CHAPTER 6: PRANAYAMA§
Dealing with Desperate Emotions§
Note to readers: The following story deals with a serious subject that may not be suitable for young readers without parental oversight.§
“Come on!” said Joey. “You know I meant it as a joke. Some days you have no sense of humor. When you stumbled with your words to Shivani and mumbled ‘I …. okay,’ it sounded funny.” §
“What’s funny about that?” Lochan shot back. “Okay, I got mixed up. She makes everyone nervous, doesn’t she? But you had no right to make fun of me in front of everyone.”§
Inside Joey’s head came a rush of voices. One said, “Don’t I have a right to stand up for myself? Why am I always the one to get laughed at?” Then he griped aloud, “But you can make fun of me anytime you want? Really fair, Lochan!” §
Then a different voice came, louder, “Don’t leave it at that, Dummy. Show him what you’re made of.”§
Joey clenched his fists and squared off with his friend. “But you didn’t keep quiet. You told them I signed up for the part of village buffoon in the school play just because Ananya has the lead role. Buffoon, clown, dope—because I’m a natural for the part, you said. What were you thinking when you told them that? Do you think they’ll ever forget it? Maybe ten years from now people will be saying, ‘Hey, there goes that buffoon.’ All because you couldn’t keep your stupid mouth shut.”§
Lochan brushed aside his friend’s growing anger. “Well, you are a buffoon. Telling everyone I stammered when I just talked to a girl! You’re an idiot, brother, a complete loser.”§
Lochan stomped off, not turning around to look back, and headed home by himself, along the same path the pair usually walked together. Another day, another spat with Joey. §
Joey watched him go. They had been good friends since middle school, and usually made up quickly. But now, in tenth grade, something was different. Joey wanted to call Lochan back, but the sense of defeat that had plagued him lately overpowered him. It seemed whenever he and Lochan got into an argument, he always lost. Just one more thing he was a failure at, on top of all the rest. What was the point of even trying? §
Joey walked despondently down the long cobbled path, hurting inside. A cold fall wind sent shivers through the tall elms, shedding dead leaves to the ground. As he looked at the forlorn leaves with their shriveled edges, he heard a voice in his head: “While they were on the tree, they were nourished and loved, but now they are cast aside. Life has no time for losers. You are just like a dead leaf, not worthy of love. You can’t even earn good grades, you’re lousy at sports, and not a single girl has ever liked you.”§
The tears flowed, falling on his shirt. He thought, “Look at me, crying like a baby! Why can’t things go right for once?” §
Then another voice came, one he had grown to dread: “Things will never go right for you because you’re a loser. You will only get more and more hurt. Better to quit the game.” §
“Quit the game?” §
“Yes, that is best. No one can hurt you then.” This voice had grown stronger and louder over the last year. “It’s better to quit the game, Joey. You tried, but you are not fit for this world. No one understands you. You don’t even understand yourself.”§
He looked again at the trees. It seemed like the wise old elms were talking to him. Smiling grimly, suddenly he knew what to do. His plan would take but a moment to execute. He had prepared months for it, carefully taking a few of Mom’s sleeping pills from the medicine cabinet every few weeks, so she wouldn’t notice. When he got home, he cleaned his room, made the bed, put on his good clothes, swallowed the handful of pills and laid down, placing a note beside him saying only, “I’m sorry.”§
During dinner, Lochan’s cell phone rang. Listening for two seconds, he stammered, “What?” then put the phone down and stared at the wall.§
His father looked at him, awaiting an explanation.§
“He’s dead,” Lochan blurted out.§
There was silence. Two long minutes. §
Finally Dad had to ask, “Who?”§
“Joey.”§
More silence. §
When Mom came in from the kitchen, she was stunned by the shock on their faces. §
“What happened?” §
Dad looked at her, “Lochan said Joey’s dead.”§
“How?”§
“His mom just called,” Lochan answered. “He took pills; the stupid guy.” §
“That’s terrible!” She sank to the floor, sobbing.§
Mom’s tears released Lochan’s own feelings. He abruptly left the table, rushed to his room, buried his head in the pillow and let out a long, mournful, almost inhuman wail. His parents looked at each other, helpless. Dad raised his eyebrows, inclining his head toward Lochan’s room, but Mom shook her head. “Not now. Let him cry.” Lochan’s sobbing continued for fifteen minutes.§
Dad looked at his wife, tears still streaming down her face. “What has happened to children these days? Why would he do something so drastic? I can’t imagine how his parents feel. It must have been his mother’s pills, she’s had such insomnia. Now she probably blames herself.”§
Mom hesitated for a moment, then shared, “She told me just two days ago she thought Joey was more upset than usual. She wanted me to ask Lochan about it. But I told her I was sure it would blow over. I never talked to Lochan. Maybe I could have found out something and stopped it. How can I ever face her now?”§
“I don’t know, I just don’t know. I’ll talk to Lochan after he settles down a bit.”§
At about 1am Dad went to his room. There had been silence for awhile, but he had heard rustling. “Can we talk about it?”§
His voice quivering, Lochan spoke hoarsely, “Not really, but I guess so.”§
“So, did you have any idea?”§
“None. All I know is we had a big fight after school today. That’s probably what sent him over the edge. I called him a loser and a buffoon, Dad.” §
“This is not your fault, Son.”§
“I knew you were going to say that. I’m going to hear that every day from everyone I see for the next two weeks. How do you know it wasn’t my fault?”§
“Okay,” consoled Dad. “How can we help then? You want some tea?” §
Lochan moaned, “No. I want to sleep.” §
There was a pause before Dad continued. “You remember the pranayama I taught you when you were younger, to calm yourself? Nine counts in, nine counts out?” §
“Yes. But I don’t know if I can even count to nine right now. I’ll probably get lost at six. Every second thought is buffoon or loser.”§
“We’ll do it together for a while. It will help us both. Breathe in, one ... two ... three ...”§
For the next twenty minutes the rhythmic counting served as a lullaby. Lochan calmed down and finally fell asleep. §
He awoke at 3am trembling, having dreamed he saw Joey floating in the darkness, not asleep, but not awake either. Lochan sat up in bed and started again with the pranayama, more upset now than ever. §
At breakfast, Dad offered, “Lochan, you can stay home today if you want to. That would be okay.”§
“No. I want to go. I think it’s better I go. Dad, I had a terrible dream about Joey. I saw him just floating in space, not dead, not alive. What did that mean?”§
“I had that experience once with a friend of mine who died in an accident. I asked Guruji about it. He explained that sometimes when someone dies, they don’t know they’re dead. The soul has separated from the body, but the person is confused, especially if they have no belief in reincarnation or any kind of afterlife. Guruji said there are people on the other side, the astral plane, whose job it is to ‘wake up’ these people and explain to them what has happened. I think you saw Joey, or Joey’s soul, in that state of suspended animation. I’ve read in Hindu books that after someone commits suicide, their soul goes into that state and might be stuck there for years. Suicide creates a different kind of experience than natural forms of death.”§
“So I guess his problems didn’t end when he killed himself.”§
“No, he just postponed the karma he was trying to escape. Now he will have to be reborn to face the same challenges again. That’s why Hinduism teaches so strongly against suicide. It doesn’t solve anything. And it creates a lot of grief for loved ones; that’s a karma, too.” §
The family finished breakfast without speaking again. As he left the house, Lochan broke the silence with the usual, “See you after school.” Somehow the morning routine made him forget for a minute what had happened. He walked down the street toward Joey’s house to meet up on the way to school, then snapped back to reality: Joey was dead.§
He had to stop at the house—there was no way not to—and say something to Joey’s mom. Remembering Dad’s advice on pranayama, he started to count in unison with his steps, breathe in one, two, three … six—as far as he could get on one breath. Then out one, two, three.” No question, it was helping, and he felt mostly collected when he reached the door.§
He knocked. When Mr. White opened the door, his surreal thought was to ask, as he always did, “Is Joey ready yet?” He clamped his mouth shut to keep the words unsaid.§
Joey’s dad threw his arms around Lochan and hugged him tightly. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. §
“Me, too.” §
Mr. White released him and Lochan stepped back.§
“How’s his mom?”§
“Not good, she hasn’t stopped crying. She blames herself for leaving the pills around, blames herself for not seeing it coming, just blames herself.”§
“I had a big argument with Joey yesterday. I think it was my fault,” Lochan choked out.§
Mr. White hugged him again. “No, Lochan, we found a journal he had been keeping. He had thought about this for a long time. Let’s not think about blame right now.”§
“I’m going to school today. I think I should be there.”§
“Bless you, son.”§
When he got back to the sidewalk, the breathing with the steps seemed to kick in automatically. He remembered his Dad’s soft voice from the night before, “One ... two ... three ...,” and felt grateful his parents could teach him things like this. §
School was nuts. Crazy nuts. Some kids knew of the tragedy, but most didn’t. Whispering, crying, shocked looks in abundance. Some adults he had never seen before were standing around watching and listening. He continued trying to concentrate on breathing. A mutual friend, Devon, came over and said, “Hey, man, I’m sorry about what happened. I know you were really close.” §
Lochan responded, “Don’t worry, I’m okay,” even though he didn’t feel okay at all. He just wanted to be left alone.§
Just then, Mrs. Jenkins, the school counselor, caught up with him and said kindly, “Come with me to my office, Lochan.”§
As they passed a group of boys, he overheard, “Hey, maybe we’ll get a day off.” Another boy said, “Sleeping pills! What a sissy way to die, he should‘ve gotten a gun and died like a man.” Mrs. Jenkins turned and gave the group a stern look. When she and Lochan got to her office, five other kids were already there, along with a stranger. Lochan sat in the last empty chair.§
Mrs. Jenkins spoke, “The staff met briefly this morning and decided to bring Joey’s closest friends together. Mr. Johnson will be making an announcement shortly to the whole school about what happened, just so rumors don’t fly about.” Then she turned to the stranger who was quietly watching them all. “This is Dr. Adams. He’s one of the school district’s psychologists and head of the district’s grief team. He’s here to help us—students and staff alike.”§
Lochan shook his head and asked, “You mean this happens so often the school district has a team to deal with it?”§
Dr. Adams didn’t respond.§
Lochan looked at him. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. We’re all thankful you are here.”§
He realized, perhaps for the first time, that he wasn’t the only person affected. There were dozens. He closed his eyes and began the pranayama.§
The principal, Mr. Johnson, announced over the PA system that Joey White had committed suicide the night before. A team of counselors would be at the school today and the rest of the week. §
Everyone looked to Dr. Adams. He spoke calmly. “I didn’t know Joey at all, or much about him, but I would like to. Maybe we can make our way around the room, and each of you can say a bit about him. That way if some other student approaches me, I’ll have a clue.” §
Mrs. Jenkins started. “I met Joey two years ago right here in my office. He came in quite a bit, off and on. I liked him, so intelligent, so intuitive. I think if we tossed out our roles here as teacher and student, he would have been my friend. Someone I would like as a friend.”§
When it was Lochan’s turn, all he could say was, “He was my best friend, until last night.” §
Soon they were sharing a few stories, some funny, some sad, all with the common denominator—Joey, and the fact that no one saw this coming.§
Dr. Adams then got down to some practical methods to help with grief. “I thought I would go over some basic breathing exercises that can help in these situations.”§
Lochan smiled and let out a chuckle. When Mr. Adams looked at him curiously, he explained, “I’m a Hindu. We call it pranayama. Breathing exercises. My dad got me using them last night to calm down and fall asleep. I used to do it more when I was younger. Like before tests and stuff.” §
“You’re probably going to teach me a thing or two then,” said Dr. Adams. “And all this time I thought I would have something important to pass on. You’ve already experienced how pranayama works?§
“Well, I did get some sleep last night. Without it, I probably wouldn’t have. Dad says the emotions are tied to the breath. When we get upset, our breathing changes, becoming irregular or harsh. It’s not obvious, but the reverse also works—calm the breath and the emotions follow. The breath is the one function in the body that we can consciously control, if we want, and takes care of itself the rest of the time. And when we control the breath, we control awareness at the same time. That’s what my dad says.”§
“Interesting. We psychologists know it works, but this is the first logical explanation I’ve heard as to how.”§
The session ended after another half hour. As the group left, Dr. Adams asked Lochan to stay. “If you don’t mind, can you also tell me the Hindu view on suicide? That’s something else I really should know.” §
“We believe in karma and reincarnation. After death, the soul does not disappear. It is born again and takes up where it left off. We all have certain karmas we need to experience, and they can’t be escaped by cutting our life short. We have to come back again, in another life, and face the same challenges again that led to the suicide.” He decided against explaining how Joey was in a miserable state in the afterlife; that might be a bit much for everyone in the room to process. Instead he asked, “How do you deal with people who blame themselves for a suicide? Isn’t it a fact that at least some of them are to blame?”§
“Tough question. In one case, a girl was driven to suicide by a highly critical mother. It was almost like a murder. Frankly, I had no idea how to deal with that one. I actually asked a judge friend of mine if there was a way to charge the mother. But, to answer you directly, yes, there is often plenty of blame to go around.”§
“I feel like this was my fault. Joey was my best friend, but yesterday we exchanged a lot of mean words. I called him a bunch of names. Four hours later he was dead. I can put two and two together.” §
Dr. Adams paused. “You know, normally I wouldn’t share this, but right now it just feels like I should.… Mrs. Jenkins feels it’s her fault, too.”§
Lochan asked, almost defiantly, “Why would she think that? She hardly knew him.”§
“Yes, she did. Yesterday she had to cancel a counseling appointment with him. An emergency came up with another student, so she canceled on Joey. I spent ten minutes with her this morning trying to convince her she is not to blame. That’s how these things are, Lochan. I bet you his mom thinks it’s all her fault. His dad, too. Probably a couple other students. Everyone close to him thinks it’s their fault. Thankfully, suicide is a rare response to the problems of life. As you point out, it doesn’t solve anything. I just hope after something like this everyone learns to be a bit more kind and understanding toward others.” §
That afternoon, classes slowly returned to normal. For Lochan, all reminders of Joey became reminders to breathe: his locker, the empty desk in science class, the graded test that Mr. Smart forgot to remove from the pile when he was handing them out. He mumbled an uncomfortable, “Oops” instead of “Joey.” But everybody noticed. Lochan wondered what Joey’s mark was, but didn’t ask. §
Joey was cremated the next day. His mother spread his ashes in the river that runs beside the town. The following Monday a public memorial was held for him at school. Lochan was asked to give a eulogy. He learned from Dr. Adams that a eulogy is a short testimony about a person’s life, usually personal stories that help everyone remember the deceased in a positive way. §
Over the weekend Dad and Lochan worked on summary notes for the talk. Lochan stood in front of a mirror and rehearsed. After Dad watched his son go through it once, with lots of emotional pausing, he instructed, “Same for this, watch your breathing.” §
The service was set for 2pm. Lochan looked up towards the school entrance, in front of the gym. He saw Joey’s parents and relatives enter just ahead of his own parents. The gym was packed but strangely quiet. This was no lively basketball game. Students and family had created a memorial shrine on a low platform, slightly above the wooden floor. He had never seen so many flowers around a picture in his life. But he couldn’t look. Instead, he stared at his notes and counted mentally, “One... two... three...”§
When Mr. Jenkins called Lochan’s name, he stood, walked past the shrine to the podium, laid out his notes, took a deep breath and began.§
“I met Joey White eleven years ago, when I was six.” Lochan talked about walking to school, the day in third grade they had skipped school together, the summer at Ocean City with Joey’s parents. He shared one of his friend’s favorite jokes: “Principal Johnson got a call one day. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘My daughter won’t be in school today,’ stated the caller. ‘May I know who this is?’ asked Mr. Johnson. ‘This is my mother speaking.’” Everyone groaned.§
“He was my friend, but I had a big fight with him the day he died. Why did I do that? I was almost bullying him, my friend, my best friend….”§
Lochan collected himself and continued, talking for almost ten minutes. He concluded by saying, “Goodbye, Buddy. I’ll really miss you.” §
Walking back to his seat past Joey’s mother, he saw her teary smile. When he sat down, Mrs. Jenkins leaned over and whispered, “That was just beautiful.” §
By the time the crowd dispersed, he had received several hugs from ladies he didn’t know. He asked Dad. “Is it okay if I walk home? I think I need some alone time.” §
Mrs. Jenkins looked worried. Dad knew what was on her mind. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Lochan’s OK.” §
As he walked along the familiar path alone, Joey thought back to the great times, the wonderful memories, and realized he could have talked for an hour back there. §
A gust of wind blew elm leaves on the path. He bent over, picked one up, and held it in his hand. The browned, forlorn edges had no life. He crunched it in his hand, feeling the crisp, dry remnants on his palm. Then he turned to the tree and closed his eyes. In his mind he saw the tree in spring, its vibrant leaves sending the smell of life-giving prana his way. Again he breathed a deep, steady breath, letting the moist fresh air fill his lungs. He opened his eyes, smiled and continued home. §
Mom and Dad were waiting at the table. The sweet smell of tea danced through the room.§
“How are you, Son?” §
“I’m fine, Dad, and thank you.”§
“For what? We only did what any loving parents would do.”§
“No, you did much more. You taught me pranayama, and that helped me get through this tragedy.”§
“That’s true. It does help calm the nerves, doesn’t it?”§
“It does a lot more than that, Dad. It allows you to be a watcher. When you breathe like that all day, you see things from a different perspective, perhaps a more spiritual perspective. I saw how everyone is different in grief. You watch, you learn. You don’t react so emotionally. Pretty cool, I would say.”§
Dad just nodded and sipped his tea. §
Before class the next morning, Lochan walked straight and steady down the long hallway to the drama office. The teacher looked up in surprise from his script-filled desk. §
“Do you need someone for the role of village idiot in the school play?” Lochan asked. §