Me and Movies ..

I just finished one of my storytelling events and was packing up to head back home.

All of a sudden, one of the participants of the event came up to me and said, "Bhumik, I loved the story you just narrated. I loved the way you looked at the incident. Do you have some time? Can we have a cup of tea downstairs?"

This happened in one of the most beautiful and artistic cafes in the city, which served the best samosas in the city. So, like any other half-starved north Indian vegetarian in the city, who could eat samosas all day of the week, I latched onto her offer. But there was a catch; she was a therapist. As much as I love the profession, I hate to be around anyone practicing it.

She asked me what I did other than these events, and I told her about my life in the city. On knowing that, she asked me to share some of my writings. I shared my blog, yeah, this one. She read a few of the posts and loved them. I asked her to share something about her profession, and she told me a lot of things about psychology, which I loved.

At the end of the conversation, I told her that she was the only therapist that I would like to meet twice.

Her reaction took a summersault.

She gave me a look and said, "What!!"

I was taken aback, and I tried to cover it up. I told her that I didn't say anything; I was just there to listen to her. This was a joke.

She gave me another look and said that every joke has a story.

"What's there to hide? Tell me the real reason."

How do I tell her that I hide so many things that even I forget some of them, my way of dealing with trauma is to hide it till I forget it. This is the way that my fathers and grandfathers have been using, which has been recently put into words by the new generation.

"Deluuuu... is the Soluu....".

Now she took charge and told me all the traumas of her life, now she looked at me with a look that said "Not everything is as difficult as it looks."

Then I told her that I was a lonely person. I have reached this conclusion because of the two films.

The first one was "2012," back in childhood.

It was a sci-fi movie that revolved around how the world was about to end three months from that date. It was a story of a family trying to escape the disaster and save their life.

It was the first movie that I watched in a theater. My maternal aunt invited me and my sister, and they had booked the ticket with their entire family. I was sitting on the edge of my seat, closing my eyes every two minutes since I couldn't bear the frightening scenes and deaths on screen. I so much wanted to run away, or hold my dad's hand, or hide behind my mother. But they were not in the theater physically and probably nobody else mentally. I folded my body into the seat and spent the entire 158 minutes in absolute horror and helplessness.

The second one was very recent. I met someone at the bookstore in the area I stay in. She was a beautiful person, and our meeting was nothing more than accidental; she happened to be looking for the books in the bookstore I frequently visit. I helped her pick some books, and it was over. She asked for my number, and I obliged. I had no intention beyond it, and I didn't ask her any of the details except her name. She texted me back after around a week, and we had a great conversation about food joints in the city, bowling, and traveling. I told her that I am pretty much a noob at all of these, and she said we could explore and learn them together.

Together, hmm!! That's a big word for me. When somebody uses this word, it means that they see you and them in a single unit. No matter how loosely that term was used, I felt a sense of importance and belonging in her life.

Two movies were released that weekend, Barbie and Oppenheimer. Being a crazy physics nut and a Professor Richard Feynman devotee, it was an easy choice for me, and who watches those kids' animations like Barbie?

Our conversations had moved on to movies and plans by now; she asked me about my weekend plan, and I told her about my desire to watch the buzzing movie, Oppenheimer. She told me that she wanted to watch Barbie, and nobody was willing to go with her. She told me that we could watch Oppenheimer next week, and she would come with me to watch it.

What do you do in such circumstances? I agreed and navigated the 3 hours pretending to like a movie that barely made any sense to me, filled in a theater with girls wearing all pink. All of it, so that she doesn't feel missed out.

Today, almost 9 months later, I haven't watched Oppenheimer yet. The person who replied to the text within minutes took days to respond to my text, and sometimes days stretched into forever.

I experienced very severe anxiety attacks during that period, up to the degree that I wasn't able to breathe and move my body just after I returned from a social event. I somehow learned to deal with it pretending nothing happened just after experiencing a close encounter with the end of my life.

"Do you want to watch a movie," she asked.

I could see the sympathy in her eyes, and I didn't want to be judged at that point. That's the thing that offputs me about all the therapists.

Fast forward to now,

I recently met that therapist again, and she was like, "You look so happy, so amazing, what happened?"

"Skin Care, and also I met this girl."

"Tell me more about her, what is so special that she changed your entire look?"

"Do you remember the story I told you?"

"Yes."

"So recently while talking, I briefly mentioned to her about the movie Dune 2 that I was thinking about watching. She said okay and she immediately booked the two tickets."

"Okay, so what's the big deal about that."

"The big deal is she hates Science fiction; she was watching this movie just for me, and the best part is that she doesn't even know this story; she just honestly wanted to be my side with whatever makes me happy."

I have realized now that to fight loneliness, you just need one person to watch a movie with you.

"What's the plan with her now?" she asked.

"One month passed, forever to go. We are thinking about getting engaged."

This last part is fiction, which I so much wish to be true.

Love,

Varu