sleepless for 20 years

  “Healing doesn’t always come like a thunderclap. Sometimes, it arrives quietly—with a gentle breath, a hopeful smile, and a sense that maybe, just maybe, the worst is over.” My father’s treatment with Dr. Keshav Ram was going surprisingly well. Every fifteen days, almost like clockwork, my mother and father would set out for their appointment. It became a quiet ritual, a rhythm that brought some much-needed structure to our otherwise chaotic lives. I still remember watching them return from those visits—there was a gentleness in their eyes, a softness in their voices. Both of them would look... lighter. My father’s face, so often clouded with anxiety or fatigue, seemed brighter. And my mother, who had carried the weight of our family on her shoulders for so long, seemed to walk just a bit taller, as if someone had finally helped her lift a corner of that burden. After every session, they would discuss all sorts of fascinating things—how the human brain functions, the differen...

  7. The Calm Before Another Storm Dr. Keshav Ram’s treatment shows encouraging results. Father’s sleep improves, episodes reduce in frequency. The family begins to believe recovery is truly possible. Life begins to settle into a manageable rhythm. 8. Trust, Therapy, and Temporary Relief Keshav Ram emphasizes trust-building and limited medication. Family slowly opens up about past trauma and patterns. Father starts engaging in household conversations. Progress is slow, but steady signs of healing emerge. 9. Keshav Ram Leaves Town Dr. Keshav Ram gets an opportunity in the U.S. and leaves. His departure creates a vacuum in the father’s care. No immediate alternative psychiatrist is available in town. Anxiety and confusion return quickly to the household. 10. The Inexpensive Promise: Enter Dr. Navneet Jain Dr. Navneet Jain is recommended locally. His low fees and availability appeal to the family. He begins treatment with a medicin...

  Chapter Six: The Triple Duty of a Tireless Soul If there was one person who never complained, never gave up, and never stopped giving, it was my mother. In the chaos of our modest household, amidst the fragile balance between financial hardship and emotional endurance, she stood tall like a pillar—unshaken, unstoppable. Her name may not be written in any history book, but to me, she was no less than a hero whose quiet sacrifices built the foundation of our lives. She did it all. Every chore, every errand, every responsibility, she bore it alone, without asking for anything in return. While other mothers in our neighborhood shared duties with their husbands or children, my mother insisted on doing everything herself. From the moment the first rays of sunlight kissed our windowpanes, she was up and working. Sweeping the floor, washing clothes, dusting shelves, scrubbing utensils—it all happened like clockwork, as if guided by some divine rhythm only she knew. Her cooking was ano...

  In the quiet town we lived in, the rhythm of life was predictable—until my mother changed its beat. By now, her textile business was no longer a hopeful experiment. It was a full-fledged operation. Every week, without fail, she would travel to a nearby town to purchase wholesale cloth—saris, dress materials, household fabrics—items that women in our neighbourhood had begun to wait for with eager anticipation. Her name was starting to travel, not just by word of mouth but by respect. People began referring to her as “kapde wali behnji,” or “the sari lady.” It was a title earned not just by what she sold, but by the trust she built. Her workdays began before the rest of us opened our eyes. Even on her "market day," when she had to travel out of town, she never skipped her duties. She would wake up before sunrise, tie her hair back, and start preparing breakfast—hot rotis, sabzi, sometimesalso prepare carrot halva if its winter. She made sure we were fed, and she even pac...

  Chapter Four: The Slow Descent Life doesn't always collapse with loud thunder. Sometimes, it disintegrates slowly—layer by layer, day by day, in silence. That’s how my father began his descent. Not through an obvious breakdown, not with shouting or screaming, but with a quiet crumbling that no one noticed until it was too late. He was still the man who got up early every day. Still the one who rode his cycle for over an hour to reach his post at Northern Railways. Still the one who handed over his entire salary at the end of the month without question. But inside, something had begun to shift. And like most men of his time, he never spoke of it. The burdens simply sat inside his chest, like stones sinking deeper and deeper with every passing year. By now, family pressures were no longer occasional—they were constant. He had fulfilled his duty as a son by supporting his siblings, getting his sister married, and being the breadwinner for the entire household. But just when it s...

  Chapter Three: Unseen Joys and Silent Sorrows The house was unusually vibrant, the kind of vibrant that only weddings in India can bring. The walls were washed anew, marigolds draped across the front gate, and the constant hum of guests and rituals turned our quiet home into a festival ground. It was the wedding of my father's younger sister—his only sister—and like any traditional household, this event was more than just a union of two people. It was a moment of pride, a social symbol, a collective project that tested the strength of every family member, especially the women. At the heart of it all, managing everything silently, was my mother. She wasn’t just a spectator in the wedding. She was the backbone. From dawn till midnight, she worked tirelessly—cooking in large quantities, arranging gifts, serving guests with folded hands, overseeing decorations, checking if relatives had food, and ensuring the rituals flowed without interruption. People came and went. Some praised ...

  Chapter Two: The Weight of Responsibility There’s a heaviness that comes with being the eldest son in a traditional Indian household. It’s not just a title—it’s a lifelong role, a quiet expectation, a burden carried in the soul. My father bore that weight with a calm face, but behind his silence were dreams unfulfilled, emotions unspoken, and wounds that would take a lifetime to heal. He was barely eighteen when life hit him like a storm. Until then, my father was a dreamer. He had ideas bigger than the sky and a heart full of ambition. He wanted to build something of his own—maybe a business, or an innovation in science, or perhaps even a career in writing or public service. He loved learning, thinking, and exploring. Raised by two strong women—his mother and his maternal grandmother—he had always been given love, and that love had grown into dreams. But those dreams shattered suddenly. In 1970, his father—my grandfather—passed away. It was a turning point, not just for the...

Chapter One: The Man Behind the Smile I live in the United Kingdom now, far away from the dusty streets and narrow lanes of my childhood. Life here moves differently—structured, organized, often quiet. I live with my two sons. My elder one, Tejas, is 14 now—a teenager full of questions and opinions. And then there's my younger one, who just turned two a few days ago, bringing chaos and joy in equal measure to our home. In between school runs, nappies, work, and the endless rhythm of motherhood, I find myself slipping into memories. They arrive quietly, sometimes as a scent, a tune, or a moment in silence when the world pauses just enough to let the past catch up. One memory that comes to me often is from when Tejas was born. It was a time when life was tender, overwhelming, and raw with new beginnings. My father, who had always preferred early nights and a predictable routine, would stay awake late—sometimes till 11, even midnight—to help with the baby. He wasn’t a man known for ...

 i am writing a book of my father journey to recover from depression. it was long journey of 20 year, he was early taking a tablet for sleep named as combust i was not even born at that time but he was taking thetabet ocaasionaly ,still everything was going fine, he was teh eldestson of the family having a younger brother and younger sister. he was the eldest son and charming boy in the family so he brings joy everywhere. when he turned 18 his father passed away and he got wrking in northern railway. his mother has fixed his marriage with my mother. but my grandmother was also worried that my mother can create problem in the way raising my father sibling on my fathers salary. so she always used to do backbiting and speaks bad about yet my father always trust her. but the family pressure sooon make him addict of sleeping pills, then my paternal aunt marriage was fixed and later my uncle marriage was fixed. soon after few years of my uncle marriage my mother seprate from her. i was ...