A young man enters, what looked like a clinic of some sort. His eyes looked like he was hypnotized. Tension was clearly on his face.

‘Why am I here? I don’t have a problem,’ a young person aged around 20-22 asked.

An unkempt hair and beard made him look like an addict of some kind. Probably, he was working too damn hard on something. Dark circles made him look like a person who'll just steal a child.

She didn’t react. Just gestured to him to remove the shoes and take the couch. She had an office like any other doctor’s, minus the smells and cold, dangerous instruments.

She waited for him to talk more. He hesitated and spoke again.

‘I’m sure people come here with big, inescapable problems. Girlfriends dump their boyfriends everyday. Hardly the reason to see a shrink, right? What am I, a psycho?’

‘No, I am the psycho. Psychotherapist to be exact. If you don’t mind, I prefer that to shrink,’ she said.

‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘It’s OK,’ she said and reclined on her chair. No more than thirty, she seemed young for a psychotherapist. Certificates from top universities adorned the walls like tiger heads in a hunter’s home. The illustrious and coveted institutions read her name in the bottom. One of them read,

Dr Sangeetha Govindaswamy, Valedictorian, National University of Singapore

‘I charge a thousand rupees per hour,’ she said. ‘Stare at the walls or talk. I’m cool either way.’

He spent some minutes, or money to be precise, without getting anywhere. He wondered if she would accept a partial payment and let him leave.

‘Dr Govindas. . . .’

‘Sangeetha is fine,’ she said.

‘OK, Sangeetha, I don’t think my problem warrants this. I don’t know why Dr Ramachandran sent me here.’

She picked his file from her desk.

‘Let’s see. This is Dr Ram’s brief to me – the patient, Arun has sleep deprivation, has cut off human contact for a week, refuses to eat, has Google-searched on best ways to commit suicide, and strangely has peculiarly searched for..... parallel dimensions and time travel?’ She paused and looked at me with raised eyebrows.

‘I Google for all sorts of stuff,’ he mumbled, ‘don’t you?’

‘The report says the mere mention of her name, her neighbourhood or any association, like her favourite dish, brings out unpredictable emotions ranging from tears to rage to frustration.’

‘I had a break-up. What do you expect?’ he was irritated.

‘Sure, with Anushka who stays nearby. What’s her favourite dish? Pav Bhaji?’

He sat up straight. ‘Don’t,’ he said so weakly and felt a lump in the throat.

He fought back tears. ‘Don’t,’ he said again.

‘Don’t what?’ Sangeetha egged him on, ‘Minor problem, isn’t it?’

‘Fuck minor. It’s killing me.’ he stood agitatedly. ‘A person who's lost and wronged in his life, it can't be minor? What options do you have then? Kamikaze whatever is left. But what would you know?’

‘You can stand and talk, but if it is a long story, take the couch. I want it all,’ she said.

He broke into tears. ‘Why did this happen to me?’ He sobbed.

She passed him a tissue.

‘Where do I begin?’ he said and sat gingerly on the couch.

‘Where all love stories begin. From when you met her the first time, starting from your origins,’ she said.

She drew the curtains and switched on the air-conditioner. He began to talk to get the money’s worth.

‘Why me?’ He was starting to cry, but held on, ‘ I don't really remember what the fuck I am.’

‘But I remember her.’