a negative way.

“You’re Dr.Noah right?” she asked.

“yes I am.”

“I am Dr.Shaishta Pathan. I work in grief management. I actually wanted to have an audience with you.”

I guess that was it. She told me about Aftab and the past he had. When i met Aftab, I saw a broken man ransacked  by ghosts of his lack of insight on his indecisiveness. Knocks on the door apparently haunted him. Aftab was perhaps perturbed by this sound so profoundly that it would immediately send him in a panic attack.

"Would you take his case?"she asked.

“Oh absolutely" I said.

**********

5 years ago

When he regained consciousness, they took Aftab to the state Prohibition and Excise centre and started filling forms to investigate an alleged case of finding packets of unknown substance in the room of a 23 year old. While the guilt and chaos surrounded him in a frenzy of panic and sweat, the subtle dread had started to become palpable, as Aftab tried to remove himself from the numbness. There were a lot of questions asked about this apparent loss of expression. It was assumed that he might be still under the influence of all those drugs he was taking but that wasn't the truth. Life brings down everything and everyone, not only the weak but also the strong alike; and he was not a strong one.”

A night ago, he knew he was heading to end a five year long relationship and it could have been something else, but it wasn't. The very thought of people leaving might seem like an eternity but it is far from reality. We, as humans, try to preserve and format the lives we want to have, unaware of the fact that what happens with us happen because it was our choice and our subconscious deciding for us all the time. It stems from our deepest desires and our unspoken and scary truths, and when it happens we deject it and discard it and find ways to revert back from it, but our subconscious had made us work towards it for a very long time.

He still remembered the last night in college, when his parents were called up. They apparently did nothing. It costed him a one year suspension from college, but Aftab knew he was not worried about it. He was worried about not being in control of his life anymore.

5 years later

"What do you think, was it?" I asked my sister, Nicole sitting in the Sunday sun heating up the balcony.

"It was a start I think" Shantanu, her husband said.

"The diagnosis, you mean?" I asked intently.

"Well no!’ Shantanu added, "I know you're a psychiatrist and all, and you met this woman on a formal state request, and it all is very interesting clinically, but I think the reason you are baffled about him is because he showed you a part of you which you want to hide from the world too." 

"What would that be?" I asked

"Reason to believe" he said.

It was an interesting thought. Although the State Rehab services personally appointed Dr.Shaista to pursue me to look into Aftab's life but my initial sessions with him weren't that interesting. He was hardly talking. Then one day I received a mail from her again and it was an eye opener. I went to Hyderabad to met Shaista right away. It was a top notch café in Banjara hills and I was surprised how this city had swooned and groomed into something which it is not.

She then told me that Aftab was not only her patient but also his best friend. He had a very specific type of fear of a ‘knocking sound’ on a door. I had heard about phonophobia which is a fear of sounds or entamophobia which is a fear of any type of door, like the one Mathew McConaughey has. But this one was different. It had an element of both and was perhaps so intricately related to his past that it was beginning to intrigue me more and more. Shaista was not very lenient on his past and I was not happy. I knew about his expulsion and his unnatural adherence to the concept of dependence which had corrupted his mind but he was still not very verbal.

Aftab decided to pick up a small internships in Delhi and moved here to follow up continuously in my clinic. I guess sometimes the control for holding it together is not always voluntary and we, as doctors, should try to respect that. That was where my personal front collided with my professional acumen. But I favoured the former because Aftab didn't need a solution which was to be fed to him; he needed the correct question to ask. And after a sudden tragedy, all he needed was to ask the correct question. Unfortunately he got the forced solution-something even worse than the reform intended.

A month before he was expelled he had a minor setback in his relationship. It was a far-fletched long distance thing and deeply confounded by a myriad of complications, emotions and somehow some naïve insecurities. But I guess it is normal to have these things. He realised it very early, that is what i want to believe, but he acted on it very late. Sometimes the best way to not hurt yourself and the one you love is to let them go and preserve the good memories. But what happened in his college tore him apart. That knock on the door was perhaps an entire different life begging to make him listen that how good it could have been.

But he would ignore it.

I guess his subconscious had no option left but to provide him with this extraordinary fear which reminded him about the harm he had inflicted on himself. The knocking was perhaps a way for his new life to usher him into something else. But in all my conversations with him, I never thought he had realised this yet. Deep in his heart he knew he felt weak amidst his fears. Acceptance is the first positive sign of the grief cycle, but he was still in denial.

Deep in his heart he knew he felt weak amidst his fears. Acceptance is the first positive sign of the grief cycle, but he was still in denial.

This created a direct tangent in my life. I had been betrayed from so many people that the count didn’t matter now. A sense of depravity creeps in your skin like an insect and festers there unless you cut it out open yourself. I moved from Houston to Delhi five years ago and it had taken me innumerable distractions to walk straight on a path here. My life was a happy one-close to my parents, a married life, no children, suburban house in a calm community, but mundane and monotonous. A subconscious thought of killing it all had occurred to me so many times that when I finally found my wife cheating on me, I happily signed the divorce and moved away to the first place I had in mind. I missed my parents though and I guess that was the part I was denying-to be away from them for my own happiness. Five years later a patient had made me realise my actions needed more thought. Which phase of the grief cycle was I?

Meanwhile, I was in constant contact with Shaista and she had asked me not to tell Aftab about her involvement. I decided I'll tell about her to Aftab. He entered the blue room wearing a maroon t-shirt and a weird expression on his face. with his diary.

I will never forget what ensued later.

Then he started murmuring and drawing in his diary. It reminded me of old poets.

He sat down in front of me, hesitatingly arranging his hairs and looking here and there. Then he started murmuring and drawing in his diary. It reminded me of old poets. Although having done a lot of research on his condition, before meeting him, his early sessions with me weren't that fruitful. So this time I had a little agenda. 

"so Aftab what are you not telling me?" I asked.

" Nothing. You know almost everything about my life until now. What more do you possibly want to know?”

This was the first time I had seen deference and defence in his tone. I repeated with the same zeal and stubbornness, “I know you haven't been completely honest.’

“Why is that surprising” he smirked and looked into my eyes like a ghost. I knew this confrontation was to evade from the truth. I didn't mean to end this before it even began, so I said, “you loved what you had or do you think you want to love it because you had no option to love anything else?”

“What are you trying to say” he asked, finally changing that smirk to concern and I could see I had touched a chord.

“Your expulsion, Mr.Kapoor or Aftab, your parents named you beautifully by the way. I know you changed your identity when you moved to college. Coming onto your, predilections, I have strong reason to believe that that was not the reason for your grief. I think the reason for your grief is how you lost something you believed you love. But reality was that you don’t” his smirk turned to anger, while I continued, “and somehow your grief about your college gives you strength-not that its a bad thing, but you want it to hurt you more than the grief of expulsion…..”

“So Shaista finally talked to you about me?” he sneered.

“Dr.Shaista had been a constant help..” but I was interrupted. He stopped me with hand gesture and said, “I was the one who cheated. I started the disdain. I don't need your dumb scrutiny to dissect me. I knew whom I loved, I know what happened and I didn't mean to hurt anyone, but I believe I am the one to blame.”

“You find her telling about your friendship surprising?” I interrupted him.

His face lit up. A tiny flicker of his teeth showed up in a nice grin of happiness, regret and nostalgia. I knew that that was it. There were times when he would just listen to my questions or sometime sob—which I thought I had to allow. However, today, he then asked, “what do you want to know?”

"Why do you start in your own words and I would just listen. You are obviously not a very good listener. You are a good storyteller. Let’s talk about your story in your own words."

And he started, "All right then. I would perhaps start from the point when I was still the topper of my undergraduate college. I moved for further studies to Hyderabad. I met a lot of muslim scholars in that city. I changed my identity. I met the love of my life. It was overwhelming, beautiful and perhaps the most beautiful time I had ever seen. It was unconditional. I was being pampered by the city. There is something about unconditional love that it turns blinds you very quickly. It was somehow bound to happen that I cheated. My relationship and my studies took a bad turn but things were pretty good still. Until one fine day I had a terrible accident.”

"What happened? I asked.

He looked onto the purple curtains I had in my office, took a book from my shelf and stared at ‘The Cult of Chaos’.

“Are you aware of the chaos theory Doctor?”

“I am, yes! But that particular book is entirely fiction Aftab”

He continued,” I think this constant desire of ending it was like a sword in my hand for a very long time. I used to believe if I can get things back to normal again, I can get things to be fine. I am no expert in expressing what comes to my mind. Most of the time my face gives away my intention-how would i love to do that."

"What would you love?" I asked intently.

"To not let my face express my despair;" he sighed and went on, " After that, I took to drinking. used to rant to Shaista. I told her how guilty I was to end what I had and she used to tell me to not be. But this guilt was crushing me. Intoxicated, I fell down the stairs to my dormitory and broke my jaw. It was all numb" his voice softened, "it was as if the pain and the realisation of it had ended. I held my twisted jaw in my hand and went to the bathroom. I looked into the mirror and I saw a disfigured entity staring back at me. It wasn't me. My teeth were broken, my jaw was deviated to one side, I couldn't close my mouth. I was covered and dripping with blood. Shaista took me to the ambulance and suddenly I just phased out.

"What happened to your relationship after that?" I asked.

A subtle smile erupted across his face. That was perhaps the first time I saw that smile, mixed with discord and loss yet a hint of happiness, he retorted, "We weref together, yes for a short time.” He went to the open window, lulled into the scene and burnt a cigarette, "May I?" he asked.

"Go ahead."

"That event changed my outlook towards love and life and moreover my self respect. I saw tears in eyes of those I dearly loved. Although I would never admit it, but sometimes different people meet because they need to correct things about themselves. They meet and cross each other's path because they were meant to find their own selves before they part ways. It should be accepted and it should be respected. I still remember the last time we met. There was an obvious aura of serenity and anger in our eyes. But we never stopped loving, you know. We never can. You tell me, did you ever stop loving those whom you loved once?"

"no i can't." I replied.

"No one can't. One shouldn't. Because the best memories are those of love and compassion and they should never part you. I think I consider myself lucky to be that young and that much in love, many people haven't even touched what I had. But I don't care. Truth is that sometimes staying together is more painful than going apart. We need to always burn bridges onto a past we want to move from. We can't keep looking back with puppy eyes and keep moving back. If we do that, life never allows us to go forward. So I did what I did and I suffered what I suffered. This was perhaps why I never considered being ransacked by authorities, or being sent to rehab or even talking to you, because I know my life is trying to make me move towards something magical and I can't just rot in a shell of bridges which takes me back. You know I still have the expulsion letter with me," he showed me the letter he always carried with him in his bag. It mentioned some very harsh words against him and his social misconduct and alienation, something I knew he dreads.

He went on, "I will always keep this with me because it will remind me of that place and what it did to me.

"Hopefully Aftab you both will cross your paths again. Can I know the name of your love? Even Shaista didn't tell me the name", to which he replied no. He told me its too painful to mention names and I silently abided. It was perhaps for the best.

****

We never met in a room with a couch from that day. He had a keen interest in theatre, so we saw a lot of plays in Delhi. I think that was therapeutic than just conversations.  As i spent more time with him looking at his broken jaw and his quiet demeanour breaking eye contacts and then looking back at anyone who tried to break that , I realised how much he wants to be known. Its seldom that we see people who can seriously affect you on a level which can be as imminent as your own introspection. But there he was-an embodiment of all that I usually dread. He told me about his last relationship and in so many ways it was beauty and horror combined. I had never known love without bias and terms, so obviously envy was my first reaction, but envy was only transient.

"I like people who have potential, just not a pretty face." He said one day.

"And what does it tell you about yourself?" I asked in an attempt to lure the core of his situation.

"When they knocked on that door, I had already accepted my defeat. That is why it scares me and haunts me. What ensued was just not very surprising. They did whatever they could find-humiliation, contempt, torture, insult. They had seen all my pictures and all my texts. They took me to a local government hospital where I saw people dying and strangers asking me inappropriate questions. They took me to the Prohibition and Excise centre and made seven people sit in front of me with the knowledge of everything in my life. They said some mean things. They wanted to ensure I was defeated. They had no idea that I was already numb. Apparently they had no idea about the breakup or the accident or the repercussions around it. I was happy that in all my rock bottom, I was still one hand above their pettiness. But then it struck me. In all these five years that we were together, I had developed into a concept of dependency-and I was addicted to it. But here I was in front of a hoard of assaulters and I was still unbreakable."

"Did it give you any hints?" I asked.

"Yes. It did. It didn't strike me though at that very moment. But the courage I found with them was a new found land. Even for me it was a surprise. I had nothing to lose after it. When I was flying home to face my parents, I was given a pamphlet of your résumé Noah. I was impressed and I'm glad I was."

"But you still took 8 months to come to Delhi?"

"Yeah because before leaving Hyderabad, we met again. It felt as if things would be happy and great again. But we only move forward if we don't look back. I felt my will was failing and I needed an out. And well here we are."

"And why do you think you need dependency?" I was finally asking the question I wanted to ask since a very long time. I was sitting next to the most complex patient I had ever seen and it was making me question my sanity and my choices. I had learnt above selfless love and insanity into it, something I didn't believe in earlier.

He replied, "There is no dependency now. I would be lying if I would say there never was. But what I had realised is that I am now dependent only on me. And there cannot be anyone in that seat. Because once there was one and then there were seven, but all of them wanted to take my seat of reliability- and that seat is now no longer open."

"I'm glad that you had finally realised that. What now?" I asked with a smile.

"I might go abroad or I might stay here. Either ways I’ll try staying contended”.

I asked Shaista and Tarun, his friends, to come into the restaurant we were sitting. I had never met his friends so I thought in this apparent last session I might want to meet them as well. Shaista was tall, fair and pretty with eyes as deep as Aftab-something they remarkably shared. Tarun was dusky with salt-pepper hair and a daunting persona. He was the one who hugged Aftab first, followed by Shaista. And then there was silence. I saw him cry for the first time-uncontrollably and consumingly. The three of them sat in front of me after a while, looking at me and smiling.

And that was our last session. It was as if an era of learning had ended. Even for me. My insanity on the mechanics of his mind baffled me to go to depths of my subject to ensure I'm giving proper counsel. But suddenly it had ended. The battle was won. The bridge was made. But I didn't close the door to my end of it.

***************

Mumbai

3 years later.

I was attending a conference on Psychoanalysis and the pioneer in India on it was about to give the first lecture. I was too busy hogging and it was as if people were not really the kind I would want to be around. 

A fine lady emerged into the lights. She was wearing a glistening blue saree and her hair was tied up on the top of her head. She worked in the Kolkata State Hospital and had a case report to start with. Her first slide was just a photograph of a man in restraints with cut-marks on his face, obscured by his patchy beard. I looked closely and I realised it was the photo of Aftab taken a year ago. The second slide was of a drawing he made while in Delhi.

The second slide was of a drawing he made while in Delhi.

Dr.Nandita Kapoor started explaining about how her brother nearly died after going through a prolonged mental illness following breakup in his relationship, expulsion from his college and a range of wrong and unethical coping up practices. She then went on to explain the way his brother had recovered, his art and that it had taken years and patience.

The audience gasped as she knocked on the mic four times.

Thunder emanated from the clouds again. Today it rained because it had to. Aftab emerged on the podium and overlooked the stares and gasps from the crowd. I couldn’t recognise him in a clean shave. At the sea- it was calm and silent, glistening amidst the flashes and the roars the clouds made, these two people stood there as if there was so much in store for the storm; as if they were prepared this time. This time the knock broke only the doubts. He looked at the sea and then at me and then turned towards his sister for a handshake.

Perhaps that was when when ‘I’ closed my door to the taboo in me about this. I booked my flight back to Houston to see my Ma and Pop.

KHANSA