Storiesoftvb

     It was the first day of the week, the clinic was occupied by a dozen visitors. ‘Doctor Purush is on his way. We request you to wait for some more minutes,’ said the receptionist. I was one among those visitors, waiting for my regular counseling. This was my first session with doctor Purush. My name is Vasu, a typical Indian middle-class youngster. I am under depression for months, which drove me crazy. It took me long to realize that I need help to heal myself.      Twenty minutes later, a black BMW arrived at the entrance of the clinic. A tall, sturdy man stepped out of the car. He was dressed in formals, a white shirt, and grey pants, I assumed that he might be the doctor by noticing the stethoscope on his neck. He greeted the receptionist as he came in. His face was bright, his smile added him a glowing look. The man walked past the visitors, entering the cabin that belongs to doctor Purush. The receptionist called out my name after ten minutes of his arrival.      ‘Please