Chapter 18
Healing came, it came in many forms, and it came at its own pace.
She knew this in theory. But when it came to everyday struggles with healing, she had to work doubly hard to convince herself that.
Especially in those weak, miserable moments when nothing sounded convincing enough. Not even Atharva’s ‘I am here.’
Iram glanced at him, a magnanimous figure — both in size and stature, sitting beside her in the car as it sped down to Dr. Baig’s nursing home.
Srinagar behind him was a blur of day-to-day activity.
But now she could see the heavy wireframe of military structure that held it up.
Some would like it, some wouldn’t. But the truth was, that for better or for worse, the man sitting beside her was responsible for it all, and more.
And he was healing with all of this going on behind him.
Iram respected Atharva. She had respected him ever since he had offered her his hand under the cart.
That respect had only multiplied as years had passed and she had gotten to know him, his scars, his struggles.
Now, as she herself was in a struggle of her own, she identified his. She had all the luxuries of the cocoon he had created for her to heal inside. He did it while fighting the world outside.
Two steps forward, one step backward. That was healing for them right now. But that balance of one step forward was their win. Hers, his, and theirs.
“What are you thinking?” He asked, eyes on the iPad in his hand. Iram smiled. He always knew when her eyes were on him.
“That your glasses look…” she trailed purposefully.
That got her his eyes, and his full attention.
“Look?”
She drew her brows together — “Dirty, Atharva. Dirty. What did you think?”
He smirked. She looked away, horrified that she could feel the flush rise up to her face even after all this time, and even in this state.
“We are here, sir.”
Those four standard words of Altaf brought her face back.
Atharva’s was buried in his iPad, signing away with his pencil even as their car rounded in the nursing home’s atrium.
As usual, it had been completely cleared for them.
Sanitised. Now Iram realised that the upgrade in security wasn’t because of her but because of the situation in the valley.
She got down from her side, her hand automatically reaching out for the car seat which wasn’t there.
They had left Yathaarth at home because this appointment was for her.
But in that one reflex, Iram felt a thrill course up and down her spine.
Suddenly, she realised that she had begun to see her son as an extension of her outside and not inside her body.
That was progress, wasn’t it?
“Iram?”
“Hmm?”
“Come.”
————————————————————
“Everything looks good for us,” Dr. Baig sat down on the single couch seat.
Iram lowered herself beside Atharva on the longer one, closer than she had sat last time.
That closing of the distance and his warmth itself was a testament to the progress of the last few days.
She smiled, feeling thrilled at her body healing and bringing her mind up to speed.
“How do you feel, Iram?” Dr. Baig inquired, even though she had asked her this exact same question in her examination room and they had shared a deep, insightful conversation. Iram opened her mouth to remind her of the same, then realised it. Dr. Baig was asking her again in front of Atharva.
She let her breath come and go, then nodded — “I feel better than I did last time. It’s not completely gone… but I feel like myself on multiple occasions in a day. Which is saying something.”
“That’s good to know,” she set her reports down on the coffee table in front of her. “Now, at this stage, I would usually recommend a counsellor or a therapist as per my patient’s wish. But you mentioned your experience with them during an accident a few years ago.”
Iram nodded.
“You don’t have much faith in one. And even though I have some excellent references, I don’t believe in pushing my patients.”
“Do you think we need a therapist?” Atharva asked.
Dr. Baig gave him a kind, noncommittal smile. But her next words were firm, even hard — “Kaul sahab, do you know what is one of the worst things you can tell somebody suffering in their mind?”
Atharva sat up beside her.
“You need a therapist.” Dr. Baig paused, letting the weight of those words sink in.
“It has become a mockery in our society lately. Honestly, and this is my humble opinion — not every suffering of the mind requires you to open up your insides and try to untangle the cords. There are some concepts of psychotherapy that I agree with, some that I don’t.
And with my patients, I have seen that instead of trying to open yourself up to figure out your ‘self,’ it works better when you dedicate yourself to a cause greater than you.
Our parents and grandparents weren’t ignorant when they fought hardships with work, work and more hard work. ”
“But isn’t throwing yourself into work ignoring the problem?”
“Alright, let’s talk about the problem itself. Things that you feel, things that you think — the anxiety, the panic, the depression symptoms — are they real?”
“For that person, they are.”
“Yes, but are they real in the real world?”
Atharva looked at her. Iram shrugged — “You can say it’s not real. We both are feeling things that we know are unreal.”
“My eloquent wife puts it better than I do.”
“Exactly. It’s the mind, creating a shadow larger than life out of something that may be a tiny mole.
It’s your mind playing tricks on you. Now it may be the result of hormonal imbalances or traumas of life, sometimes triggers from your past. But dealing with it is not a set pathway.
It is different for different people. For Iram, because she is not trusting of therapists, the method to heal is different.
I am reiterating here what I told Iram last time — I am a gynaecologist and I see patients with antenatal and postpartum depression in a very different context.
Iram wanted to work with me on this, and that is why I am sharing my thoughts. ”
“Your advise and exercises have helped her…” Atharva paused. “And us, to start coming out of this. It’s working for us.”
“Then the next step is to start really working. You are a busy man. Iram, what about you? What’s your day like?”
“Feeding Yathaarth, doing some kitchen stuff, and cooking sometimes. But I am planning to do more of it going forward. I am really enjoying it.”
“Ok, that’s good to hear. Are you doing one physical activity every day?”
“Walks in our garden. My speed has also gone up. I do it at nights before sleeping. I go and walk on the terrace for better sleep.”
“Good. Now start cooking as a necessity and not a luxury. Give your cook an off and make your family’s meals.”
“He will set fire to the house,” Atharva muttered, making Iram burst out laughing. She eyed him sideways, with his straight face and sparkle in those eyes. Even on days like these, appointments like these, he did not fail to make her laugh. And look 10 feet tall himself.
“I am assuming your cook owns you and not the other way around?” Dr. Baig sat back, amused.
“Something like that.”
“Then take one shift, Iram. I am asking you to become a need for your family. For your son. You said you feed him. Who does the rest? Bathing him, changing him, playing with him?”
Iram’s throat dried. It was one thing to let Begumjaan help her with everything but quite another to admit it out loud that she was so incompetent with her own son that somebody else, somebody so aged, was doing it for her.
“We share the load,” Atharva answered, sensing her discomfort.
“Begumjaan does the heavy lifting by day,” Iram confessed, not about to lie. “Atharva does it by night.”
“Hmm,” Dr. Baig hummed. “What are you scared of?”
“That I will drop him.”
The answer was so intuitive.
“And make him cry.”
That answer was even more intuitive. It slipped and unclogged one of her biggest fears.
“And something will happen to him.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
“Say it.”
Iram glanced at Atharva. She hadn’t shared this fear with him yet. His grey eyes were completely at ease, understanding, ready.
“That he will die too,” she said, not looking away from Atharva’s eyes. They did not blink either, did not change colour or depth. There, with her, in this.
“Completely justified fear.”
Those magic words made her whirl to Dr. Baig.
“Justified?” Her eyes widened.
“Among new mothers, of course. In your case, doubly so. You have already lost a child.”
She said it so easily. Iram wished she could think about it so easily. About that child she had lost. Her daughter.
“Dr. Baig,” Iram glanced at the time. They had taken this appointment for one hour. They were at the tail end of it.
“Don’t look there, look at me,” Dr. Baig asserted. Iram obeyed.
“Now tell me.”
“How did she go?”
The temperature of the room dropped 10 degrees. The air itself turned thick.
“I have your operation notes with me. I briefed Kaul sahab after my return from New Zealand,” Dr. Baig was matter-of-fact. It gave her the courage to remain strong through this. Atharva’s heat was hotter and she realised why. He had shifted closer to her, his thigh touching hers.
“I would like to know now.”