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Abstract

ndfather’s brother. So I called him Nana and Lata became Nani, which means maternal grandfather and grandmother in ‘Hindi’.I lived with them when I started my career as a software engineer. I went to pay them a brief visit to give something my mother had sent for them one day. But all the time, they insisted I come and live with them in a city which was new to me.I didn’t know how to answer, as giving up my freedom was tough. When I saw how much they needed someone in their lives, I couldn’t say no. And they ensured I had the freedom I needed.At 22, it meant a room with a television and a washroom, and I could come and go as I pleased, or have friends over. No restrictions.My interactions with Lata over 6 months made two things clear to me about her:<ul><li>As the young wife of an army officer, she was lonely and craved human company. Loneliness had pushed her to an extreme.</li><li>Second, she was creative. She used to paint, her paintings were all over the house. All of them had one thing in common. They were all done in a haste — careless strokes, strokes which conveyed how impatient she was.</li></ul>She could knit too, she told me she could make a sweater in a day. When I requested her to make one for me, she said ‘nobody wears my sweaters’. I didn’t know whether she thought it was because people didn’t like her sweaters or she thought they didn’t like her.My mother and some relatives told me Lata was proud and remained aloof from the community. It seemed like she had traits which made her impatient around people, and people hadn’t attempted to break through to her. Most even disliked her.My 22-year-old self was determined to give it my best. I thought it would be easy to dislike her if I based my judgment on what I had heard from others. But I wanted to do the difficult.My life had been simple. Parents, studies, friends, and later a job. My worries had been simple, like how to avoid playing cricket with my brother or how to carry all my Harry Potter books to where I lived.Now I had a chain-smoking Nana who couldn’t share his problems with anyone. Outwardly, he was calm and supportive, but I could see the toll his wife’s illness took on him.When he wanted me to sit with him and talk, h

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e didn’t smoke, so I could stay longer. I used to move out when he smoked.On weekends when I was home, I alternated my sitting hours with both of them, so the other person didn’t feel left out. So, if for an hour I was sitting with him, the next hour I went to be with Lata.A schizophrenic person cannot trust anyone, be it parents, children, or a spouse. I had heard and seen it, but I didn’t want to believe it.She treated me so well and re-assured me she wasn’t afraid of me. I started believing it. One day, my illusion broke.I heard from her nanny she had cursed me in choicest of Hindi cuss words. I requested the nanny not to tell me her exact words, as it would have been a blow I couldn’t have taken back then. Meaning, not let it affect my behavior towards her.I didn’t doubt her capacity to say it, as I’d heard her use those words for her husband, too. But, I didn’t expect to she’d think of me this way.The day I heard her remarks, I tried being sweet to her as usual, but it lacked the naturalness, making it awkward. She sensed it as my replies were uncannily short and concise.This is when she wanted to know, ‘Why I am annoyed’. It made me realize how futile it was to be upset with someone who wouldn’t even remember what she said.I knew everything about her. Still, I hoped she would understand and reciprocate my kindness. When I realized it wasn’t possible, I was going back to being a shallow human who reserves her love for only those who like her and are indifferent to others.In this moment, I gave up my shallowness, because this was a commitment, a responsibility.The stimulus increased with time, situations became tense and grave. Yet, I kept my control and established the boundaries I needed. I kept making time to talk to her when she was in a relaxed state. And I also kept my distance when she seemed indifferent or aggressive.Her eyes kept searching for love. Alas, she wasn’t someone who nobody loved. Lata was someone well loved and cared for despite her illness by her family and loved ones. Yet, she couldn’t see it. It was unfortunate and heartbreaking.She passed away peacefully a few years ago. She’ll always remain in our memories.</article></body>

What Is It Like to Live With Someone With Schizophrenia

40 years of delusions, hallucinations and darkness…

[TW: This article discusses a serious mental health condition. If you’re struggling with mental health, please consult a registered practitioner for guidance.]

“Why are you annoyed with me?” She asked.

First, her flawless sentence in English surprised me as women of her time in India didn’t get proper education. Then I realized she wanted a response and wasn’t willing to let go.

My 22-year-old self was aghast at the betrayal I felt. I said, ‘I’m not annoyed, but disturbed at what you said about me to your nanny behind my back.’

Lata (name changed) was 70, when I lived with her and her husband. She kept forgetting my name even though I reminded her every day. Lata was a relative, though she didn’t know me.

She didn’t even know her husband or two kids. And she told me she has 7 or 8 kids. Most of the times; I noticed her in a distant, self- imagined world. Yet, she always caught my attention and affection.

She looked at people as though longing for love and searching for it desperately in their eyes. Her focused eye contact made me nervous.

She looked for love, but she believed she didn’t have it. She lived in a dark world. When I met her, she had had schizophrenia for over 40 years.

It was hard for me to understand what her disease meant or even how to say it back then. My only source of knowledge had been a Sidney Sheldon novel where the lead character had it.

As per the book, the disease could make you a dangerous maniac, unfit to live with others and incapable of understanding human emotions.

After my real-life brush, I vehemently disagreed with the premise of the book. I saw a person capable of understanding love and responding to it most days.

Her husband was my maternal grandfather’s brother. So I called him Nana and Lata became Nani, which means maternal grandfather and grandmother in ‘Hindi’.

I lived with them when I started my career as a software engineer. I went to pay them a brief visit to give something my mother had sent for them one day. But all the time, they insisted I come and live with them in a city which was new to me.

I didn’t know how to answer, as giving up my freedom was tough. When I saw how much they needed someone in their lives, I couldn’t say no. And they ensured I had the freedom I needed.

At 22, it meant a room with a television and a washroom, and I could come and go as I pleased, or have friends over. No restrictions.

My interactions with Lata over 6 months made two things clear to me about her:

As the young wife of an army officer, she was lonely and craved human company. Loneliness had pushed her to an extreme.
Second, she was creative. She used to paint, her paintings were all over the house. All of them had one thing in common. They were all done in a haste — careless strokes, strokes which conveyed how impatient she was.

She could knit too, she told me she could make a sweater in a day. When I requested her to make one for me, she said ‘nobody wears my sweaters’. I didn’t know whether she thought it was because people didn’t like her sweaters or she thought they didn’t like her.

My mother and some relatives told me Lata was proud and remained aloof from the community. It seemed like she had traits which made her impatient around people, and people hadn’t attempted to break through to her. Most even disliked her.

My 22-year-old self was determined to give it my best. I thought it would be easy to dislike her if I based my judgment on what I had heard from others. But I wanted to do the difficult.

My life had been simple. Parents, studies, friends, and later a job. My worries had been simple, like how to avoid playing cricket with my brother or how to carry all my Harry Potter books to where I lived.

Now I had a chain-smoking Nana who couldn’t share his problems with anyone. Outwardly, he was calm and supportive, but I could see the toll his wife’s illness took on him.

When he wanted me to sit with him and talk, he didn’t smoke, so I could stay longer. I used to move out when he smoked.

On weekends when I was home, I alternated my sitting hours with both of them, so the other person didn’t feel left out. So, if for an hour I was sitting with him, the next hour I went to be with Lata.

A schizophrenic person cannot trust anyone, be it parents, children, or a spouse. I had heard and seen it, but I didn’t want to believe it.

She treated me so well and re-assured me she wasn’t afraid of me. I started believing it. One day, my illusion broke.

I heard from her nanny she had cursed me in choicest of Hindi cuss words. I requested the nanny not to tell me her exact words, as it would have been a blow I couldn’t have taken back then. Meaning, not let it affect my behavior towards her.

I didn’t doubt her capacity to say it, as I’d heard her use those words for her husband, too. But, I didn’t expect to she’d think of me this way.

The day I heard her remarks, I tried being sweet to her as usual, but it lacked the naturalness, making it awkward. She sensed it as my replies were uncannily short and concise.

This is when she wanted to know, ‘Why I am annoyed’. It made me realize how futile it was to be upset with someone who wouldn’t even remember what she said.

I knew everything about her. Still, I hoped she would understand and reciprocate my kindness. When I realized it wasn’t possible, I was going back to being a shallow human who reserves her love for only those who like her and are indifferent to others.

In this moment, I gave up my shallowness, because this was a commitment, a responsibility.

The stimulus increased with time, situations became tense and grave. Yet, I kept my control and established the boundaries I needed. I kept making time to talk to her when she was in a relaxed state. And I also kept my distance when she seemed indifferent or aggressive.

Her eyes kept searching for love. Alas, she wasn’t someone who nobody loved. Lata was someone well loved and cared for despite her illness by her family and loved ones. Yet, she couldn’t see it. It was unfortunate and heartbreaking.

She passed away peacefully a few years ago. She’ll always remain in our memories.