The Red Door on The Left

Pic Credit: Google Images

The elevator door opened with a whoosh sound quite similar to the steam engines of the olden days. A petite but feisty receptionist sat behind her high desk, her head buried in her phone. ‘Hello’, I said, ‘I am here to meet Dr. Arun Mathur’. She looked at me, her eyes clearly judging as she politely – only because her job required her to be – said, ‘please go straight, at the end of the corridor to your left is Dr. Arun’s room’. I nodded with a feeble smile, an attempt to be friendly but she had already gotten back to her phone.

I stood in front of the door on my left, staring at the color, palpably surprised wondering if a shrink is even allowed to use such a jarring color? Red! It was a red color door. The enamel shone as if it was polished just yesterday. Red! Red door!! My brain screamed, he can be no good, which doctor uses red color for the door? It clearly is the sign of danger, I told myself. It was my first visit to a shrink, yes, 34 years and never visited a shrink! Let it sink…slowly…yes…never visited.

But now as I stood outside the door I started to think that I should just turn around and leave, saving my own record from breaking in the process. I spun around to make a beeline for the exit door, ‘I believe you have come for me, Bani’, said a comforting voice. I closed my eyes, sighed feeling caught as I thought, ‘that feisty one did not have time to return smile but she had time to inform the doc of my arrival. All right then’, I turned back and smiled at the doc. Not very tall in blue jeans and a white shirt he stepped sideways holding that red door open for me to walk in. His room was small, plain beige color walls and a huge rectangular colorful painting of horses hung on the wall across the cushiony wing chair he gestured me to sit on. He sat on the twin chair facing me, his eyes small and beady but he smiled in a comforting way.

‘So tell me about…’

‘You don’t have a couch…what if your patient wants to lie down while sharing his or her life troubles…huh?’ I interrupted.

He smiled at me in strange way, I could not tell if he was mocking me or was he generally amused.

‘You watch a lot of American TV. I assume it’s safe to make this conjecture as else you would have never missed the couch.’

Yeah, he’s mocking me, I thought but kept it to myself.

‘So why don’t you tell me about yourself, Bani.’

‘Well, I don’t where to start?’ I mumbled uncomfortably.

‘How about you start with your childhood?’

‘I had a happy childhood’, I snapped.

‘I am sure. What I meant was to tell me about your school and we can move upwards’, he said with a smile that unsettled me.

‘I went to St. Mary’s and it was mostly good. I had a big joint family’, I paused and then quickly added, ‘a big happy joint family’. He looked at me quietly but his eyes said that he knew why I was here, I realized me emphasizing on ‘happy’ had given it away. He was good and this troubled me even more. I had come to visit him because I had somewhere known that I needed help. But it was equally true that there was a part of me which strongly and badly held on to my resentments. I was so deeply accustomed to those resentments and to the illusion of comfort they provided from time to time that I knew it will not be easy. ‘Damn! I should have turned away from the door quicker’, I thought.

‘Tell me more about your family then’, he said patiently. I looked at him for a few moments and then effortlessly shifted my gaze to the painting behind him. The horses were running, going where, I did not know. But they looked happy, looked like they had a purpose, a destination to reach. I on the other hand lacked all of it. Though I had job, obviously a well-paying one and it’ll be appropriate to mention that the calm doctor will expect crisp five Rs. 500 notes from me after this session.

He waited patiently as I continued to look at the painting. They were so colorful, free from worry, calm in an inexplicable way. ‘I want to be happy just like those horses are’, I blurted instantly realizing what a stupid thing to say. ‘I know it is was a dumb thing to say’, I began.

‘Oh no…not at all’, he said with a small understanding smile, calmness in his eyes for the first time did not unsettle me. ‘We all want to be happy but happiness comes with a price and not all are willing to pay that price’, he added. I stared at him confused, ‘price for happiness?’ I wondered and again blurted, ‘should you not be telling me that happiness is within us all, I should find happiness in small things in life and all such jazz for you are a shrink, right?’ I sighed and my eyes closed on their own in embarrassment. I did not know what was it, was it his composed demeanor that elicited these truthful thoughts or the equanimity of the room that pushed the words out of my mouth.

But he smiled, this time a bigger and more humanly smile and for a moment I felt that he is a homo-sapien too and not a ‘shrink’ – if you catch my drift.

‘But you already know these things, now, don’t you?’, he said. I decided to stay quiet and he took my silence for my assent and continued, ‘now let’s talk about the price of happiness.’ I could just nod. ‘We with every passing day learn new things, things about others, things about the world, things we feel will make us happy – but they never do. The first instalment of the price you need to pay is to ‘unlearn’ all those things you have learnt and held dear.’ I unabashedly stared at him and he didn’t seem surprised as he continued, ‘we need to learn about ourselves first, who is that person who wakes up every day and goes to a high-paying job and can buy whatever she wants but still feels the need to be happy. She doesn’t need material things anymore. They stopped making her happy long back. Maybe they never made her happy in the first place, they just distracted her from seeing within her, stopped her from learning about herself.’ The room suddenly fell silent and my stomach growled, I looked at him awkwardly but couldn’t tell if he heard the growl. Something churned inside my stomach and I was certain that if not the earlier one he will definitely hear this growl but that’s when his buzzer rang.

One hour was up! He cuffed the head of his buzzer and it went quiet and I sprang to my feet, kept his fees on the table and scurried toward the door.

‘Bani, next week same time?’ he asked.

‘Ha…such confidence. He really thinks I am coming back to listen about the price of happiness’, I thought.

‘Bani?’ His voice broke my thought.

‘Sure doctor, next week same time works for me’, I said and an involuntary but assured smile appeared on my face. I was just as surprised as you are as I walked out of the red door.