“Is this your first time?” I crooned, leading the way. When I didn’t get a response, I looked back. The sexagenarian looked up and nodded absentmindedly. One look at him and my heart almost stopped for a second. The small fidgety eyes, the short aquiline nose and ears that are too large for the face and the scar that ran through the entire stretch of his right eyebrow were enough to reveal who he was. The receding hairline, the tan on his face, and the wrinkles on his forehead summed up the years of his absence.
If it was five years back, I would have initially broken down and later bombarded him with a thousand questions, each starting with ‘Why’.
After being in this profession, I know how and when to compose myself. It has taught me to swim, come what may, against gushing waters or delicately drift past gentle waters. Taking a long breath, I dived deep into the purpose of his visit.
He slid his visiting card into my palm. The card read, ‘Raghavendra Kamat’. “Of course, I know!”
He had a prior appointment in the name of Raghu.
This was going to be difficult, but not impossible.
I initiated a small conversation to put him at ease. “It’s okay to feel uncomfortable,” I reassured him. He sat, his face almost reaching his chest, refusing to look up. I explained the session’s rules and boundaries when he refused to open up. His stubby dark fingers tapped rapidly against the edge of the wooden cot
These were the same fingers that pushed me away when I needed to hold on to it. What if I did the same? A hundred thoughts crossed my mind. Neither did I respond nor did I react. I let them pass.
The scented candles, the dimly lit room, the pastel-colored furnishings, the potted indoor plants, and the soothing music playing in the background set the tone for the session. The light sheer curtains swayed to the rhythm of the gentle cold breeze.
Rains in Bengaluru fell as and when it wanted, not adhering to any seasonal pattern. A mid-afternoon drizzle fell dampening the green lawns one drop at a time. This one-room studio on the outskirts of the city served its purpose. It gave the much-needed privacy and respite from the chaotic city life. Clients found it convenient to seek solace and peace here. As the drizzle gathered momentum, drops of water fell in through the window. I rushed to close the windows.
Muttering a silent prayer, I got down to work.
“Take eight long breaths,” I suggested as he twiddled his thumb. Closing the length of my skirt inwards with my palms, I sat beside him. I closed in the distance by tilting my shoulders towards him just enough for our shoulders to rub against each other.
His chest heaved up and down with each of his loud, shallow breaths. The sweat blotches around his armpits imprinted an uneven pattern on his blue shirt.
My soft, nimble fingers kneaded his shoulders delicately gliding through the small hard knots that responded to my touch but refused to budge. I moved on to make circles on his back. Applying slight pressure on both sides of his shoulders, I nudged him to lie on the low bed. The soft white mattress sank a little to his weight. Sleeping next to him, I wrapped my arm around his cold body. His body stiffened. I tapped his head in a circular motion. His breathing had become so shallow that I couldn’t trace the movement of his chest.
“Will you take me to the beach on Sunday?”, “Can you attend the PTA meeting, please?” “Shall we play badminton in the evening?” “Do you think you can help me make a model of the solar system?” I would wrap my arm around his broad shoulders and, bending my face close to his, put forth my pleas. Taking my hand off his shoulder with his leathery fingers, his answer would always be the same. “I am busy. Go along and play. Don’t bother me.” These words threw water on the spark of my wishes and desires. With stooped shoulders and my head hung low I would seek solace under the loose end of my Amma’s voile saree. She would gently run her slender fingers over my silky hair. This helped me to digest his brusque replies.
Placing his head at the base of my neck I ran my fingers through his hair. I covered every inch of his upper body. Half an hour into the cuddle, his shoulders drooped. As his breaths became deep and long, the muscle knots on his arms began to lose form.
“I have lost everything; my family, my health, and my business. I am all alone, “he drawled as if in a drunken stupor. The boisterous voice that once boomed had turned into a soft whimper.
I threw my arms around him. My slender fingers rubbed against the rough skin of his forearm which was covered with short curly hair.
“How I longed to put my arms around his as we walked!”
“Nikki, you are not a kid anymore. Learn to behave.” The words still echoed in my mind.
The warmth of my fingers passed from my body to his.
“I abandoned my wife and 8-year-old daughter. I wanted a son to take over my business. I remarried and left Bangalore for good. I started my real estate business from scratch. Even ten years of prior experience did not help me sail through. That wretched woman deserted me when I was detected with the final stages of liver cirrhosis. I was left in the lurch. That reminded me of my family. My wife and my daughter, Nikki craved my attention. And all I did was ignore them. It’s right when they say karma is a bitch. I have returned after twenty years. I am not able to trace my family. All I seek is their forgiveness. Only then, can I die in peace,” he wept, his tears leaving wet spots on my brown top. His body shuddered as he let go of years of guilt and repentance.
Though my fingers worked nonchalantly, my heart and mind refused to comply. Tears clouded my eyes as he dozed off to sleep. This gave me time to think. I stared at the man who had thrown his hands and legs apart, head tilted to one side sleeping in restful bliss.
“Forgiveness heals the receiver as well as the giver.” Isn’t this what I often tell my clients?
As I sipped water from a tall glass my thoughts took me back in time.
*
“Amma, what happened?” the 8-year-old me enquired when I saw her sitting cradling her chin in the well of her palms. The tears were long gone leaving traces on her small, round face. Her tears had partially rubbed off the big round red dot that dominated her forehead. Wrapping her arms around me and bringing my head close to her bosom, she mumbled, “He is gone. Your Papa has left us.”
I remembered Papa’s loud voice yelling out at Amma last night. “Your reports say that you will never be able to conceive again. Who will take over my business? Who will manage my ancestral property when I am gone? I had told you to visit the pandit and do the rituals according to his bidding. If you had heeded my advice I would have had a son now. I don’t want Nikki nor do I want you. I have had enough of both of you.”
Now I understood his strange behavior. But what wrong have I done? Firmly gripping on to the end of the quilt, I wept silently that night. For how long I lay there lost in thoughts, I don’t remember. I hoped next morning when I woke up, I would realize it was just a nightmare. But alas! No! It was true. He had walked out of the house leaving us to fend for ourselves.
I ran into the bedroom to confirm. His wet towel which usually lay strewn on the bed was missing. The layers of shirts and trousers that Amma used to painstakingly iron and fold were gone too. What was left was the lingering fragrance of his strong perfume. I didn’t know what to do. A strange strain of anger propelled me to draw all the curtains and throw open the windows. I didn’t want anything that belonged to him to stay. My body quivered as I stood with closed fists. Amma saw the sudden change in my mannerism and got up with a start.
She ran up to me and patted my head and shoulders. Circling her palm against my back she held me close. She kept cuddling me till my shallow breaths became long and deep. The warmth of her fingers soothed my senses and I drifted off into deep slumber.
When I woke up after a few hours, the red round bindi was back on her face. She held me in her arms rocking my head to and fro. A deep sense of calm descended on my being. I looked into her eyes to read her thoughts. Her eyes were moist and oozed concern and sheer love for me.
It took time, but slowly and steadily our life was back on its tracks. But anger and resentment would sometimes make its presence felt. Amma would suddenly stop talking and I would find ways to bring her back to normalcy. There were days when I would yell and scream when things didn’t go my way and Amma would try to calm me down.
Amma worked in a nearby factory. The money was not enough but she ensured it funded my education. On learning that he had sold the house, we shifted to a shanty on the city outskirts.
“I want you to stand on your own feet and never depend on anyone.”- was the mantra she chanted. I worked doubly hard and didn’t stop till I completed my Engineering degree with flying colors.
Myriad emotions splashed on Amma’s face when I waved my appointment letter in front of her eyes. Her smile had finally reached every inch of her face. “You don’t have to work anymore, Amma. Now it’s my turn.”
“No, Nikki. My work has helped me forget my past. It has helped me build our present. You do yours and I will continue with mine,” she asserted, patting my head. I threw my arms around and held her in a tight embrace.
Initially, the work at the tech company looked interesting. I got to meet new people. The ambiance invigorated me to reach my goals. Within three years, I had moved up the corporate ladder. As I moved higher and higher, I became lonelier and lonelier. The cut-throat competition, the stress, tight deadlines, and the office politics drained me. I put in fourteen hours of work to meet the deadlines. I excelled at work but lost my peace of mind. It left me anxious and stressed.
When a colleague of mine suffered a fatal heart attack and fell dead in front of my eyes, I panicked. I didn’t want to face the same situation.
When he left Amma, I was there for her but if something happened to me, she would collapse.
Many of my colleagues complained of suffering from anxiety and panic attacks. Seeing their sullen dull faces, I decided to talk to Amma.
“Amma, I don’t think I can go on like this. The stress is killing me. I am not enjoying my work anymore. What should I do? I feel so helpless,” I placed my face under the loose end of her saree. She ran her fingers along the entire stretch of my back and shoulders. There was something about her touch. Her slender warm fingers had magic in them. Whenever she caressed my body, all my emotions running haywire settled down and a sense of peace sedimented in the deepest corner of my heart. She kept massaging my shoulders and back as I drifted off to sleep.
The next morning all the dark clouds had settled down and I was ready to quit my job.
Scrolling on my mobile, I came across a master class for therapy. The information on the app got me hooked, and I enrolled in the class. There was no looking back after that.
It was only after I completed the course that I realized the power of Amma’s touch. A warm embrace releases oxytocin, the bonding hormone that helps mental well-being. Unknowingly, Amma was healing me with her hug.
Five years into the profession, I had helped hundreds of people. I was doing well for myself. And I realized that this was my true calling.
Gradually over the years, he had receded from our lives. Initially, he used to crop up in our conversation but we stopped talking about him. Even relatives who had pointed fingers at my mother now only raise their thumbs towards her.
There were times I wanted to meet and let him know we were doing well for ourselves. I wanted him to know we had moved on.
But not in my wildest dreams did I imagine he would come looking for us to ask for forgiveness.
“It’s been a long time since I have slept for three hours at a stretch. I am feeling light. Thank you so much. I am glad I took my friend’s advice to come to you,” he muttered, straightening his shirt’s creases. His soft voice broke my chain of thoughts.
“It’s my pleasure, you need to attend some more sessions, “Nikita reckoned, amused that he had not recognized her. How could he? The small timid girl with two long plaits had transformed into a headstrong tall lady with shoulder-length hair.
Seeing his worried, wrinkled face and his tears; sympathy, and compassion slowly replaced hatred and disgust. Time had made the bitter memories seem less harsh. It’s easy to forget but forgive? Maybe I could but would Amma be able to forgive him?
Before leaving he stared at me for a few seconds. “My daughter would be roughly your age now,” he uttered. I was speechless for a minute. Regaining composure, I asked him to use the scanner to pay. He paid and walked away.
As I watched his retreating figure an inner voice reverberated within me. ‘All said and done, it is but fair to grant a dying man his last wish’.
“I am willing to forgive him out of sympathy but the herculean task now is to convince Amma to forgive him. I knew that if we forgive, we can let go of all the negative emotions buried deep within ourselves. That’s the only way to give closure to the relationship. This is the first time in five years of my practice that I have spotted a vibrant rainbow while dispelling stormy clouds on my client’s horizon,” mused Nikita Kamat.
As soon as I reached home, I broached the topic.
“Amma, today he had come to me for therapy.” When I saw her getting up to go, “Amma, please hear me out. I know what you went through when he left us. I know you had crumbled but you stood up for me. It was because of you that we came out of the trauma.” I stopped to gauge her reaction.
Her face had suddenly darkened and her lips quivered with the weight of the emotions in her mind. I knew this was not easy for her. It was not easy for me too. But time had changed the equation we had with him. It was out but not over. It will be over when we have forgiven him. We need to nullify the equation.
“He is in his last stages of life, Amma. All I am asking you to do is to forgive him. It will be over once and for all. He will die in peace and we will live in peace. Though we have erased him from our lives he still dwells in the innermost folds of our hearts and minds. By forgiving him we are scooping the remnants of him from our lives. I want you to think it over and let me know,” I contended.
Amma sat still nestling her face in the well of her palms. She was too shocked to react. I sat next to her resting my head on her shoulders.
“Why should we wait for the next session? Let’s get over it now. Call him and tell him we will forgive him. But after that, we will have nothing to do with him,” Amma asserted. She got up fixing the tip of her saree end to her waist.
I looked up at her in awe. One moment she was down and the next she was up and going. This fighting spirit of hers was what kept us going.
Walking up to her, I enveloped her in a warm embrace.
“Amma, do let me know if you need a therapy session. For you, it’s free,” the cuddle therapist in me blurted out to clear the tension in the air. She laughed throwing her head back. I smiled and looked deep into her eyes to read her mind. And this time I could see a deep sense of calm descend on her being. The big red dot on her forehead was the only thing I could see as she smiled back at me.
***
Distend of Quintale-66