Yasmin and Rashid entered Dr Revati’s counselling room. If there was a benchmark of a generic counselling room, then this was it: one big chair – obviously belonged to the counsellor. The room also had a two-seater sofa and a coffee table separating the oversized chair and sofa. The furniture in the room was white and brown, with green paintings of beautiful landscapes. A bookshelf stood adjacent to the couch, and unlike most bookshelves, it did not have thick and big books.
Mr and Mrs Khan took their place on the sofa. Rashid picked up a car magazine lying on the coffee table, and Yasmin started browsing social media. The silence in them was the calm before the storm.
Dr Revati was getting ready when she heard some movement in her therapy room. She assumed Mr and Mrs Khan must have arrived for their session. Revati had her notes prepared in her book from their past sessions. She carried an enormous brown hardbound ledger with dividers in it. Apart from giving her the feeling of self-importance, it also conveyed seriousness to patients. The giant ledger said she meant business.
She picked up her book and her phone. There was a missed call from Mahesh, her husband. She decided she would get back to him after the session.
She walked out to see Yasmin and Rashid sitting at the opposite ends of the sofa, leaving a spot empty in the middle – a sign of prevailing disagreement. She sighed.
There was a glimmer of engagement and agreement in their last session. The couple seemed to be getting along together, but today the pendulum had swung back.
“Good morning, Mr and Mrs Khan,” Revati said with a smile.
They both greeted her – although it wasn’t a cheerful greeting.
Revati sat in the oversized white chair opposite them. The three formed a triangle with the large book on the table.
“So”, Revati broke the silence, which she usually did at the beginning of every session. Patients were people, and people had things to pour out, and a therapist’s job was to channel it, pick out meaningful pieces from their blabber and throw back at them.
“In the last session, we talked about finding positive aspects of each other. We wrote down five qualities you approve of your spouse, and then we decided to write ten more before the next session. Were you able to…?” she trailed off. Therapists liked open-ended questions.
There was a grunt from Yasmin, but Rashid took out his phone and said, “Yeah, I have it.”
“That’s very good, Rashid. What about you, Yasmin?” Revati crossed her legs with a small notepad and a pen on it.
“I would have if I had the time from other work. Plus, Rashid’s parents came by and with no help, I didn’t get any time.” She spat at Revati directing her anger towards Rashid. The latter sighed but said nothing.
“That’s okay. We’ll listen to what Rashid has written, and maybe you can come up with something.” Revati said.
“Hmph. Like she’ll ever have something nice to say,” mumbled Rashid.
Before Yasmin could revert, Revati interrupted firmly. “Rashid! That’s not nice. Remember, we are here to discuss your issues and not fight each other.”
Revati’s slight stern voice had stopped them – for now.
“So let’s hear what you’ve written.” Encouraged Revati.
There was a moment of silence, and then Rashid began.
“Yasmin cooks delicious biryani.”
Yasmin rolled her eyes, and Revati nodded encouragingly.
“She always gives me my diabetes medicines on time – even when I forget.”
“When do you ever remember?” Yasmin taunted.
Revati nudged her. “Yasmin? He’s talking. You will have your turn.” Revati turned to Rashid. “Go on.”
Rashid hesitated a little before going on to the next one. “Yasmin… always smells nice.”
Revati knew that was honest. Yasmin did smell peachy, and she always wanted to ask Yasmin what perfume she used, but by the end of the session, she would forget. But now that she had pen and paper and had to pretend to take notes, she wrote one word on it – scent.
She felt the couple’s eyes on her when she quickly scribbled the word.
Rashid continued.
“Yasmin took care of my father the last time he visited us very well.”
At this point, Yasmin’s temper burst. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I have to say something.”
“Is it more important than what your husband has to say?” Revati asked. Therapists couldn’t just say No to their patients all the time. There were those times when a firm stand was necessary, but that was their magic bullet. If they used it too much, patients felt micromanaged and restricted.
Revati nodded, signalling Yasmin to speak.
She stopped before composing herself.
“I’m upset because of his parents.” Said Yasmin looking at no one. In their previous sessions, Revati had told them to start their sentences with “I” instead of blaming the other person. Yasmin seemed to follow it pretty well. Using I at the beginning of the sentence usually doesn’t prompt the other person to get defensive.
“Okay. Why is that? And Rashid, remember what we discussed? We will first listen entirely before we respond. Okay? So don’t interrupt her.”
“But She interrupted my list.”
“Yasmin needs an emotional outlet, and she is comfortable speaking in my presence. So, we will get back to your list after she talks. Go on, Yasmin.”
Yasmin continued. “I got a call from Rashid’s mother last week.”
Yasmin went on about how Rashid’s mother complained about how bad Yasmin’s behavior was, and Rashid interrupted her, and it went on. Revati was used to this bickering. She had also grown used to being present in the room, listening and being active in conversations by saying ‘Oh?’, ‘Hmmm’, and ‘I see’ and still have a tiny part of her mind do her own thinking.
Why cant married couples be mature? She thought. Why do they always have to fight? The fights are usually typical for the first five years, and then they come to terms with each other, but in Yasmin and Rashid’s case, they completed 12 years last week.
Their problems were silly, thought Revati. They were not ‘real’ problems. She had seen couples with real problems. Couples who cannot make a baby, couples in which one is a paraplegic, and couples who starve to educate their kids. Those were real problems. Imagine living with a spouse who cannot walk. They show you a wheelchair in movies, and that’s it, but it’s more complicated than that. The physically challenged spouse has to be dependent for almost everything, and it is not easy.
Revati had been counselling one such couple. The wife had lost both arms in an elevator accident, and the husband took care of everything for her. He hand-fed her, did her hair and eyebrows, and even wiped her ass after she took a dump. Although grateful, the wife was depressed with the dependency and sought counselling to improve their relationship – so that she doesn’t feel bad and he feels loved as well. Those were real problems.
In her practice, Revati had found that a common enemy usually unites the spouses. Couples find’ made-up’ problems when everything is decent, well maintained, and necessities are fulfilled. Like in the case of Yasmin and Rashid – absolutely made-up issues. The lamentations of people who had everything from tier-1 of Maslow’s pyramid. They proceeded to the next level with their fights.
They had issues like, ‘He or she didn’t cook the food properly’, or ‘I don’t feel loved’ or ‘my spouse doesn’t go to Tai-Chi classes with me’ or the best one, ‘we just don’t feel the connection’ – very superficial issues.
Revati had a difficult childhood. Her parents found it difficult to put food on the table, and they struggled all their life – until Revati’s brother became a doctor purely on merit. Things have been better since then. But the family never forgot what they didn’t have, and they were always grateful for little things.
“So what do you think we should do, doctor? Because I’m tired of not being valued by my husband. I cannot deal with this. I want to feel valued, I want to feel like I matter, but if my husband is too busy with his YouTube channel telling people How to build wooden items, I don’t know how our marriage will survive.”
Revati wanted to yell, THEN GET A LIFE! But she simply smiled. She played the counsellor trick.
“What do you think she should do, Rashid?”
Moving the ball to Rashid’s court, she simply dodged the question.
Rashid looked defeated when he talked. “I guess I will try to give more attention to her. But the thing is, we are financially well-to-do because of that youtube channel. I earn $30,000 monthly in India while sitting at home because of that channel. I’m unsure if I could do both – pay attention to her and have the channel going.”
“Then hire someone!” said Yasmin.
“I have told you, Yasmin, if we hire someone, the income splits. Why can’t you manage one hour without my attention? Are you that much of an attention seeker?” said Rashid annoyed.
Revati came in here and said, “Rashid, Yasmin. It is time. Our session is over, and I have a patient coming in. But I am delighted that we pinpointed the real problem today: managing the channel with family commitments. In the next session, we will talk about how to function better as a unit, both of you should bring down some of the things at a similar level. Rashid, you need to give a little of your time to Yasmin and Yasmin; you need to start reciprocating and respecting his time because he needs to put food on the table.”
Revati picked up her big ledger, copied some quick notes from her notepad to the ledger and scheduled their next appointment.
It was mentally exhausting being a therapist. But it put good money in her bank account, and she would do it as long as possible.
When the Khan couple left, Revati picked up her phone. Eighteen missed calls from Mahesh, her husband. She sighed. It was already tiring to listen to the useless banter of her patients, and now she had her personal life to manage. She had been annoyed with Mahesh for the past four months, and they were living separately.
Last year they went to Paris for their anniversary. They stayed at an expensive hotel and spent their time travelling through Paris. Somewhere in downtown, they came across an old gipsy lady who told fortunes, and she said Mahesh’s love with wane like moon, and somehow, that sentence had stuck with Revati. She had never paid attention before, but when they returned, she felt Mahesh’s passion for growing less and less. They weren’t as romantic as they were 15 years ago when they were married, the sex wasn’t as exciting as it was, and on every anniversary, Mahesh’s grifts felt less and less romantic.
She thought she would talk to him – like two mature adults. But it went spiralling down, and the argument never ceased. Four months ago, Revati woke up one morning and asked Mahesh to leave. They fought again, but Mahesh left.
Since then, he has been trying to make amends, but the newfound freedom felt good to Revati. She liked being alone again after all these years. They mutually agreed never to have a child, so they had only each other and their respective work. But Mahesh was making amends. He tried to love her as he did when they were in college, but nowRevati found it suffocating.
She especially felt annoyed when he kept calling her, knowing she had patients. What could be so urgent? Why can’t people mind their own business and let her mind hers? Maybe if she were like Yasmin, then Mahesh would’ve kept his distance.
Revati walked back into her room, closed the door with a loud bang and dialled Mahesh’s number back. It was going to be an ugly phone fight. Afterall, she had limits.