An Evening in a Mad Man's Life

One January evening in a small mining town, Pralav decided to meet his old friend. His friend had returned to town after five years. They had known each other since their first day in an engineering college. For the most part of their job, they had been colleagues. At the age of 57, Pralav, feeling quite right in his head after a few months of dullness, wanted to visit his friend in his new house. Or, so he made it seem to his friend.

Over the 32 years of his occupation, he had gotten used to whispers that surrounded him. “Mad, he is crazy.” “He is not in his right mind.” “Oh, what was he talking? Is he active these days?” “Just listen to him.” “Poor man.” “It’s a pity.” “His life isn’t even worth living.” PTSD has a strange way of unfolding. Two near death mining accidents later, Pralav was admitted for psyche consult which perhaps would have helped him had mental disorders been an open talk in the town. People assumed him to be a mad man because he needed the consult. The whispers of people became the whispers inside his head. It made him feel helplessly angry. He began misbehaving unintentionally with people around him. The whispers echoing in his head, all the time. As if it wasn’t bad enough, his wife described him a Pagal when guests arrived at home. His presence didn’t seem to make a difference to his wife’s tongue. Could he blame her?

He had been financially lucky after his marriage. His wife, he fondly said, was the Lakshmi in the house. He had been blessed with two sons. The younger one was born with a defect in his spinal cord that made it difficult for him to walk. His childhood was a series of hospital visits, medicines and operations which resulted in a physically handicapped adulthood. There was no point talking about the elder son. His father’s mental disorder and people’s lack of understanding it shadowed his life, his friends called him mad, teased and bullied him which resulted in depression. He tried to jump off a bridge but ended up calling his mother to save him. He then drank phenyl in his hostel room and had to be revived in the nearest hospital. In the end, he died, in an accident when his family was away for his brother’s operation. Was it truly an accident? Pralav wondered more often than not. How could he blame his wife, if after all these years of grief, she had chosen to accept what she did not understand and have some time of her own?

Pills. Pills after pills. Mad, perhaps, he was a madman. He mused. His pills dictated his life. He slept according to them; he was active according to them; he talked according to them; he lived according to them. His life, at this old age, wasn’t his anymore. What he did remember although, was the minefield crashing in his vicinity and people—friends and family and doctors—avoiding him in the years that followed.

As he drove towards his friend’s house, he stopped in the local market for a while. ‘He has a girl, I should get her something, perhaps a perfume’, Pralav thought. He strained his eyes to read the fragrance type. Failing at it, he asked the shopkeeper to read it for him joking that his old eyes did not allow him to read. He picked up some sweets along with the bottle of perfume. It was the basic etiquette to not go to someone’s house empty-handed. With that, he started driving again. When he reached, he asked for his friend’s daughter. Affectionately Pralav began saying, “Prosperous… happy…” He chuckled, “wish you a very happy… and prosperous… new year.” A few seconds later, he added, “2018.” She wished him back. He gave her the perfume and saw an uncertain expression on her face. He hoped for her to like it. He asked her how her studies were, to which she replied ‘good’ with a smile while toying with the perfume bottle. He offered her a candy, and then she went inside her room. 

He stayed there for more than one hour. His friend’s wife was gracious enough to provide delicious snacks immediately and she asked about Pralav’s wife. He politely replied that she was sick knowing it was a general knowledge among people that the husband-wife did not get along anymore. There was an uncertainty in his behavior and voice. Sometimes the pitch of his voice did not match the context of the talk. His voice grew louder as he expressed his disappointment with his doctors. In a softer pitch he talked to his friend's wife. He almost sighed seeing the bored face in front of him. He was perhaps talking too much but he needed to. He was grateful that his friend was there to patiently listen to him.

Later as he drove back home with a headache caused by the strain on his eyes, he smiled at the thought of his friend’s life. They were both brilliant students in college. They had graduated on the same day. Yet, life has a way of throwing curveballs. He was still angry at his fate. He wanted to blame someone, but he didn’t know who to blame. He wished for the whispers in his brain to stop. He wished that people would look at him in the eye and genuinely talk to him. He knew. He knew everything that happened behind his back and many a times in front of him. He did not have the patience to fight for himself anymore. He could not give up on his life. His life probably meant nothing to others but was still precious to him. He knew. He knew it could have been worse. His eyes began to fill up with tears, as he thought on the lines of being a mad man in this society. He wished for it to be a little less difficult. He wanted to reach his house as soon as possible. He needed his pills to stop thinking and sleep till the sun shined into his room the next morning. He needed it desperately. That’s how he has survived his life, with a little bit of sunshine from a broken window in his empty room.

In the darkness of the wintry night as he took the blind turn towards the highway leading to his neighbourhood, he saw his older son in a luminous white room with a halo behind him. He called out to his son, but his son walked away. Pralav laid on the trunk of his car, bleeding from his head with a glass shrapnel in one of his eyes. He saw the back of a truck in front of him. His last thought before blacking out was, “I shouldn’t have postponed my appointment for eye check up for so long.”