Page 92 - Musings 2022
P. 92

The Session

                                                    Akshat Bhatnagar
                                                    2018B3PS1156P

               “Where were we?” asked the therapist
               “I was telling you about Narayandev’s death” he replied

               “Ah yes” she scanned the yellow-paged notepad with a sharp gaze “The servant from your

               childhood home. You said you couldn’t sleep because of it”
               “For  a  time,  I  couldn’t”  he  shifted  uncomfortably  in  the  overstuffed  club  chair.  The

               overwhelming fruity aroma in the stuffy office made him feel queasy.
               “Why don’t you tell me what happened?” she scribbled a last note and set down her pen, staring

               expectedly at him.

               The man sighed in defeat. They had been over this incident a little less than three times without
               any revelation (like that was a surprise) and yet she was convinced that the story was more

               meaningful than it actually was. He massaged his aching leg; the bones had healed after the
               accident but sharp spikes of pain still pierced it from time to time. Realising that he had no

               option but to humour her, he began.
               “I  moved  to  my  grandparent’s  place  in  the  summer  of  1960.  “My  father  was  in  his  third

               marriage and like his last wife, the new one didn’t want anything to do with me either.”

               “How did it make you feel, your father pushing you away?” she inquired
               “Ecstatic!” the man replied with a sarcastic smile which faded as he caught the reproving look

               that she gave him.
               “No really!” he clarified “The only time that wasn’t beating me was when he passed out after

               drinking too much. I was just happy that he had another person to wail on while I got a much-

               deserved rest”
               She scribbled down something yet again, the smooth paper wrinkling under her pressured, rapid

               writing.
               “Anyway” he continued “It was a grand place, cradled below the royal palace in the old part of

               the city. My grandfather had been a minister to the King and when the British ousted him, the

               place fell into his hands. It was about a 100-metre steep climb up from the lakeshore and
               expanded backwards into the hillside that it had been carved into.”

               “Did you like it there?”








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