Just like the last time, I had white-lied at home about my visit here because there was just no need to involve my family in this quest.
The doctor sighed as I entered his cabin. He started reiterating that he couldn’t share patient details, but this time I had a different game plan.
‘Actually, doctor, I’m here for myself today.’
‘Here for yourself, as in, you are here to consult me as a psychiatrist?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Ms Pandey, to consult a professional for therapy you need to have a concrete reason. I hope to make it clear that this is by no means a way to get something else out of my sessions.’
I could tell that the doctor could see through my plan. Who wouldn’t? But that said, I was not doing anything wrong.
‘Doctor, I am a fat girl with a broken engagement, a set of nagging parents, a society that won’t let me live in peace till I find a boy to marry and no boy to marry me. If I don’t need therapy I don’t know who else does!’
‘Fair enough. So we have this cleared that you are genuinely here to consult me.’
‘Yes.’
‘All right then, let us begin.’
After this, he went through some forms that the secretary had made me fill. I had done this the last time as well but the doctor had shooed me away before we could start. Once we had gone over facts like I had no major health issues, physical or mental, that I had not consulted any other counsellor before, that there was no history of any major physical or mental illness in the family, we began our session.
‘Ms Pandey, you seem to be a confident woman, so I would straight away like to ask if there is anything in particular you want to talk about. Or we could just have a general chat for today’s session so I can get to know a bit more about you and your lifestyle.’
‘Actually, doctor, I don’t really think I need anything like medication or treatment for my problems. I’m not losing it or anything; I’m not retarded. I just think it would help to talk to someone about what I am facing.’
He flashed me a very you’re-such-an-amateur smile. Had I said something stupid?
‘You think people who come to psychiatrists or counsellors are all losing it?’
I shrugged my shoulders.
‘I don’t blame you. That’s the first thing that comes to mind when one thinks of a psychiatrist. But let me tell you, the majority of my patients come here to just talk. Today’s lifestyle is taking a toll on the new generation. Eleven-year-old children complain to me about depression, not even sure how to spell it. Mostly all they need is a lifestyle change and someone to talk to. Eighty per cent of all diseases today are psychosomatic—meaning, of the mind. So just because you are here, it does not mean that you are losing it or that you are retarded.’
‘Thank you for clearing that.’
Although I was there to find ways to get to know Harsh’s story, I was coaxed into a regular therapy session. Well, I was paying him for it. If in the bargain, life became a little easier for me to handle then why the hell not?
With surprising ease, I told Dr Marwah my story. I poured my heart out about my childhood, about getting fat, growing up as the odd one out, about never having any regular experience with the opposite sex. I knew I was supposed to incorporate Harsh and veer the conversation towards him, but I got so engrossed in talking about my life that I didn’t even realize when the session was over. I was actually upset about having to stop talking. The hour had helped me vent and I was surprised at how it made me feel. These people are magicians. How do they get one to talk about the deepest issues of one’s life in spite of being total strangers? Is that why it is easy? Because there is no fear of being judged?
Feeling much lighter than any diet had ever made me feel, I left the clinic after booking a follow-up appointment with the secretary, who was still as crotchety on seeing me.
The discovery of Harsh’s problem was helping me deal with my own.
32
141 days before the wedding
My secret visits to Dr Marwah’s clinic made me feel as if I were hiding some sort of addiction from my family. But this time I didn’t lie about it, there was no need. I just took a few hours off from work and went to the clinic. It surprised me that more than learning about Harsh, I was looking forward to talking to Dr Marwah again.
After the initial courtesies, I dived right into my story, not at all conscious of how eager I must have seemed to start talking. I could tell that the doctor was happy with my enthusiasm and he put on his ever-so-ready-to-listen look as I launched into my story.
Fifteen minutes into the session, I was talking without any inhibitions, straight from the heart.
‘I don’t understand why society decides how something or someone should be. Man: broad shoulders. Woman: small waist. Man: tall and muscular. Woman: fair and petite. Damn it! What if a woman is tall, dark and muscular? What if she doesn’t have a small waist?’ I said, punching my right fist into my left palm.
The doctor didn’t flinch. I saw a hint of a smile play on his lips but otherwise he was in control. He was used to this.
‘I’m sorry, doctor. I don’t mean to be aggressive.’
‘It’s perfectly fine. Please continue.’
‘I . . . I’m just so sick of this stereotyping. It gets tiring to constantly try and fit in. And the worst part is that I want to be part of the stereotype. I’m just so horrible. I hate thin girls. But I want to be a thin girl. Do I hate them because I am not one of them? What is my problem doctor? Even though I have accepted how I am why does it get so difficult to live with this image sometimes?’
Dr Marwah was about to say something but I had so much left to say. I had made a mental list, in fact. I had to cut him off.
‘Doctor, why don’t boys want to marry fat girls? Why do beautiful, thin, successful girls easily embrace the ugliest of boys with the roundest of potbellies but when it comes to fat girls there are no takers? I have had rishtas of divorcees and widowers. Not that I think of them as unworthy but you know what I mean? Is marrying me such a big compromise on the part of the groom’s side? And to top that, I’m one engagement down now! I’ll get grandfathers and criminals as options now,’ I almost sobbed.
‘And you know what the funniest part is? I’m not even so desperate to marry! Like . . . I couldn’t care. I’m fine with my life. But since this topic has started, I’ve had no peace. I’m . . . I’m confused. I’m having an internal war of sorts.’
‘Hmm. You’ve mentioned your broken engagement a couple of times. Tell me more about it,’ the doctor said coolly.
And suddenly I was reminded of my motive. This was my cue. I had come here on a mission. The target had blurred a little, I had taken my eyes off the prize for just a little while, but it was time to kill two birds with one stone now. I hoped fervently that this would work.
‘Doctor, among all the proposals—actually they weren’t proposals, just meetings with families, you know how it is, the typical tea parties. So there was one family with whom matters actually progressed. Everybody else had refused. For some reason, this family agreed to meet me again. I was willing to go through with it for the simple reason that they had said ‘yes’. Can you believe how low my self-esteem is? I don’t know how to value myself, doctor. I was willing to marry him just because he hadn’t said ‘no’ and because I was not sure if I’d ever find someone who would say ‘yes’. I didn’t even like him . . . But on the other hand, I didn’t hate him. He’s just the most absurd person I’ve ever come across,’ I said, sensing a drum roll in my head.
‘Do you want to know his name?’
‘Not necessary,’ Dr Marwah said, as if he were incapable of displaying curiosity. ‘In fact, in my therapies we follow a code of anonymity. If that gets difficult, I let patients use fictitious names for people in their lives because it makes them less wary and more comfortable. So . . .’
‘Okay, the name I want to use is Harsh . . . Harsh Tripathi,’ I said looking straight int
o the doctor’s kind eyes. For the first time, I had taken him by surprise. A look of recognition, of adding two and two together flashed across his face, as if to say, ‘So you’re the fat Madhurima he keeps talking about!’ But within seconds, he had recovered his equilibrium. Somehow, I was sure that he had heard about me from Harsh and this fact made my heart dance a little. I was suddenly the girl about whom boys spoke to their therapists! Woohoo! Finally, I was getting some experience of what college life should’ve been like.
‘Do you not like the name, doctor? Shall we go with, um, Harvinder Trivedi instead?’
‘Harvinder Trivedi?’Dr Marwah smiled. ‘Doesn’t really go, does it?’
‘Well, it is a fictitious name, so what does it matter?’
‘I see what you’re doing here, young lady.’
‘What, doctor?’ I smiled innocently.
He sighed.
‘Come on, doc. You think everything I said was made up?’
‘No, I know it comes from a place of real struggle. But . . .’
‘Then hear me out.’
For the next few minutes, I narrated the whole episode with Harsh’s family—his dominating mother, annoying sister, shrewd father and of course, the strange man himself, the engagement, the lack of romance, the car fiasco, the break-up, everything. I gave him all my insights into Harsh’s personality hoping to complete the picture now. He knew one side of the story already, although I was not sure how much of it he knew. Giving him another point of view would help him evaluate Harsh’s personality and solve his issues even though I didn’t know what they were.
‘So what do you think, doctor?’ I asked after my detailed narration.
‘About what in particular?’
‘Um . . . about my fiancé. Ex-fiancé. From what I’ve told you, what do you think his problem is?’ I asked, playing my card.
Dr Marwah played his part well, still reluctant to divulge any information. ‘It’s impossible to tell. The person you’ve just described may not have any problem at all or could be a complete mad man. I can’t just guess like that.’
‘Please, doctor,’ I said in a small voice. He could do this for me. It was not directly a breach of his code of conduct.
‘I think it doesn’t matter what I think of the boy. We’d need more than just a double session to crack that. But what we need to be working on is you. Not somebody who is no longer a part of your life.’
‘Don’t you see, doctor? What you know . . . I mean . . . what you think could be his problem can really help me. It can help me understand him better. It can help me get closure. It can help me understand whether I was the problem between us or not. I need this from you, doctor.’ I said emotionally. Could there be a better way to blackmail your doctor than promise him progress?
‘Okay look. I get your point,’ he said and paused. ‘But I don’t guarantee that this will help you. For all you know it may complicate matters further.’
‘It won’t. I promise.’
‘Okay. Fair enough. You want to know what I think is your fiancé’s problem is.’
He was not my fiancé but I couldn’t disturb the doctor’s flow. I nodded.
‘I don’t think he has any major problem to begin with. He probably suffers from an anxiety disorder that makes him socially awkward. Additionally, he may suffer from selective mutism that makes people tongue-tied in front of a particular audience and in this case, that audience could be people of the opposite gender. Often, such anxiety stems from a troubled childhood or after experiencing a harsh incident in adolescence. Sometimes, disorders are also genetic. But in this case, I have a feeling that it has just developed because of an awkward and shy boyhood. Nasty friends, unfriendly parents and discouraging teachers can destroy anybody and result in the development of anxiety, which otherwise would have been dormant. This disorder is not life-threatening to begin with but can greatly affect the daily lives of individuals. It should not be looked upon as a flaw but at the same time should not be taken lightly.’
Whoa! That was a lot to process. It took a few moments to catch up with the doctor and fully understand all that he had revealed.
The doctor had actually been kind enough to bend his rules a little. He had stepped out of his boundaries without technically stepping out of them. He had just revealed to me that Harsh had an anxiety disorder, a DISORDER! Such a heavy term and yet it was a relief to learn that Harsh wasn’t suffering from something like depression or lunacy. Thank heavens! I didn’t almost marry a psycho.
I wanted to thank the doctor for telling me all this but I had so many more questions. I wanted to know more. And thanking him would mean that I was done fishing out information from him. Well, I wasn’t even close!
‘You mentioned mutism. Selective mutism,’ I asked and paused to form a question in my head. It was getting a bit shaky.
‘How can one not be able to speak in front of women? A person must encounter several at any given point in their day. I mean his mother, his sister, his friends.’
‘So you can imagine how difficult such a person’s daily life must be. However, in front of women with whom this person has always been since childhood, anxiety may not exist or maybe subdued. Mother, sister, even cousins and maybe childhood girl friends. But with anyone other than that, especially someone he may be attracted to, someone his age, there is a problem.’
‘It’s . . . it’s just so unbelievable,’ I said, recalling my interactions with Harsh. Knowing that there was something so serious behind his behaviour changed my perception of him. You know how I always wanted a concrete cause, like a medical reason behind my sudden weight gain? Something that would justify my flaw, make them acceptable to the world. The doctor had done that for Harsh. He had justified Harsh’s cryptic behaviour. And suddenly I was no longer frustrated with him. My anger, my confusion, my frustration, were replaced with sympathy.
‘But I’m sure you know that Harsh had seen . . .’
‘I don’t know anything, dear,’ Dr Marwah said carefully, with a smile.
‘Yes, of course. I meant . . . as I had mentioned, Harsh had seen many girls before me for marriage and rejected all of them.’ Even as I posed my query, I realized what the answer was.
‘Who told you he rejected them? Did he?’
Of course! His mother had lied. He hadn’t rejected any of them! They had all rejected him. Oh my god! Harsh was just another Madhurima! Tears pricked my eyes but I managed to stay composed. There was too much left to know.
‘But what about the fact that he never even bothered to contact me after the break-up? I can understand his reservation, his lack of romance, but what about the fact that he supported his parents in blackmailing mine for the car? Which self-respecting man who can easily afford a car or two with his own money would do something like that, disorder or no disorder?’
‘Did you contact him after the break-up? And are you absolutely certain that he knew that your parents were buying the car? Isn’t there the slightest possibility that he didn’t know?’
I recalled the discussion when Harsh was talking about the new car on our way to his cousin’s wedding. His excitement was genuine, like an innocent child’s. It was totally possible that he was in the dark about the arrangement between our fathers. Maybe his parents hadn’t told him that my father was buying the car. Could it be that Harsh’s parents were the villains in our story?
My discoveries had completely sobered me down, reducing my otherwise loud voice to a mere whisper.
‘Yes, it could be possible,’ I uttered as if trying to convince myself.
‘But . . . but doctor . . . how can it work like this? Can such a person ever have a normal life? If he gets married, how will it work? I almost married him. You can’t forever be nervous of speaking in front of your wife!’
‘That is why people come to us,’ Dr Marwah said, proud of his occupation. ‘Harsh’s problem is not . . . doesn’t seem like a chronic one from what you say.’
I couldn’t believe that we
were still pretending not to be talking directly about his client.
‘With time, it gets easier. He had been on dates with you, right? He did initiate conversation, however lacklustre it may have been.’
I scoffed.
‘Well, I would hardly call those less-than-friendly meetings ‘dates’. And initiate conversation? Please doctor! He would send me philosophical forwards that he sent to people first thing in the morning! Who does that?’
‘And what if he did that just to start a conversation with you? What if he didn’t send them to anybody else like you’re assuming? Starting a conversation with a woman is not easy for many men, even those without anxiety disorders. Sometimes, the easiest things prove to be most difficult for some people.’ It was as if he had stolen my thoughts, as if he had shown me a mirror. Who could know this better than I? I had struggled to do things that the world around me did with effortless ease.
‘You’re so right, doctor,’ I said, almost in a stupor.
I thought of Harsh’s morning messages. Yes, there was a pattern. Every morning, without fail, he would think of me at the same time. If it were indeed true that those messages were his attempts to talk to me, then I was touched. Suddenly, they assumed a new meaning, a romantic gesture.
I was discovering a new Harsh and one to whom I could relate.
‘All right, I think it’s time for us to wind up the session. I don’t think you’ll need a follow-up, now that I have given you all the information you need,’ Dr Marwah grinned.
I smiled back. I wanted to go on talking, go on asking questions but I knew it was time to stop. The doctor had done enough for me and I had a lot to mull over.
‘Before we conclude, I want you to think about this, consider my theory for a moment. You’ve mentioned several times how you’ve felt judged and been treated differently because of your weight and this has killed your confidence. How people always expect men and women to fit into certain stereotypes. Man: muscular and tall; woman: slim and petite. Right?’
Encounters of a Fat Bride Page 12