Life Is What You Make It A Story Of Love, Hope And How Determination Can Overcome Even Destiny (22 page)

That evening I broke the news to Dr. Madhusudan. He was as delighted as I was.

“That is indeed wonderful Ankita! Well done!” he said. Then he asked me if I was ready to meet my parents. He said that my parents had been often checking on me by getting in touch with him. But I still was not ready as yet. I told him to defer it by a few more days. I also asked Dr. Madhusudan if he could get me more books and this time I did not want children's books.

“Yes, I have a collection in my office. I will send them through Dr. Namita” he promised.

The regular physical exercise and the routine set had been silently working wonders on my weight. When I looked into the mirror one morning I was surprised to see a glowing complexion and a peaceful expression. I smiled at myself as I brushed my hair. Suddenly I felt wonderful and thankful to be alive.

That evening Anuj and Sagar had a gift for me. I was pleasantly surprised and touched.

“What is the occasion?” I asked them trying to guess what was inside the nicely wrapped packet.

“You don't need an occasion to make others feel good, Ankita. Life is a celebration!” said Anuj.

“Now you sound like a new age guru. All you need is some saffron robes,” I teased.

But I was secretly pleased to see the effort they had made. Their gift was two cassettes which were volume one and two of “The world's greatest love songs”. There were a few of the latest numbers as well as all the classics. The songs were all feel-good songs.

“Nice! Thank you.” I said.

“And you can listen to them tonight—ta-da” said Anuj as he produced a tape recorder from behind his back. “This is not a gift! I am just lending it to you,” he clarified quickly and I smiled.

That night I drifted off to sleep with Elvis Presley singing in his melancholic voice “A re you lonesome tonight?”

Are you lonesome tonight,

Do you miss me tonight?

Are you sorry we drifted apart?

His voice filled the room and my mind raced back to those memories when Vaibhav had played the song “Nothing's gonna stop us now” on my birthday.

I couldn't help thinking what a long way I had come and how much I had grown up since then. It seemed like a lifetime to me.

Life was indeed unpredictable and it was true that it could take a sudden unexpected turn. I contemplated in silence and kept one hand on my precious books that I had placed next to my pillow, as I fell asleep that night.

23

I am the master of my fate

F
inally, it was time to leave. I felt a slight sense of trepidation as well as happiness. I was happy that my ordeal was over and I was now ‘free’. But I felt bad about leaving behind the world that had been my home for the past many weeks.

Dr. Madhusudan had prepared me well. He said I had made remarkable progress and it was because of my strong will power and determination alone that I had bounced back so quickly. I was still on Lithium which I had to take just once a day for the next two months. After that, he had tapered the course to be taken and it would have to be taken every alternate day, for the next two weeks. Then it would be every third day. Finally it would be twice a week, then once a week and then I could stop taking it altogether. Dr. Madhusudan emphasised that it was extremely important that I did not discontinue the medicine. He warned me that I would feel fine and I would be tempted to stop taking the medication. He spoke to me about a lot of people who seemed to be getting better but had worsened suddenly simply because they had either discontinued the medicine or given up too quickly.

“And Ankita, you have a real talent for writing as well as painting. Do something about it. Do not waste it. Not everybody is gifted. You are and you are indeed lucky,” he said.

“Ha ha. May be I will write a book someday, Doctor. If I do, I would surely write about you,” I joked as I brushed his compliment aside. I was embarrassed and I did not know how to handle it.

He looked straight into my eyes. “I would be very proud of you, if you do it, Ankita,” he said.

I did not know what to say and so I mumbled an incoherent reply and muttered a thank you.

Then I took out the card that I had made for him the previous day at the recreation room.

I had painted a burning flame on the face of the card, which was surrounded by a bluish green light. Inside I had written

To Dr. Madhusudan who went beyond the call of duty.

I owe you a lot. You have taught me the value of life, and you have taught me that love and time are the greatest gifts one can receive. I have put a lot of time and a lot more of my love into these paintings which I have made. There was a time when I could not paint and could not write. Now I can and I hold them dearer than life itself. I guess you, of all people, would know completely, what I mean when I say this. To me, this is the greatest gift I can ever give somebody. I hope you like them.

With love and warmest regards

Ankita

I had chosen three of my best pictures, out of all the ones that I had been painting and I had wrapped them carefully with old newspaper.

Dr. Madhusudan opened the card right there. He read the card first and then looked at the paintings. He spread them on his desk and gazed at them.

He was silent for a long time. I could see he was moved.

Then he swallowed once and he said “Ankita, I shall truly cherish them. They are beautiful. Thank you. These will be framed and displayed on the walls in my office. And I do wish you the very best in life. Mark my words, you will do well.”

I had made a card for Dr. Namita too. It was a simple thank you card with the picture of a flower on it.

I had not made cards for Anuj or Sagar but decided to gift them my paintings. For Sagar, I had chosen two pictures which showed his beloved garden he so loved working in. For Anuj, I chose one which showed a view of the basketball court and another which showed the building which had been home to all of us, for the past few weeks.

They were delighted with my gift.

“Thank you Ankita,” said Sagar and he hugged me tight. He almost crushed me and I hugged him back. I could feel his love and his genuine friendship in that hug.

“And where is my hug? Only he gets to hug you, is it?” asked Anuj in mock anger.

I laughed as I hugged him and planted a kiss on his cheek. He was taken by surprise for a few seconds and then he kissed me right back on both my cheeks. He then jumped up in the air and pumped his fist and said “whoo hoooo” as I laughed in delight at his antics.

“This is not fair, by the way,” said Sagar.

“What? Kissing him?” I asked genuinely surprised.

“No, you silly! You come in here, after us and now you leave before us. Now what are we supposed to do without you?” said Sagar.

“I am sure you will leave soon too. Or would you rather I stay here?” I half joked. A part of me did want to stay on.

“Don't even joke about it,” said Anuj.

“You know Ankita, when people joke about how they think they should be admitted in mental hospital or how they think they should be on Valium, it takes a great deal of effort for me to smile,” said Sagar.

I knew exactly what he was talking about. I hoped Anuj and Sagar would get to leave soon, as well. It wasn't a topic we wanted to talk about, so we changed it and continued talking about movies and other things, as usual.

That evening we talked for a very long time. It was as though we wanted these few precious hours that we had left together, to last for a lifetime.

Finally when it was time to go I hugged them again and said my goodbyes.

It was raining the next day when my parents came to pick me up.

They were waiting in the recreation room. Dr. Madhusudan was there too.

My parents suddenly looked a lot older than I remembered them. It was a very emotional moment. We weren't used to expressing our love in our family and instead of hugging them I stood there stupidly staring at my feet.

Dr. Madhusudan summed up the entire thing he had told me about the importance of continuing Lithium. He then told my dad to be in touch on the phone. My parents were genuinely grateful to this man as much as I was. My dad promised to be in touch.

We flew back to Bombay the same day.

My parents were now treating me with extra care and concern, like I was fragile. While I enjoyed their extra care and attention, the fact was I was a lot tougher now, than I had ever been earlier.

My earlier ambition had been to complete MBA and to prove myself in the corporate world. Suddenly, after what I had been through, it all seemed meaningless to me. I couldn't stand the thought of going back to MBA. I had grown up in so many ways since the time I first joined the course. I thought about my classmates and professors. I thought about the text books and case studies. The more I thought about it, the more meaningless they all seemed to me. It was as though I had been looking at life through a keyhole earlier and seeing only the MBA bit. But now the whole door had been thrown open. My perspective had changed a lot. It was a paradigm shift in my approach to life itself.

My dad tried his best to convince me to go back. He reminded me that he had already paid the fees for the academic year. I felt sorry about it but I emphasised that I would not go back. I had decided to drop out of the course. An MBA from a premier institute was not everything in life. Life was far bigger. I had truly learnt the value of life in these past few weeks.

How could I make my parents understand that? How would they know I had changed and had grown? How would they ever relate to whatever I had gone through? How could I tell them the sheer agony in writing out children's' books page by page to comprehend them? How could I tell them what a large mountain I had scaled? How could I tell them that I now valued my paintings and my ability to read and my words more than I valued anything else?

I explained to my dad that I had thought about it and I had now made up my mind. I would take two months off and then I would enrol in a Creative writing course. It was something that had always interested me. I would love to study further but now on I would do only those things that made me happy and filled me with joy.

My parents could see how I had changed and they could now see the strength in me. I was so sure now of what I wanted in life. Life was too precious to
not
do the things one wanted to. I made enquiries at Bombay University and enrolled for the course which was to begin in two months. It was a one year post graduate diploma and also involved a practical stint with a media house. One could either write articles for a newspaper or a magazine depending on what one was interested in. It sounded exciting to me as it meant my words would reach thousands of readers. By the end of two months, my medication would have completely stopped too. I looked forward to the course and couldn't wait for it to begin.

My parents told me that Vaibhav had called many times while I was in the hospital. They had not told him that I was in the hospital. They had said that I needed a break and was in Kerala, visiting relatives. He had asked for a number where he could reach me and my mother had said that I was in a village where there were no phones. I loved her for wanting to protect me. I was now seeing my parents in a new light too. I felt very bad and regretful for the pain I had inflicted on them. I could now see how hard it must have been for them, to watch me go through it all. But the thing is we had all emerged stronger because of it.

My parents were now a lot more open towards my friends. Perhaps they had realised how important a part my friends had played in my life. But it was not something we talked about. It was unspoken but understood.

Now there was only one thing left to do. I had to write to Vaibhav and explain my long silence.

I felt powerful and triumphant as I took out a paper and a pen and paused for a few moments, soaking in the exhilaration of being able to write and express myself. Writing was something I had taken for granted earlier. I had not even thought about it, but now I valued each word like a precious gem.

I chose beautiful handmade paper and began writing.

Dearest Vaibhav,

It has been such a long time since I wrote and I am sure you have given up all hopes of hearing from me. My mother tells me you called many times. Thank you for the care and concern. A lot has happened in these past months. I have no idea where to begin.

My last letter to you probably described my course and how well I was doing. But, the latest from my end is that I have decided to drop out of my MBA. Yes—I can picture you being shocked and asking me why.

It is a very long story , Vaibhav. I'd probably have to talk to you for hours to explain why.

Sometimes, we do not appreciate fully what we have unless we lose it. With me too, it has been the same. I thought I was the greatest when I managed to get into the MBA course. I prided myself on my smartness and my intellectual ability. Perhaps in my arrogance, I had considered myself superior to many others who had not made it— who knows! I had presumed that having a corporate career is the ultimate thing is life. To go up the ladder, reach a high position, be financially independent and roll in the big bucks that a campus placement will bring you.

But Vaibhav, I am so much wiser now. I am no longer the same starry eyed Ankita who attended the fresher' s induction programme at my course. I have changed in many ways and at levels deeper than I myself can comprehend.

My last few weeks have been spent in the occupational therapy wing of NMHI. I survived two suicide attempts. I have been to hell and back and what is more, I am proud to say I have lived to tell the tale.

In case you don't know NMHI is the best care for mental health in India. People come from all over the world over to get treated here. Strangely Vaibhav, the last few weeks at OT wing have been the happiest in my life. For the first time in my life I felt I was doing something worthwhile with my time.

I do not think anyone will fully comprehend what exactly happened to me unless they have themselves gone through what I have. Here I was, a ‘smart, promising young lady’ who suddenly had ‘mental health issues’ and had to drop out. I know this is how the world would probably see it. The thing is I do not care anymore.