“What do you think?” Manju asked beaming from ear to ear. Her brown eyeballs turned one shade darker and her eyebrows rose to form perfect arches over her almond shaped eyes. Sunil counted three creases on her tanned forehead. Her small nose too had perked up in anticipation of what he would say. Sunil was at a loss for words.

At six feet two inches, he was tall by most standards. His height virtually camouflaged the few excessive kilos he had gained over the years. Dressed in tan slacks and a cream shirt, a trendy expensive jacket slung casually over his right forearm, while his wife Manju clung to his left arm, he looked every bit the successful businessman he was.

Beside him, standing a few inches shy of his crown, thanks to her stilt inspired heals, wearing a cream pantsuit, her burgundy coloured hair styled into a classic layered crop, Manju looked every bit the businesswoman she wasn’t.

Both of them were standing outside a yellow and white building. When Manju had first spotted the structure, it had been a rundown compound with a dirty greasy abandoned workshop and an unkempt backyard. Sunil had to admit that it looked a whole lot better now. “Nice” he replied, trying to put some enthusiasm into his tone.

“Nice! That’s all you can drum up for the transformation I have brought to the place?” [image error]She snorted, letting go of his arm. “Look at the brightness the yellow lends to the dull white. They complement each other perfectly, making the building sunny and inviting. The place looks much larger than five hundred square feet, don’t you think? Do you remember seeing any shrubs or lawns the last time you were here? Where’s all the grease and grime you complained about, huh? After all this effort, all you can say is, “nice” she mimicked, making a face at him.

“I know you have given the place a complete makeover. I paid the bills for the exercise, remember.” Sunil responded.

“You are not doing me any favours. I did say I don’t want the new car this year.”

“Are you sure, you don’t want that car.”

“We’ll see.”

“I thought so.” Sunil grinned. His wife loved cars and she had been going on and on about a new model that had hit the market six months ago. They had been planning to buy it when  Manju had been swept away by a brilliant business idea. On an impulse, she had decided to invest the money meant for the new automobile in her “business”.

A bright yellow neon sign light up on the top of the single storey building. “The Quack House” it read. Sunil blinked. He couldn’t believe he was backing Manju in this [image error]ridiculous project. After meeting Manju for the first time, his mother had declared that her precious son had been bewitched. The sign, now dangling in clear public view, made him wonder if his mother had been right. The level-headed Sunil would have never agreed to Manju’s bizarre business proposal under any circumstance.

“Nice?” Manju asked in her most sarcastic voice, pointing at the sign.

“Super” he replied with equal spice.

Inside green dominated the entire space. The walls were a mild pistachio green, with furnishings and curtains sporting several darker shades of the same hue. An opulent, deep brown wooden reception desk faced the front door. On either side, three feet shy of the walls were two coffee tables with matching elegant couches. A chandelier hung above the short passage between the door and the reception desk. The shiny granite floor tiles were also dark green.

Behind the reception, a floor to ceiling multicolour abstract painting covered the entire wall up until the glass doors located at both the right and left ends of the wall. Both doors led to the main hall behind the front lounge. This room was bathed predominantly in peach. The far left corner of the room had been converted into an indoor garden, with a window, a few large leafed potted plants, a cobbled walkway and a garden table with two chairs.

In stark contrast, the opposite end of the room was dominated by a home theatre and related paraphernalia, accompanied by two recliners to enjoy the entertainment at ease. Sunil spotted a few weights and other workout equipment stacked along close by and looked quizzically at Manju. She shrugged and moved on without answering. They had been planted to create an impression, he decided.

One corner of the room resembled a living room with a couple of couches, a coffee table, a few short bookshelves etc. The fourth and final corner had a door connecting to the kitchen located at the rear end of the building. Through some strange synergy, the crazy combination blended and formed a cohesive unit. This time, Sunil said, “Nice” before Manju could utter a word.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” H asked one last time. He had been asking her the same question for the past two months. Tired of answering, she ignored him and concentrated on some microscopic dust particle on the leaf of one of the indoor plants.

“I asked a question you know.”

She continued to ignore him.

[image error]“What does a guy have to do to get his wife to listen to what he has to say?”

“You could pay. At The Quack House, we charge by the hour.” She grinned.

“That’s all that’s left for me to do.” He retorted and turned away.

Sunil plonked himself on the comfortable couch and watched his wife check everything one last time, before the guests she had invited arrived. For her sake, he hoped that everything worked out well. She had put her heart into it and he could not bear to see her heartbroken. But he was worried. This was a mad idea.

“Maybe we should have had a cocktail party instead of brunch.”

“I have been sober all this while and I have no idea what you are up to. Do you think your guests will understand anything if they get drunk?”

“What’s not to understand?”

“What are you selling?”

“My time.”

“Who wants to buy your time?”

“Lots of people have the same problem you have. Nobody listens to them. They’ll come here, I’ll listen to what they have to say. We will discuss things and they will leave happier.”

“Sure, if they didn’t have to pay.”

“That’s your opinion.”

“The Quack House!!.. What if someone asks for duck biriyani or something?”

“Sir would you like to add biriyani to the menu?” a male voice intervened. Sunil and Manju looked at him surprised. Sunil was the first to realise that the caterers had arrived with the food for the brunch. As he guffawed away, a red-faced Manju directed them to the kitchen and supervised the setting up of the buffet table for her guests.

**

The idea of The Quack House had come to her while she waited for her shrink at her clinic. She had an appointment at two and it was ten past but the clinic was deserted. Sometimes the prolonged lunch breaks taken by people irked Manju, who was generally a happy go lucky person.

She had started seeing the psychiatrist when she was twenty, after a boating mishap in which her only sibling passed away. During the initial years, Manju had been perpetually disturbed but now well over a decade since the incident; she visited only as a force of habit and not anything else.

By two thirty, the receptionist arrived.

Looking shocked to see Manju, she informed her that the doctor was way and that there would be no session that day. Aware that the doctor always informed her patients in case of rescheduling a session, Manju prodded the girl for an explanation. She was shocked to discover that the doctor had been arrested the previous night for being a fake. The receptionist had come to work that day because the doctor’s father had promised to come over and pay her outstanding wages in the evening.

For ten years, Manju had been visiting a fake doctor and confiding her biggest fears with her! Not only that, she had experienced substantial relief after each discussion. The woman had even prescribed her medicines during her early days of “treatment”. At least three medical degrees had adorned the walls of her office. All of it had turned out to be lies. Manju couldn’t believe the extent to which she had been duped.

Instead of feeling cheated, the incident set off a different stream of thoughts in her mind. The fake shrink had helped her handle her genuine emotional distress by being someone [image error]willing to listen to her. Perhaps most people needed only that much. What if she set up a place where individuals could come, discuss about whatever troubled them, and leave happier for having unburdened themselves?

Sunil was sceptic but she was sure. She could help people and protect them from fake therapists. In fact, many people could come to her because she was not a psychiatrist and there could be no taboo visiting her office for a chat. It would be just as normal as going to an astrologer or an alternate-medicine practitioner.

And thus “The Quack House (TQH); we listen so you can stay happy”, was born.

Read the complete story at One Free Short Story Every Week


Advertisements