Excerpts from the diary of a drug addict’s mother

(What you are going to read is no fiction. It’s based on the real life story of a woman, a close acquaintance)

January 30, 1978

Mrs Verma’s eyes open up gradually. She winces; utters a groan. She feels the pain of the knife that was used an hour ago to tear up her womb. Acute pain. Mr Verma is standing before her. He's very happy, grinning. It takes Mrs Verma's eyes a few moments to find her son, just born, wrapped in a soft white cloth in her husband's arms. Two drops of tear trickle down her face. A smile grows and before it spreads across her face, it contorts. The merciless pain at her stitches draws her attention. 

March 13, 1982

She has already placed a little lunch box in a school bag. Both the box and the bag are bright red and new. She closes her eyes; her lips read something. They are moist when she opens her eyes. She hands over the bag to Mr Verma, kisses her kid on his forehead, looks into his big eyes, and kisses him again. It’s Prabhat’s first day in school.

April 9, 1991

It’s 6:15 p.m. Mr and Mrs Verma have just reached the school. The programme has already begun. A small girl who still lisps is reciting a poem on the stage. They get seated in the second last row in the school auditorium. Mrs Verma's eyes restlessly look for her son.

The prize distribution starts. A list of names is being called out. After some time, she hears, “…and the first prize goes to Prabhat Verma…” She can see him now. He's on the stage. He bows a bit and receives a cup, made of brass. He faces the crowd, bends again holding the cup high. Here she waves her hands, attempts to shout his name aloud. Something chokes her throat. She is extremely happy. Overwhelmed. A few drops of warm tears roll down her cheeks. She gets a bit conscious as others around her start staring at her. She forces a smile and says “He's my son,” proudly.

Feb 2, 1995

She removes her son's pants from the hanger for laundry. She finds a cigarette in its pocket. She topples over; sits down on the floor; starts taking deep breath.

A fear, big and strong, she can feel, tears apart her heart and gets in to stay permanently. Her fears give her glimpses of extremely terrifying consequences. She’s afraid of losing her child. She turns restless, lost in her thoughts.  It’s 3:10 a.m. Mr Verma is fast asleep beside her. She weeps noiselessly. She flips the wet side of the pillow.

Feb 3, 1995

Her eyes are swollen. Mr Verma enquires. She dodges the question. It’s 2 a.m. Mr Verma is fast asleep. “Shall I speak directly to Prabhat or shall I inform Mr Verma?”  “How would each react, if ___?,” The more she broods over, the fiercer her restlessness grows. She weeps noiselessly on bed. She flips the wet side of her pillow.

Feb 4, 1995

Her eyes are red and swollen. Dark circles underline her swollen eyes. Her face appears pale, her hair disheveled. By the evening, she's caught high fever.

Feb 5, 1995

She's hospitalised. Prabhat is holding a glass of water and a pill. She stares at him, his hands, his lips, his face, his pockets. She tells him about her discovery. He promises he won't smoke anymore. She believes him. She thinks she has defeated the fear within; it will die soon. She smiles and hugs him.

April 15, 1995

The trio goes on a family trip.

Feb 5, 1996

She removes her son's pants from the hanger for laundry. She discovers a box of cigarette. There's something else wrapped in a glossy paper. It contains marijuana (ganja) leaves. She finds something else; some white powder in a zipper. She starts to pant. Her heart begins to sink. An emptiness, a kind of hollow, she feels within. The fear remerges, now much fiercer and much stronger. Mind is benumbed. Senseless and speechless, she lies down. Her lips have turned dry and face white.

Feb 6, 1996

Prabhat asks her for money for petrol. She refuses straightaway. "Take the bicylce. It's rusting." He stares hard at her. Bangs the door and leaves. At night, she asks him to take dinner. He doesn't answer; goes into his room and locks it. She doesn’t insist. She retires to her bedroom, without taking dinner. She hadn’t had her lunch too. She weeps noiselessly.

Feb 7, 2004

It's 1 a.m. She’s trembling. She recalls his face; today his eyes were redder than usual, his hands a bit shaky, when he said, “The world is a mystery. Only few can understand it." He smiled. "Everything is true and everything is false.” “I can solve everybody’s problem. It’s in mind. Just wait and watch.” Then he started quite bitterly, “The society is my enemy, enemy to everybody who wants to do something. People outside are jealous. They object to anything you do. But I won't listen to them, their malicious prattle. I don’t care what anybody thinks and speaks about me. I'm independent. I know what I should do and how I should do. I have discovered the secret of human existence. Do you know what’s it?” He coughed for a couple of times. His mouth stank. “I'll tell you about it some other day, maa." He smiled and stumbled out of the room.

She acknowledges helplessly he must be under influence of some kind of strong drug.

Feb 8, 2004

Mrs Verma's putting antiseptic liquid on her husband's bruises at several places, incurred during a small tussle between him and Prabhat. Mr Verma was trying to grab the bundle of currency notes from Prabhat’s pocket when Prabhat pushed him on the floor. Prabhat has stolen them from the locker a few minutes ago. Prabhat apologises before he leaves with the money. He said he didn’t mean to hurt his father.

November 20, 2004

Mrs Verma discovers there are only a few hundred bucks left in Prabhat's bank account. She recalls the day, 7 February, 1978, Tuesday, a week after he was born, when Mr Verma had opened a bank account in his name. Since then, a sum of money has been put aside in the account every month. Recently, it had enough money to get him admitted in any private engineering college.

She gets a heart attack in the evening. She is hospitalised.

Novmber 23, 2004

Mrs Verma is back home. Prabhat apologises and tries to convince her that all his money is safe and in right hands. He'll soon get them back with a good interest and that he'll buy her a pair of gold ear rings soon. She says nothing.

December 20, 2004

She and Mr Verma file a police complaint about their missing son. He hasn't returned since the morning of December 19, 2004.

December 24, 2004

The police officer informs her that her son is not alone but he's left with one of his friends. They are trying their best to find them out.

At around 4.15 p.m., Mr Verma receives a heart attack. She thinks this is why she used to weep noiselessly when Mr Verma had gone to sleep.

December 31, 2004

Prabhat is back home. His hair has grown longer, his face is unshaven, his eyes have developed a permanent redness, his lips are grey, his ribs can be counted against the black T-shirt bearing a picture of Bob Marley with a bunch of marijuana leaves in the background.

January 1, 2005

Prabhat says he and his friend want to set up a motel on a highway. He needs “only” three lakh rupees while his friend is investing five lakh in the venture. “Don’t go astray. Stay with us. Complete your post graduation. Get a job. Get married. Stay with us. Life is good, life is great here. Don’t go away, don’t go away from us. I know why you need money.”

“You think I’m going to spend them on…”

“I just don’t think so. I know this.”

“I don’t need your money. Hoard them and buy yourself some jewellery.” He leaves.

March 6, 2005

The telephones rings. Mrs Verma  picks up and a voice informs her, "Your son has been arrested on charges of robbery. He along with his two friends robbed a businessman at knife-point."

In the evening, Mr and Mrs Verma reach the police station. Mrs Verma’s eyes are hardened, her face emotionless. She reaches his cell. It's dark and stinking. He's lying on the floor without a mat, without a pillow. His hair is now small; beard and moustache cover his face; his shirt, dirty with marks of mud and blood. He's asleep. She doesn't want to disturb him. He's still her hero kid, the most beloved under the sky. "Ay, you get up," a constable's harsh voice wakes him up. He gets up with a jerk and approaches close to the bars; turns his face down. His father extends a tiffin box. 

The son falls down, holds her feet with both his hands; starts weeping uncontrollably. "Forgive me, maa, forgive me, please." She collapses.

March 30, 2005

The family has shifted to a rented house, five miles away from their own house. Prabhat has assured her mother, he would no more take marijuana or alcohol but he'll quit smoking cigarettes gradually. He promises he will.

April 11, 2005

It's 2:15 a.m. She wakes up hearing a noise in her room. She turns on the light. Prabhat is standing with the keys before the   wardrobe. He's been caught red-handed. There's silence. Mr Verma has woken up too. The son says he needs a little money. It'll be his last, he won’t do it again. He’ll buy some medicine. He needs them immediately, he says. She is dumbfounded and dismayed. Mr Verma throws all the cash and the jewellery out. "Take them all."

He picks up a bundle of notes and leaves saying this is for the last time he would take the drugs.

It’s 12:35 "Why my son?" Why it's happened to him? She throbs as words burst out of her mouth, "You know he was so good and nice,” She recalls Prabhat’s childhood face and gestures and burst out in tears. “Such a beautiful boy... his big round eyes. He was always good. He would say mamma, You’re my favourite.” “Why my son, Mr Verma, why?” Mr Verma embraces her tightly. She continues,“He… he got into some bad company when he was in school and it all started then.” A deep sigh. “He was an innocent and obedient child. Somebody took him away and I didn't utter a word, a single word and allowed him to doom himself.” “Mr Verma… I don’t want to live anymore.” She’s throbbing. “Forgive me, son, forgive me."

April 17, 2005

Prabhat is on a medical ventilator. Acute depression has numbed Mrs Verma’s senses. A psychiatrist is looking after her. Suddenly, she looks at the watch. She stands up abruptly rushes to the bedroom. She fills the small red bag with books and the tiny tiffin box with food. She is a bit perplexed. She wonders, "Is he still playing with his father?" 

.... 

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