The Recluse: A tale of an adult with ADHD

By Saniya Varkhandkar

A hasty marriage, an extramarital affair, an inability to co-operate with colleagues, a careless dabbling in the occult–Medha displays all the attributes of an adult with ADHD (attention deficit hyperactivity disorder).
Things get messy when her four year old child, Som, is diagnosed with the same condition. Offended with the school authorities who ask her to medicate her child, she takes an impulsive decision to homeschool. The journey, though, is more arduous than the one she has expected.
Overwhelmed by the child’s responsibility, bereft of family support and guilt-ridden because of her affair, Medha eventually escapes into the world of occult. In the process she experiences supernatural phenomena and unearths divine secrets which help her decode the connection between religion, divinity and psyche.
But where will this knowledge lead her? Will her spiritual endeavour reconcile her with her family or turn her into a recluse?
Revealing the hidden workings of the human brain, The Recluse is a contemporary novel that explores the fine line between madness and genius.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Saniya Varkhandkar
• Release date: Jul 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310387265

Saniya Varkhandkar

Saniya Varkhandkar was born in 1981 in Mumbai. She has studied Literature at the University of Mumbai, and worked as an Instructional Designer and a freelance writer in various e-learning organizations. At present she is a home-schooling mother who enjoys designing educational and fun activities for her son. Vedic philosophy, occult science, and stoicism are some of the subjects that interest and inspire her. The Recluse is her first novel.

Book preview

Prologue

‘Female, age 29, married with one child, graduate, born and brought up in Mumbai, unemployed at present.’ The self-assured psychiatrist sitting opposite me is filling up my demographic data, looking at me with experienced unassuming eyes.

He finds little clue in my eyes (deep brown and tired) or my attire (bright red kurta and black jeans) or my neatly combed hair tied in a pony tail, to suspect that I’m not right up there. In my head. But he is staring at me, because I’ve taken an appointment and am willing to pay his hourly consulting fees.

I rarely visit doctors. I rush to the dentist only when I have a bad tooth ache. Though the idea of a family physician is charming, I don’t have one. I always keep my first-aid kit stocked with over-the-counter medications for cough, cold, fever and loose motions, since these are the recurring ailments that afflict people in this air-polluted, water-polluted Mumbai city.

But I had to visit the psychiatrist today. Something evil and out of ordinary had happened, though not strange enough to make me lose my senses.

‘I’m not mad,’ I begin when he asks me what’s ailing me.

He smiles. ‘Of course you are not. All people need help sometime. I’m here to help, so go ahead.’

His pleasant voice puts me at ease.

‘I had a weird experience last night.’ I am less confident to continue and stammer. ‘I.. um... saw something. It was...black. Actually I think it was a devil, a demon, like we see in movies...wearing a black hood...and...fiery eyes.’

‘Where did you see it?’ the doctor asks in a calm steady voice. His eyes darken.

‘I have a crystal ball. I bought it from a woman who lives in Peddar Road. Sh..She said I could see my...future...in that ball.’ I blush and look at my palms which I’ve placed on my laps.

‘Ok,’ the doctor prompts me to continue.

‘The devil was inside that ball last night…something else...happened too.’ My face turns red and I keep it down. I can hear the doctor scribbling something on his notepad. ‘I don’t know how I should put this. I wanted to...I mean I suddenly had a strong urge...to have sex.’

I open and shut my palms a couple of times. They have turned cold and my heart pounds inside my chest.

‘What happened next?’

‘I think I became unconscious.’ I look up suddenly and the doctor stares back with a serious expression. ‘I think I was so scared that I lost consciousness.’

‘Did you see the entity when you woke up?’ The doctor toys with his pen. I stare at his fat fingers.

‘No. I was so scared that I started praying to god.’

‘Okay.’ The doctor scribbles in the notepad once again.

‘I did not hallucinate,’ I defend myself. ‘I’ve learnt psychology in college. It was real. I saw it clearly. I’m not mad. Look I’m wearing matching earrings so that I look presentable.’ I point at the black and red metal beads that hang by my ear lobes.

‘I’ve come here so that you can tell me what happened to me all of a sudden. I’m going for a job interview tomorrow morning. And I want to get this out of my mind.’

‘Mrs. Raut, calm down. You are fine. I just need to know a few other things. Will you answer?’ The doctor smiles at me.

‘Yes.’

‘Where is your husband?’

I stare at the doctor for a moment. ‘We...we had a quarrel.’

‘So is he home at the moment?’

‘No.’ I look down and take a moment to reply. ‘He left home on Tuesday morning with my son Som. I think they are at my in-laws’ house in Navi Mumbai.’

‘Okay. Would you like to tell me about the quarrel?’

‘My husband doesn’t approve me of homeschooling my child. He is hyperactive, my son Som, and the school authorities wanted me to medicate him, which I refused.’ I pause. ‘He is an intelligent child. He has learnt to read so well. I taught him to read.’ I detect pride in my voice.

‘Was the quarrel specifically over homeschooling?’ The doctor raises his eyebrows.

‘No. Actually I spanked the child and Hemang was angry about it. So he slapped me. And I told them to leave the house.’ My voice breaks as the memory of the quarrel surfaces.

‘How old is your son?’

‘Five years.’

‘Is there any psychiatric history in your family?’

I pause and then reply slowly. ‘Yes. My father was chronic schizophrenic.’

‘Okay.’ The doctor scribbles on the paper without a change in his expression.

‘Doctor, I know you have enough reasons to pin me down as a mental case. But..’

‘Mrs. Raut, listen to me very carefully,’ the doctor cuts me short and I wilt under his deep authoritative tone.

‘You are experiencing a great deal of stress at the moment. It is not easy to homeschool a hyperactive child. Do you have additional help at home?’

‘No. Hemang is out in office all day. And we cannot afford a maid for the child. Anyway I don’t feel comfortable with the idea of letting someone else raise my child.’

‘Listen now. The first thing you will have to do is to get out of the house. I’m glad to know that you are going for an interview tomorrow. You must start working. Send the child to a daycare…at least for a couple of months....’

‘Once you get time for yourself, away from the child you will start feeling stress free. It might sound insensitive, but you need to take time out for yourself. Your energy level is way too less than that of the child’s and this is bound to make you exhausted.’

‘Yes, I felt unusually free since the last few days,’ I speak sadly. ‘I feel guilty about it. I feel I’m such a bad mother to forsake the child like this. To send him away. How selfish I’ve been.’

‘Mrs. Raut, don’t look at it that way. It is common for parents like you to feel that you are not doing enough for the child. But believe me. The child is born with a great deal of energy and it is just impossible for a single person to attend to his needs.’

I wish Hemang was here at the moment. My face softens and I look more confidently at the doctor. The doctor observes me with satisfaction as I nod.

‘Now let’s deal with the second problem. Get rid of that crystal ball at once. Such objects encourage hallucinations. And you have already experienced one.’

‘But doctor, it was real,’ I blurt, taking offence.

‘Real things don’t vanish,’ he replies at once.

‘Doctor, I don’t want to sound superstitious, but such things do exist in the metaphysical world. Our religion does speak about gods battling with demons.’

‘Yes, they do. But science does not accept such notions. That is not to say that I don’t believe you.’ He understands the confusion in my eyes. ‘Let me explain this in another way.’

He removes his oval shaped spectacles and rubs his eyes. He looks tired. He has been here all day, dealing with insanity. Leaves flicker in the evening breeze outside his grilled window. Bending forward he claims my attention. ‘I’m sure you know that our conscious mind is like the tip of an iceberg,’ he says. ‘And then most part of that iceberg is under the thick water.’ I nod. ‘That entity was a creature from your subconscious. The crystal ball helped you to peer into your subconscious.’

My pupils dilate and I know I’m thrilled. I like gathering new information especially about the human psychological make-up.

‘And sex? I think the entity tried to have sex... with me. Am I... right?’ I suddenly feel embarrassed and stammer. I remember how powerfully I was aroused last night. No amount of human masculinity could have been able to evoke such passion in me. It was unadulterated passion, powerful and hot, which I think a little uncomfortably, did not reach fruition. Even now I experience a mild throb in my heart as I think about it.

Mustering courage I continue. ‘Why would it want to do that if it was just a creature in my subconscious?’

The doctor takes a moment to reply. ‘Have you ever wondered why we have so many taboos surrounding sex? Why does religion define appropriate sexual conduct?’

I ponder, but I have no answer.

‘It is believed that sexual energy is our vital energy that could lead one to enlightenment. It is also called the kundalini. You can find all about it online,’ he says waving his hand. ‘And that is why we have to make use of this sexual energy in the most sacred way possible.’ The doctor breathes deeply and continues. ‘The entity wanted to have sex to derive this energy from your body and become powerful.’

I’m shocked. I don’t expect a psychiatrist to talk about religion. Shadows pass over my face and my eyes darken as I gaze at the doctor’s face speechlessly. I suspect if he is propounding some religious theory. After all most Indian doctors are raised in strict god-fearing surroundings, their elders having a tendency to ascribe the child’s intelligence to divine grace.

‘Think about it like a scene from a sci-fi movie,’ he continues noting my shocked expression, ‘where you see blue electrical rays pouring from one body to another, or a supernatural villain trying to draw energies from everybody around. From where do you think the directors get such ideas?’

I am still bewildered. ‘You mean the entity was not a hallucination?’

‘What is a hallucination?’ The doctor smiles. ‘Perceiving things that do not exist in the material world or at the conscious level. Your brain was working at a subconscious level.’

‘I can’t believe this. It was so real!’

‘That is why it is simple to brush it off as a mental problem and medicate a patient so that his brain stops dreaming; or stops being hyperactive.’ ‘You see,’ the doctor says looking deep into my eyes, ‘our brain is a magical organ and it can conjure up weird and gross creatures if over stimulated.’ The doctor pauses allowing the information to sink in my brain. Then he continues slowly. ‘Hallucinations occur when the pineal gland is stimulated. It is a small eye shaped gland between our eyebrows. Gazing at an object is one way of stimulating it.’

I frown. I don’t remember having studied anything about this in college.

‘As far as sexual intercourse is concerned, it is the projection of your psychological state. The sexual fantasy that you have in your mind. It was you who wanted to have sex, not the entity.’

My psychological state? I muse. Was it really possible? It is too difficult to digest this information and I stare incredulously at the doctor.

‘Of course this is serious only if it impedes your day to day functioning,’ he continues. ‘But I must warn you, if you engage in such practices, you are gradually going to need high doses of pharmaceutical drugs to stay in control. Or may be electroconvulsive therapy.’

Though I’m mildly affronted, I find myself nodding my head. My brows are still creased and the doctor’s words echo in my brain. It is still difficult to believe that all that I experienced was a mere hallucination. I’m not sure if I’m convinced with this interpretation.

‘At the moment I will prescribe a few tests.’ The doctor scribbles on a fresh paper. ‘In case there is any issue we can start treatment. Call your husband at once. You should not be spending time alone. And the next time I would like you to come here with him.’ He separates the paper swiftly from the notepad and hands it to me.

I stare at the note wondering whether I should tell the doctor about Gautam. At this point I realize that the doctor would be more interested in uniting the family than approving my extramarital affair.

‘I do not prescribe allopathic medicines,’ he is saying. ‘I’m one of the few psychiatrists in Mumbai engaged in ayurvedic research for mental conditions. The idea is to prevent the severe side effects of allopathic drugs.’

I look at the doctor’s brown lips mindlessly as they move. Suddenly a thought passes my mind and jerking my head I blurt out in anxiety. ‘Do you think I can start working?’

The doctor pauses for a brief moment and his lips slowly spread into a broad smile. ‘Of course! I think you are fine. And by the way, best of luck for your interview tomorrow. I’m sure you’re going to clear it.’

‘Thanks a lot doctor,’ I reply in a small voice.

I feel light when I reach home in the evening. I cook myself a plain dinner of rice and dal and chew the food disinterestedly as my mind revolves around the startling facts that I’ve learned in the clinic. I arrange my educational certificates in a file one last time, and iron a kurta that I’m planning to wear the next day. When I practice a mock interview in front of the mirror, my reflection scares me and I move away hastily.

I’m not sure if I should call Hemang as the doctor has suggested. My pride prevents it. I will not call him. He should have called me first. I toy with my mobile thinking what I ought to do. Suddenly the phone vibrates in my hand and I frown as I see Gautam’s name flashing on the screen.

‘Hello Medha,’ Gautam speaks as soon as I put the pone to my ear. ‘Are you upset with me? Why are you avoiding me? Are you alright?’

‘I’m not upset with you Gautam. I was busy,’ I reply noting the anxiety in his voice.

‘I’m relieved to hear that,’ he says.

‘I’m preparing for the interview. It’s tomorrow. Didn’t I tell you?’

‘Yes, I know. Do you want to meet me now?’

‘I don’t think so. I’m too busy at the moment. Can I call you tomorrow, once I’m done with the interview? I’ll be in Andheri. So we can meet there.’

‘Okay. Are you sure, you don’t want to meet now? We can have dinner at our usual place.’

‘I’m busy Gautam. I want to be alone for a while.’ I am tempted but I refuse.

‘Okay. Take care then and I’ll wait for your call tomorrow.’ I am almost going to change my mind when I note the disappointment in his voice. But then I just hit the end button.

At night I leave the lights on in the entire house as I go to bed. The night is now associated with the strange entity, and I tremble as the stillness is occasionally broken by startling sounds. Water drips from the faucet at odd intervals in the bathroom. The bats flap their wings fiercely as they pass by my veranda. My heart races as the lights dim occasionally due to the fluctuating voltage. I shield my eyes with the quilt so that I could sleep. I lie still listening to the drone of the ceiling fan as it revolves lazily above me. I start praying to goddess Durga until I finally doze off.

PART 1

Chapter 1

Branching off the Mumbai Eastern Express Highway, a narrow street leads to a small suburb called Mulund, exhibiting a poorly designed railway station with four platforms, haphazardly constructed buildings, four dozen schools, a few reputed colleges and a decade old two glittering malls with multiplex theatres where the middle class population flocks on weekends.

In spite of the accelerating urban developments, a couple of miles further this narrow street, on one side, a drab grey three storied building still awaits redevelopment. Built a decade after independence when the construction spree was at its height in the island city, the building now lies exposed to the passersby below with its rusting drainage pipes and broken verandas.

However, people seldom notice this dilapidated structure as they walk by all day, or stroll with their ice-cream cones during summer nights. Tall and thick golden shower trees, evenly spaced, stand in front of the building spreading their net of branches all across up to the third storey. They not only drape the drabness of the structure but also relieve the passers-by from the afternoon heat. The beauty of the full bloom of the trees in the month of April is another aesthetic factor that makes a few occupants linger a while longer in their verandas on some days.

The owner of the sweetmeat shop on the ground floor of this structure had planted those trees when the building was newly constructed. He has long since passed away leaving the shop to his two lazy sons, out of which the elder one is suspected of having murdered the younger one to claim the shop ownership.

The trees have witnessed it all, growing old with the tenants and absorbing the secrets of two generations that have sprouted and withered here.

Thirty-six households occupied this building when it was first built and let out by the landlord on pagdi system. However, only ten houses are now occupied, the rest along with the landlord having moved to a better place in the last few years. The ones who could not, have made occasional repairs to their houses, and often visit advocates (who charge less), hoping to force the landlord to initiate the redevelopment of this structure. The landlord, a swarthy illiterate aborigine of the Mumbai city patiently awaits the collapse of this structure passing his miserly days managing his non-veg restaurant and plotting means to find out the clandestine activities of the tenants.

The court battle, still fresh (having entered its fifth year) encourages the occupants to believe in the fairness of the Indian judicial system.

Only two houses on the second storey had been occupied since the last few years. One, a family of three people: a Christian widow and her two teenage kids (both college drop outs and working at a call center); and second, a Jain family of six: two parents, a grandmother and three school-aged kids. But recently, another house was unlocked which increased the number of occupants on that floor to three.

I’ve returned to my crumbling ancestral house in the city with a husband and a son.

My grandmother had claimed these two hundred and fifty square- feet for shelter soon after she migrated to the city in the late fifties, widowed young, heart-broken and pregnant. Decades before international banks arrived here and claimed hefty interest rates on house loans, she secured this place with the money she saved from her job as an unskilled labourer in Crompton Greaves, a company which made fans and electrical gadgets.

I’ve grown up in this house with my ambitious grandmother, a schizophrenic father and a naïve mother. I was added to this tribe as an unfortunate daughter. Most of my teenage life, I’d witnessed these three unreliable elders of my family humiliating one another, barking and baring their fangs ready to pounce upon one another like mad dogs.

My mother, a housewife, finally disillusioned with love, divorced her husband and left us when I turned seventeen. She moved in with her sister in one