The following week, I took a taxi to my former office. They had been asking me to come in to finish the final paperwork and also do the exit interview, and I had been postponing it for a while using some pretext or another.
I had spent the intervening days nearly perfecting the art of being a conscientious alcoholic. I was easily getting through a bottle or bottle and half of hard liquor a day. But I had to plan carefully to avoid detection. I would schedule my drinking around my Skype calls with my husband and the farewell social visits that I still had to make.
So for example, I would wake up and have a long daily Skype call with Raju, when he was leaving work in California, getting details of his day, putting up the facade of normalcy. He had stopped asking me to flash him and since the bruises were still there, I had not offered. We would get done with that call at about 8 AM. Then the drinking would start. Not leisurely sipping and savouring the drink, mind you. Be it expensive cognac or single malt of flavoured vodka or tequila, my approach was to mix with soda and chug fast. By 11, I would be nice and drunk. During this time, I would masturbate, shamefully, to the images and memories of my night with Lallan a bunch of times. The guilt of this made me drink even more.
Around 11, the masturbation and the booze would prove too much for my system. I'd drift off into a drunken slumber. From which I would awaken at about 2. Then it was time for lunch. Usually I loved cooking, even when I was alone, and made healthy elaborate meals. But not anymore. I'd either just make Maggi noodles or then order delivery from a nearby restaurant.
By the time the food reached, I would have started drinking again. I am sure all the delivery guys also smelled the booze on my breath and saw my bloodshot eyes, and had me pegged as a rich day drinking housewife. I would eat the food, go back to my schedule of drinking and playing with myself, and then pass out around 6 pm.
This nap was shorter. On most days, I had plans to meet some friends or others for dinner. I would wake up, chug a couple of cups of coffee to sober myself up, brush my teeth and use lots of mouthwash, and then go for dinner. Some friends did sense something was off and would ask if everything was okay. I'd just say I was just recovering from a fever. During dinner, Raju would usually call, having just woken up in California. I would excuse myself to talk with him. Then finish dinner, then come home. And drink myself to sleep. And then set an alarm for the next day to wake up for another call with Raju.
This morning, I had to finally go to the office. I had told myself to postpone drinking till I returned. But I was feeling particularly low that morning because Raju and I had another little tiff. He kept insisting there was something wrong that I wasn't telling him. And as tempted as I was, I couldn't bring myself to. There were a lot of angry and passive aggressive jabs at each other. I was in a foul mood.
So I took a few shots of tequila, then did the brush-and-mouthwash thing, and took an Uber to the office, not feeling sober enough to drive.
Have you ever been in that phase of early drunkenness, where you aren't exactly slurring or swaying, and have enough control to act normal? I was in that phase as I reached office. To the discerning eye, it can seem that you might be a bit drunk. But if you are confident and careful enough, you can get through it.
I entered the office and everyone from the cleaning staff to the secretaries to other counsellors came to say hi. I had left very abruptly so this was the first chance they had to say goodbye properly. I think I managed those interactions competently. I could still see a couple of brows getting furrowed though. These were people who dealt with domestic issues and behavioural problems on a daily basis, as had I. I am sure I could tell a slightly drunk person, even if their breath smelled of mouthwash. Especially if their breath smelled of mouthwash. There is no reason for someone to have that minty fresh breath at 10 AM unless they are using it to mask some other smell. But no one said anything.
I was sitting in the personnel office filling out the exit forms. The clerk in charge of it either didn't notice or didn't care my mild inebriation. He told me what to do and returned to playing solitaire on his computer.
"There you are, Manasi! I heard you were in!"
I turned around and saw Dr. Nita, the head of the counselling team. She was Mrs. Khanna's boss, so my super boss. Unlike us counsellors who had bachelors or masters' degrees in psychology with training and experience, she was a full-fledged psychiatrist, with a medical degree, a postgraduate degree, and a doctorate from Stanford, with twenty years of experience in the field. Licensed to practice psychiatry in India, UK, and USA. She was the one who had trained me and her recommendation letter had been pivotal in getting me into Stanford.
"Nita ma'am, hi!" I smiled, but felt a little nervous. She was too much of an expert to not read me. She bent down to hug me and I felt her sniff a little too.
"Boring paperwork, huh?" she said pointing at the forms with her eyes.
"It's not that bad." I shrugged. "I'll be done with this soon and then have my exit interview with Mrs. Khanna."
"That's what I came to tell you." she said, smiling. "Mrs. Khanna got called away for a meeting, so I will be doing your exit interview."
My heart sank.
"Oh....it's okay. You must be busy. I can come by later when...."
"Nonsense!" she cut me off. "I am never too busy for our staff, especially not a star counsellor like you, headed to my alma mater Stanford. So when you're done here, just come on down to my office. I have an open schedule."
"Alright." I nodded.
Half an hour later, I knocked on the thick wooden door of her corner office nervously. In between, I had run to the restaurant next door and chugged a cold coffee to further suppress my inebriation.
"Manasi, please come in!" she opened the door and ushered me in, after a quick hug.
I had been to the office many times before, but it always intimidated me a little. Her degrees from AIIMS, Cambridge, and Stanford on the wall, next to lots of awards. A plush leather couch where she saw some patients, because she also worked as a psychiatrist. Antique furniture, paintings, a couple of busts of her intellectual idols, everything. She was one of my idols and role models.
I started walking towards the chair at her table, but she pointed me to the couch.
"Please sit here. It will be more comfortable." she said. I didn't know whether to read something into the fact that she was pointing me to the couch she usually sat patients in.
She took a seat in the armchair next to it and said,
"So...Manasi....I was going to offer you coffee, but from breath, I see you just had some."
"Yeah, was feeling a little drowsy." I smiled.
