The Sad Story of the Sad Patient.

                                       A story by Aditya sengupta

He was sitting in one corner of the waiting room, looking outside the window. It was 4 p.m. according to the dusty clock hanging on the grey wall. It was raining heavily outside. He let out a sigh, took a glance at his watch, and returned his gaze back outside the window. Sitting with him in the same room was a woman with a little child. The playful lad was running up and down the rectangular room. A huge LCD television hung on one side of the wall, showing the American news. Two chairs lay beside the television, empty. 

The receptionist was throwing dirty glances at him. The woman reproachfully called back her son. He kept on staring at the raindrops steadily flowing down the glass pane, as the bustling city life continued outside.

A radio in one corner played ‘Diamonds and Rust’ amidst frequency changes and static. The television was kept at silent. 

The Doctor’s room opened. An elderly female walked out briskly. A sharp voice called from inside – “Next”.

The woman walked in, holding her son’s hand tightly.

He let out another sigh. He was wearing a loose black corduroy trouser, with a simple grey shirt on. An ash coloured overcoat, and a red muffler were also on him. He had oval dark glasses, and a dark blue hat. On his feet, was a plain shoe, with white socks. He had a three day stubble on his face.

The clock read 4:20 p.m. The receptionist had flicked open her cell-phone and was busy chatting with her boyfriend. He had ceased to be an entity the room, and the receptionist continued to chat animatedly with her lover without any inhibition.

He was sitting still, unmoving, his eyes still reading the story outside the window.

The door opened once again. The child ran out, the mother following behind. The receptionist swiftly ended her conversation, and sat still once again. From behind, the Doctor called out – “Next”.

He did not move. The receptionist called out – “Hey mister. HEY!”

He stirred. Rising quickly to his feet, he walked towards the door. He gave a fleeting glimpse to the receptionist before entering the Doctor's chamber.

The Doctor was sitting on a revolving chair, with a Rubik's cube in his hand. Twirling it around, he twisted and turned some of the cubes, only to make matters worse.

“Ah, come in, come in. Take a seat.”

He entered silently. The hard wooden chair seemed discomforting, especially for someone who had been leaning on a cushion in the waiting room for an hour.

The Doctor spoke fast – “I hope you don't mind. It's already 5. I have a play to attend this evening. I have to go home, get dressed, pick up my wife and son, you know…”

He spoke for the first time that evening, “I understand Doctor. I just need help.”

The Doctor stood up, removing his coat. “Continue, continue.”

He took a deep breath. “I am not myself anymore. I'm depressed. I cant concentrate on work. I…I am losing control Doctor.”

The Doctor was at the basin, washing his hands with expensive hand wash. He splashed a handful on his face, then bringing his hands bag into his hair, and tousled it. “Hmm. I understand. Please go on.”

“I don’t know…don’t know what to do…what to say…how to keep myself occupied. I'm frankly contemplating…contemplating suicide, Doctor. Help me.”

The Doctor walked across the room. He lifted his little briefcase from a corner and kept it on the table. “It’s hard. Most of my patients complain that they suffer from depression. Don’t worry. I’ll prescribe some pills.”

“PILLS WON'T WORK!” A strangled cry arose from His throat. His eyes swelled with tears. “I need…I need real help, Doctor.”

The Doctor stood silently for a second. He then started putting files and papers from his table into the briefcase. “Tell you what, I’m already late. Why don’t you come with me? I’m attending a theatre show as it is. It’ll take your mind off things. The great performer J.D.Kumar has arrived in the city. A great actor. One of India’s finest. Why don’t you come with me to see his performance? You'll love seeing him perform. Makes you want to live a life like his. ”

He fell silent. The doctor looked at him, trying to gauge his reaction. He wiped the tears of his eyes. He managed a smile – “That...that'd be nice, Doctor.”

“Great news.” The doctor gave a booming laugh, strode over and opened the door for Him. They walked out. The receptionist was curtly ordered to close for the day. 

As she was inside the doctor’s room, locking away and switching off the lights, He returned briefly and opened the patient log-book kept on the reception desk. He took out a pen and speedily crossed out the name J.D.Kumar from the end of the log-book, as his eyes swelled with tears once again.

The End.