Life Is What You Make It A Story Of Love, Hope And How Determination Can Overcome Even Destiny (21 page)

Of course I had heard of Vincent Van Gogh. I had admired his work and I was astounded by its simplicity and depth when I had first come across it. I had in fact, borrowed one of the art books from my school library while at school and had attempted to copy his paintings.

“Oh yes doctor, he is one of my favourite artists!” I exclaimed in joy, smiling at the memory.

“Well, he too had bipolar disorder,” said Dr. Madhusudan.

“Oh!” I said, the revelation taking me by complete surprise. I had not known anything about Van Gogh's personal life. The book that I had borrowed was mostly a collection of his paintings and had not mentioned anything about his personal life.

Dr. Madhusudan's words had found their mark and now I was beginning to feel very important and special.

“In a fit of extreme emotion, Van Gogh had cut off his ear,” said Dr. Madhusudan.

That piece of information which was also new to me brought me back to the painful reality of the illness in a jiffy.

I could now understand fully why he would have done that. He must have been helpless, caught in a vortex, like I had been, just a fortnight ago, when I had no control over my emotions. I could feel his helplessness and sense his pain.

“Ankita, this is going to come to you in cycles. There will be highs and there will be lows. You have just experienced the highs when you were at your creative best and unstoppable. Then you experienced the lows which almost took your life. What we are doing here is helping you regulate it, so that you can manage it yourself. This is just the first brush you have had with it. There may be future episodes and you have to be prepared. We are here for you, to help you,” said Dr. Madhusudan.

The enormity of whatever he had said was sinking in slowly and spreading in my mind like darkness after sunset. Till then it had not occurred to me that I might have to battle it once more. I had presumed that the worst was over and it was behind me.

Yet I had implicit faith in Dr. Madhusudan's words. I felt if he said I could manage it, I would. I believed him with all my heart. Sometimes all one needs is a strong anchor, a person you can trust blindly. Someone who will lead you on, be there for you and never let you down. To me Dr. Madhusudan was that person. His presence calmed me. His words reassured me. I trusted him completely.

“You are a very brave girl, Ankita,” he said as he patted my hand.

Faith is a strange and a powerful thing and it can work miracles.

It was something I would soon discover.

22

One step at a time

T
he next morning when the doctors came on their rounds Dr. Namita came along. She carried in her hand a large plastic bag. When the doctors finished their routine questions and were leaving, Dr. Namita stayed back.

“This is for you Ankita. Dr. Madhusudan told me to give it to you,” she said as she handed over the packet to me. He has also asked me to work with you from 2.30 to 4.30 P.M. everyday. I'll see you here in the afternoon at 2.30 sharp,” she said as she left.

As soon as she left, I opened the packet. It contained a set of children's books. They looked old but were in perfect condition. Most were Russian books translated into English with fascinating illustrations. The titles were very interesting and I had never seen books like them before.

There was a book titled “Within and without wears his coat wrong side out.”

Then there was another which said “Baba Yaga and other stories”.

There was a third book by Alexander Raskin which said “When daddy was a little boy”.

Then there was a book for teenagers called “Masha Nikiforova's days.” There were also books of Brer Rabbit and Winnie the Pooh.

I was surprised to find that Dr. Madhusudan had sent me such an assorted and rare collection. I did not know what to make of it till I saw his note.

“One step at a time, Ankita. We're getting there!” He had scrawled on a tiny bit of paper in his spidery handwriting which spread across it.

I could not resist opening the books. The first thing that I saw when I opened the first book were the words in a child's writing “
This book belongs to Madhusudan Jairam and Vibha Jairam
.” Beneath it was an address in Kerala. It was evident that the books belonged to Dr. Madhusudan's childhood. I also guessed that Vibha must have been his sister as they shared the same surname and address. It made me feel sad as I could picture that little girl whose hands must have held this book many years back. Who would have thought that she would take her own life? I felt emotional as I turned the page.

What I saw took my breath away. The Illustrations were simply fantastic and nothing like I had ever seen before! I gazed in amazement and wonder at the beautiful and exotic pictures. The pictures were full of details. The colours were vibrant. Some of the pictures were black and white and had an eerie, deathlike quality about them, as they were full of hatchings and cross hatchings. I was so absorbed in looking at the illustrations that I did not realise how time had passed. The attendant was calling out that it was time for recreation room. It was with great reluctance that I put the books away.

I did not have much time to think about them as we had to go to the recreation room. I walked along with Anuj and Sagar. I painted another picture. This time I painted the sofa in the room. I also painted the elderly lady who was knitting. I did not paint the features on her face but it was obvious that I had painted her from the clothes she was wearing and the pose she had adopted. Anuj and Sagar admired it once more dutifully.

“You are good at this! You paint well!” said Sagar.

These guys were so good for my ego! I felt happy to be appreciated.

Before I realised it, lunch hour had passed and it was time to go back to the room.

Dr. Namita was already there when I came back from lunch.

“Hi Ankita,” she smiled brightly.

“Hello doctor,” I replied. I was feeling a bit friendlier towards her, after my talk with Dr. Madhusudan.

“Do call me Namita. Doctor sounds so formal,” she smiled. That statement of hers won me over and I smiled.

“Ankita, I am here to help you with the reading and the writing.” She said a matter of factly. There were no judgements passed here and there was not a trace of pity or condescension in her voice. I liked that. I wasn't sure what she had in mind but I had a vague notion why Dr. Madhusudan had sent me the books.

“A re you able to read those books?” asked Namita.

“I have only looked at the pictures so far. I have not tried reading the books.”

“Let's do it. Choose any one.”

I looked at the books. At one time, my desk had been filled with Kotler and other management books. Now it was children's books.

It is hard to describe how I felt. At one time reading and words had been the core of my existence. I had prided myself on my memory and intellect. Now I seemed to be back to square one. It was almost as though I was reduced to the level of a six year old who had just learnt to read. There was no way out from here. Dr. Madhusudan believed in me. His reassurances of my getting back to my old self soothed me. I could not let him down. I made up my mind. If reading children's books was what it took, to get back my reading and comprehension abilities, I would do that. I had to make a beginning somewhere.

“Ok,” I said and I picked up ‘Masha Nikiforova’s days'.

“Let me get another chair for this room, and then we can use the table,” said Dr. Namita as she called out to the attendant to fetch a chair. He was back with a wooden chair in no time.

Dr. Namita pulled the table towards her, away from the wall and positioned her chair on one side. She motioned me to sit down. It was a little like a tutor working with a single student.

I opened the book and read the first lines

“
I'm starting my diary today. Actually I decided to start one long ago, last month, or even before that. I found twenty kopecks today. The coin was lying on the sidewalk, and there was nobody near it.”

But by the time I reached the end of the second sentence, I could hardly remember what the first sentence was. I was reading but I had no idea what it meant. I went back and read the first sentence. Then the second one again. But once again the words vanished from my mind and I was left gasping for a meaning, for a nuance, for the paragraph to make sense. Tears of frustration welled up in my eyes.

Why wasn't I able to read and retain a simple sentence? Is this how

the rest of my life is going to be? Why am I not able to follow a children's book?

I controlled my tears and told Dr. Namita “I cannot do this. I am not able to go on.”

“Ankita, you will just have to try harder. Come on now, do it once more,” she said gently but firmly.

I tried again. And yet again. It was the same result as before. My attention span and concentration were really affected. I was terrified. Had my brain been damaged? Why was this happening?

I had been reading the same two sentences over and over again, trying to make sense of it, failing miserably.

Dr. Namita could see my frustration and could sense my pain.

“Okay Ankita, let us do one thing. I will dictate and you write down what I am saying, ok?” she said.

“Yes,” I barely managed to say.

Dr. Namita chose the Brer rabbit book. She began dictating just two words at a time. I had no trouble writing them down. She then said the next two words. Again I had no trouble following it. When I finished writing the sentence, I was able to retain what it meant. We worked in silence like this for about forty five minutes. I had written out the entire book.

Finally Dr. Namita said that it was enough for the day.

“Ankita, you have been under tremendous stress in the past months. Don't worry. You are making good progress. I will come back tomorrow,” she said as she left.

After she left, I stared at the words I had written. Then I broke down. My body shook with nerve wracking sobs. The cry sounded to my own ears like a primeval cry for help. It was a cry of pure pain and helplessness. I felt anguished that I had been reduced to this state of having to
write out
a children's book, before my brain could retain the information. I had prided myself on my intellect. I had felt elated when I had topped the IT test in my MBA course and when I had first cleared the management entrance tests. I compared what I had once been to what I had been reduced to and the tears continued flowing. Gradually the sobs eased. I got up and washed my face when I heard the attendant knocking on the door calling out for outdoor time.

Anuj and Sagar took one look at me and I knew they had seen my blood shot eyes.

I think, spending time in a mental health Institution makes you a hundredfold more sensitive towards others than you were earlier. You learn to value emotions. You learn to look out for others. You learn to truly care. Most importantly you learn to pay heed to what others
do not
tell you.

I was taken aback when Anuj put his hands around my shoulder and said gently in a soft voice “Hey, don't be too harsh on yourself. It is okay.”

I was afraid that his kindness would unleash a fresh flood of tears but I managed to hold them back.

“You see that guy there?” asked Sagar, pointing to the tall lanky bearded man.

I nodded.

“He was a senate member in the Academic council at Stanford University. Can you believe it? He has a wife and a young child. They visit him on weekends. He had a nervous breakdown and that is why he is here now, recovering,” he said.

“And you know that lady? The one who is always stylishly dressed?” asked Anuj.

I nodded again.

“She has an eating disorder. She has two children too. Her husband and her children are waiting for her to get better. You should see the joy on her children's faces when they visit her. That is the only time I have seen her smile,” said Anuj.

“How do both of you know all these details? “ I asked.

“We have been around a lot longer here than you,” said Anuj.

I felt immensely grateful to them for the things they said. But more than that I loved the fact that they had not magnified either their ordeal or mine. They had not talked about themselves. Nor had they prodded me or even made me feel that I had to explain myself. They made me feel ‘okay’. I cherished that. It was a feeling that I had not had for a very long time. I loved them for it.

After that, the routine which had been set for me continued. Life went on like a train on tracks, governed by the Railway timetable. Anuj and I played basketball and Sagar did his gardening, as usual, till it was time for psychotherapy. Dr. Madhusudan was there this time. We talked about my effort in reading for the day. Dr. Madhusudan praised me and said it was a baby step in the right direction. He encouraged me to try hard and not feel frustrated. He said my system had taken a huge shock and emphasised that I would get back all the abilities that I had—it was just that I had to work towards it. It did not seem that way to me, but I desperately wanted to believe him. He was offering me a lever called hope and I grabbed it.

Six whole weeks passed in this manner. I was getting better each day. By the end of the sixth week, I discovered that I no longer needed to write out the passages from the books to remember the previous sentences. I was overjoyed! If someone had told me I had won the National lottery I don't think I would have been as thrilled. This was truly the best thing that had happened to me in a very long time.

At one single sitting, I read
Masha Nikiforova's days
from the beginning to the end. I just could not stop! The thrill of being able to finish a book and comprehend it perfectly matched no joy that I had known before. I simply could not believe it! I felt like dancing and shouting out to the world and telling everyone who passed by “Look I am able to read! Look I am able to remember!”

But of course, I controlled my emotions and pretended it was just another day. Nobody would have been able to understand the depth of my joy and the extent of my happiness unless they had themselves gone through what I just had. I hugged my little secret to myself and I hoarded the books as a miser hoards his treasure. I couldn't wait to get time to myself, so that I could finish all the books. I was like a thirsty traveller in a desert who had finally got around the mirages and managed to reach the oasis.