My therapist is certain Mr. Pandey. Yes, yes, he’s not a doctor. Although he did study medicine, but due to an unfortunate oversight, (he failed his veterinary examination), he became a wealth manager, and is doing exceedingly well.
However, Mr. Pandey, on weekends, dabbles in counselling. He charges 25% of the going rate for shrinks on Saturdays. Even less than that on Sundays. Also, and this is most important, he likes getting paid in cash. Something to do with boosting his own wealth-management portfolio, without appearing to boost his own wealth-management portfolio, if you get my drift.
I only visit Mr. Pandey when I feel completely shattered, which is never more than four times a week. At this exact moment, I’m sitting outside his clinic in the waiting room, waiting for my turn. When I say clinic I mean, of course, his one-bedroom house. Also, when I say waiting room, I mean his kitchen. Next to me, is his wife, who seems perennially angry and requires a therapist far more urgently than me. The brim-full of hot tea in her cup is making me even more anxious. Frankly, she seems to have super-human powers, as she stirs the tea with her bare finger, with no change of expression.
I see, you people are misbehaving, and asking me, ‘What’s the point of all this’? Let me explain.
Last weekend, I went to a hugely important event in a place called Aamby Valley. It is located somewhere deep in rural Maharashtra. No one knows its exact location. From Lonavala you are told to just keep driving until you hit something, or get stopped by security.
I was sent in an Innova car, with a chauffeur who had given up the idea of a personality many years ago. He was a very reluctant conversationalist. A trait, you look for more in a spouse than in a chauffeur. As we passed Lonavala, and entered the great unknown, we were greeted by both, a fog, and fading thin light. Which was very odd for 10am. As the fog got thicker, the vision started receding, faster than Bangladesh’s succession plan.
Now, I’m not sure if I should tell you more. Many of you read this before going to work, or while at work driving your Uber. At the risk of terrifying you, and the unbelievable pressure from the editor to get to the point after two years of writing these columns, I’ll continue.
The road was pitch black. The kind of black we had before demonetisation. We had to keep stopping the car to check what was five feet ahead, which made me greatly fear being hit from behind by a following vehicle or jogger. Thanks to this stop-start technique, we took two hours for what would’ve been a 20-minute journey in full light. I took comfort in the fact that this travelling process was the same one used by Christopher Columbus, and he landed in the West Indies.
By the time I reached, I realised two things, I need to talk to Mr. Pandey. Secondly, driving to and fro from Aamby Valley explains why the chauffeur lost his personality.
Now, please excuse me, dear reader, the cheapest available shrink has called me in to his bedroom.
The writer has dedicated his life to communism. Though only on weekends.
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