Naima

She watched as raindrops splattered on her window. The world is really upside down, she thought. Rains in December? Strange. Like the voice message she had received that morning. The lady with all the candy- that’s how she remembered her. It was so long ago.

“Ma’am?”

She turned away from the window. A woman was standing at the door. She wore a dark red saree, contrasting her fair skin. At her neck was a small gold pendant. Meera studied her face. Her brown eyes were somehow familiar.

“I knocked but there was no response, so I let myself in,” she said, fumbling with her pallu. Her hair was tied up into a bun, but a few loose strands were dancing on her face.

“Sorry, I must not have heard it.” Meera shrugged to shake off her inertia and sat down in her ‘hot seat’. Her client walked in, with soft short steps, looking around the room, nervous, most likely- like most of them. She gave Meera a nervous smile. “Please, have a seat and be comfortable. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Naima,” she said, sitting down in front of her. Naima. Not familiar. She nervously tucked the loose strand of hair behind her ear and waited. She had a tattoo on her wrist, so tiny that it looked like a speck of blood. Dark, like her saree.

“So what’s bothering you?” Meera leaned in to give her client her full attention.

Naima just stared at her for a while. “Do you believe in past life?”

37. The tattoo was a two digit number. Meera smiled. “I’m here to help, so I’ll believe in what you want me to believe. Tell me what happened.”

She still seemed unsure, but continued anyway, “I’m sorry I didn’t know who I could talk to. I’m having nightmares.”

Textbook. “Okay.. would you like to tell me about your nightmares? Do you think you got a look into your past life?”

“No.. not exactly. This was a few days back. I saw a building, an old one, with cracked walls, covered with moss. I look down, and I’m holding a bundle red ribbons. Then someone pulled me into a taxi and it's gone.”

“That sounds like a perfectly normal dream. Some things picked up from here and there.”

“Yes, I thought so too. But I keep seeing this building all the time. Every night, I have the same dream. It’s a bit spooky and I’m afraid of sleeping now,” she said with a nervous laugh.

Recurring dreams. Not so easy. “Do you recognize the place? Have you been there?”

“No, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Do you think it’s a memory, perhaps? Something you’ve seen before but have forgotten now?” Childhood memory was just a guess. We never remember entirely what happens before 8 years of age.

“No, I wasn’t in India when I was a child. I was born and brought up in Nevada. I came to Pune when I was 10 and I have been staying here since. I haven’t been to such a place ever. I’m positive about this. It was definitely someplace in India.”

“Why do you say so?”

“It looked like a sort of a wada, with a huge banyan tree in front of it. But the last wada in Pune was demolished before 2020. I’m sure it is not a childhood memory.”

Memory repression? “Okay tell me more about this building, any details.”

Naima took a deep breath and tried to remember. “Like I said, it looked like a huge wada, with a paved courtyard. There’s the tree out front, and the wada is surrounded by a garden of flowered bushes. It looks sort of appealing in its own way, I guess. And its walls are made of red bricks, cracked at a few places as far as I can recollect. It opens into a lane, where the taxi is waiting. There are some street carts, and there’s a sweet flowery smell in the lane.”

Meera had been listening carefully. “Okay.. anything else?”

“Yes that’s pretty much it. Oh, and there’s a sign board, a blue coloured vintage board with some lettering on it- I think it was Galli Kramank 120.”

“And you’re positive you haven’t seen this Galli before?”

“No, never. I stay in Viraat City, near the City Hall. Do you think it could be related to my past life? I read some articles on the internet..”

“I think we should first think of this life. One of the possibilities is memory repression. Sometimes, some part of our memory can get erased, or repressed by our subconscious. Mostly a traumatic memory, something one wants to forget. Hallucinations are also common in such cases. Did you have a disturbing experience anytime? Went through any stress?”

“Umm.. no not exactly. Bumps here and there maybe, but otherwise.. My father passed away a few years back. I was devastated, but I don’t know if it can be called traumatic.”

It could be traumatic for some people, Meera thought, but she herself had been very young when her parents had passed away. She vaguely remembered times with her father, who had passed away when she was eight. Like the game they used to play- she would be an airplane, with her arms for wings and her father would swing her around, making her fly. She would keep giggling and the plane would end up crash landed. “Not very good flying, Pilot,” her dad would say with a twinkle in his eyes, “Keep your eye on the sky, and never look down.” She wanted to be a pilot then, like her father. She would spend hours playing with her model airplanes. Little things they were, yellow, blue, black, with Air Force painted on them.

Meera pushed away the memory and continued, “Yes, that could be. I suggest for now you should talk to your mother, or someone who can tell you about anything that happened. Sometimes our mind replaces the repressed memories with different, acceptable memories. Or you simply might have forgotten. Any accident or brain injury?”

“No nothing. But if it were as you say, that it’s a repressed memory, why would I suddenly remember it now? That’s why I feel that someone is trying to tell me something.”

“Generally anything related to the trauma can trigger the memory. Any related person, an object, even music can bring back such repressed memories.”

“Ohh.. so you don’t think it's related to my past life?”

Must have watched too many horror movies. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. I’ll give you something for your sleep.” Meera scribbled on her notepad. 

“Thank you, thanks a lot.” Naima looked reassured as Meera handed her the prescription. It was still raining outside. Meera buzzed Anita for her coffee.

---

The next morning was cold, but it had stopped raining. Meera was out for her jog, trying to dissolve into her earphones. Khala Waheeda had left another message for her. She hadn’t spoken to her in years, decades even. The lady with the glass bowl, full of candy. She never saw her again when she shifted to her aunt’s place after her father’s death. Her aunt and her cousins kept her well distracted. “I heard you were back in Pune and I would like to see you sometime,” Khala had said in her message.

She imagined what it would be like to meet her. Maybe she could tell her something about her mother. Maybe she still had candy.

She looked up and saw a blue board- Galli Kramank 120. Meera was so engrossed in her thoughts that she never knew how she got there. She looked around a bit. There were huge residential complexes everywhere, tall and intimidating. Down the lane somewhere an icecream van was sounding its bell. People were leaving for work. A man sat in his florist shop, spraying water on the bouquets. A teenager zoomed past her on his bike. That’s when she saw it. The banyan tree and the perfect spot where a wada could have been. She could almost see the wada, its yard, bicycles parked on the side. A dog coming out of the tiny gate, barking.

So it wasn’t just a dream. The place in Naima’s nightmare existed. This was it. She should inform Naima. She hurried home to change into her jeans and shirt and rushed into the clinic.

Anita, her receptionist was already there.

“Anita, get me a call to Naima, please, yesterday’s patient.”

“Naima who?” she asked, going through the database.

“I don’t remember her last name. She was wearing a red saree, remember? She came in the afternoon.”

“You mean the pink saree? That was Mrs. Rana, for her weekly therapy. I’ll get you a call-“

“-No, not Mrs. Rana.. Naima! In her dark red saree.”

“No ma’am you must be mistaken. There was no patient called Naima yesterday.”

“What? Let me see.” She swiveled the computer screen towards herself and scanned the list. Scanned it again. And again. There was no mention of any Naima.

“Did you forget to file her?”

“No ma’am I wouldn’t forget. There were no patients last afternoon. Let me check previous records.”

This was not possible. She had talked to Naima, about her dreams, her possible memory repression. Was Anita lying? Why would she deliberately not file her patient?

But Anita had been with her for a long time. They were practically friends. She wouldn’t hide anything from her.. would she?

“We have never had a patient called Naima, ma’am. Did you mean Naina? We have a Naina Bhagwat.”

“No no not Naina, she’s the kid with pediatric schizophrenia.” This was all strange. Her phone number, person of contact? She had nothing to go on. She didn't even know her last name! She had mentioned.. Viraat City! “I have to go.”

                                                         ---

City Hall. It was beautiful. A large fountain in the middle, where a few teenagers were clicking pictures. Small shops dotted the footpath, with vendors selling eatables. A large shopping mall stood daunting on one side. An elderly couple was hobbling around the corner.

And of course, the towering, domed City Hall. She had read about it but she had never been here before. Or had she? She could be sure of nothing now. Even Anita couldn’t be trusted. If she were to be believed, Naima, whom she had spoken to just the day before, had vanished in thin air. Viraat City, Naima had said, near the City Hall. There were many residential complexes around the Hall, how would she find her? Meera decided to start looking. She had to find Naima. The woman with the red saree. Who dreamt of Galli Kramank 120 which Meera had found! She had to meet her.

Far away, at the end of the lane, Meera saw a building. A plain, white building. Her feet started towards it. Something inside her told her she would find her there. As she came up on the vast building, she saw the board put up. ‘Neuroscience Academic Institute and Mental Asylum’.

                                                          ---

Strange. Anita checked her database again. She remembered yesterday afternoon. It had been an idle one. There were no patients till 4, so she was reading her book, just released, A Dream of Spring. Meera had buzzed her for her coffee at 3, as usual, and the next patient had been the boy with the large spectacles. No lady with a red saree. And then Meera had just left now. All strange.

She was just going through the list of morning appointments, when a woman came in. Slightly elderly, she wore a dark violet dress and a hijab. “Hello, how may I help you?”

“Salam. I just came to see Meera,” she said. “I’m Waheeda Amin. I used to live next to Meera when she was a child. She might have mentioned?”

“No, sorry. Ma’am is not in right now. Was she expecting you here?”

“No, I just thought I would find her here. I didn’t have her home address, you see. I left a message on the contact number I saw on the flyer, but there was no response. So I decided to come here myself.”

“Ohh.. please have a seat, she will be in any time now.”

“Shukria, I’ll wait.”

No, Meera hadn’t mentioned any old acquaintances coming for a reunion.

“What a great place she has here, Masha’allah, it’s great to see her so successful. She was bright even when she was a kid.”

“You knew her from her aunt’s place?”

“No no, we lived next to her father’s place. Her mother passed away young. That was a sad business.”

“Yes, even with her father.” Anita knew Meera’s parents had passed away early, but she never seemed to miss them. Too early for her to remember, she guessed.

“Ohh.. Ketan bhaijaan was a good man. Awful, awful business. It must have been so terrifying for the poor child.”

“I don’t think she remembers much.” She never spoke of it at length. With her atleast. 

“Good for her then. I was there. I couldn’t sleep well for a week after that incident. All that blood..” she shuddered. “I wanted to take her in, little Meera, but you know how these things go. My mother-in-law didn't want to be associated with their family. So they sent her to that wretched place. They wouldn’t even allow us to visit! Then we moved to Jamshedpur and it was all forgotten.”

Ugh, religious intolerance. “You mean her aunt didn’t let you visit her?”

“Aunt? No-no, the caretaker there. Meera was such a sweet child. She would come to our place for the mithai sometimes. And she would always be playing with her planes.” Waheeda smiled at the memory.

“Her father was a pilot, no?”

“Pilot? No-no, he was a broker of some sort, a dalal. Awful, awful!”

Pilot. Definitely pilot. The old lady must be mistaken. Meera had told her he was a pilot. In some commercial airline. Till his plane crashed.

“And, Radha, that poor poor girl” Dread filled the lady's eyes. “ She was like an elder sister to Meera. The way they found her, lying in a pool of blood. Ghastly!”

Wait, what? “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“The ayah, Radha. She was found dead, in the backyard. Her throat slit, she was covered all over in blood, that poor girl. She had been molested, they said. Oh Meera.. she was but a child then. Trying to wake her up. She must have been so horrified. They took her father immediately. He was crying, saying it was not me, I didn’t do it. We never thought he could do such a thing. He was a good man. But they took him.”

This was too much to digest. “Oh My God. What happened to him then?”

“He was put away.”

                                                          ---

Meera read the board again. ‘Neuroscience Academic Institute and Mental Asylum’. The name gave her no confidence. But before she knew it, she had walked inside. It was very quiet in there. She walked up to the front desk. A man was sitting behind the desk, going over some files. 

The receptionist looked up and started asking her questions. Was she there to see a patient? Did she know the patient’s name? Did she want to see a doctor?

This was awkward. Was Naima a patient here? She shouldn't have come here like this.  

"Ma'am?" He was looking at her expectantly. 

"Hi, sorry. My name is Dr. Meera Sethi."

"Oh nice to meet you Dr. Sethi, how may I help you?"

"I was just looking for a patient of mine. This could be a long shot, but could you check your records to see if she came here? Her name is Naima."

"Interesting name. Was she born here?" The receptionist chuckled.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh no I was just making a joke. NAIMA is the name of our institute. It would be cool if we had a patient named after us." He pointed to a brochure lying on the table.

Neuroscience Academic Institute and Mental Asylum. And above that in block letters, N.A.I.M.A. We believe in giving the best care to your loved ones. 

This was absurd. She was obviously at the wrong place. She could go to the City Hall Help Centre and check their records. 

"Sorry Dr. Sethi, we have no record of a patient called Naima."

"That's alright, thank you." Meera turned back and started walking towards the doors when she noticed the glass mosaic above the door. It depicted a Sun in water, with fish swimming around it. Below it in a curve, NAIMA.

The Sun and the fish... It looked vaguely familiar. Light peered through the mosaic in red, blue and yellow. She looked down and saw her hands flooded with coloured light. 

Her hands changed colour as she waved them around. She had a tiny yellow airplane in her hand, it had now turned blue! She looked at it in awe. She had caught all the colours in her hand.

“Ward 37,” she heard the man behind the big desk say. She had told the uniformed man repeatedly she wanted her father, and he kept saying he was busy. He had gone for a trip, he said. He was a bad man, he said. He was not a bad man, she had told him many times. Maybe he was on an airplane now. Then he could come home and tell her about it!

The uniformed man pulled her by her arm and asked her to go with him. She clutched her airplane tightly and followed him. The lady standing near the desk bent down and smiled at her. "I want to see my father," she told her. "Yes, yes, Beta, you'll see him soon." She could see gaps in her teeth through her smile. She didn't think she was going to like her. "Don't worry, I'm your friend!" she said, handing her a caramel toffee.

She looked up at the uniformed  man, her eyes swimming in tears. "I want to go home." He just patted her on her head. "Go with this nice lady now. You'll go home in no time." 

He started talking to the lady and gave her some papers. Meera slowly closed her eyes. She felt tears streaming down her face. Baba had told her before leaving that he was going to come home soon. 

"..no food... screams... no one..."

It had already been 2 days. Baba wouldn't leave her for so long.

"..shocking... terrible... her father... "

Radha hadn't come to see her either. She might not know Meera wasn't home. Maybe she found their house locked when she woke up and went home.

"..his sister... Delhi... "

She wanted Baba. She wanted Baba. She wanted..

"Meera?" she heard the lady's voice. Meera opened her eyes.

She looked down at her hands. She didn't have the airplane with her anymore. But the colours were still there.