"The Art of Smiling When the World Isn’t watching" is a tale of Manjiri, a spirited woman in the town of Darvila, battling high-functioning depression. Her seemingly perfect life hides a storm. As she navigates her emotions and relationships, readers are drawn into her world through reflection.
The façade
Darvila, nestled in the heart of the Eastern Ghats, could have been plucked straight out of a travel brochure. The town, with its cobbled streets and timeless air, was flanked by orchards bursting with mangoes, guavas, and jackfruits. Hibiscus bushes lined the pathways, their vibrant petals undeterred by the ceaseless drizzle.
And then there was me, Manjiri, a librarian by day and an invisible tempest by night.
“Manjiri, you make it all seem so easy!” Kavita exclaimed one afternoon over tea. Her perfect curls framed a face untouched by worry.
I smiled, the kind of smile practiced in front of mirrors for decades. “What can I say? Years of working with dusty books toughen you up.”
The truth was, I had mastered the art of appearing calm. My days were routine—opening the library’s mahogany doors, cataloging books with meticulous care, and slipping witty remarks into conversations.
But inside? It was as if I were sinking into quicksand, all the while waving cheerfully at passers-by.
Also read: Phantoms of August: A Hallucinatory journey through Bangladesh’s shadows
2. The library and its keeper
The Darvila Library was a relic of colonial times, with its wood-panelled walls, spiral staircases, and a peculiar smell that combined old paper and mildew. It was here I sought refuge, surrounded by the wisdom of Dickens and the melancholy of the Brontës.
My favourite corner held an armchair by the window. From there, I could watch rain trickling down hibiscus leaves, their resilience mocking my fragility.
“Mrs. Chowgule wants War and Peace, and she is in one of her moods,” grumbled Tara, my assistant.
“Let her have it,” I said, smirking. “Heavy reading for a heavy soul.”
Mrs. Chowgule, a formidable woman in her seventies, peered at me over her spectacles. “Your jokes are wasted here, child. You should try stand-up comedy.”
Ah, the irony.
Editor's pick: Whispers of the inner child: A love story with the self
3. Cracks begin to show
The first real crack appeared on a Tuesday. Tuesdays were uneventful, typically spent rearranging shelves and listening to rain drum against the roof. But that day, a patron pointed out that I had forgotten to process their return.
It was an innocent mistake, but the murmurs stung. “Isn’t Manjiri supposed to be the sharp one?”
That night, at home, I poured my unease into my journal:
"The river looks calm, but its depths are deadly."
Anant, my husband, found it on the coffee table. “Your poetry is improving,” he said, chuckling as he sipped his whisky—a bottle of Glenfiddich, his prized indulgence.
I forced another smile. “What can I say? Inspiration strikes.”
Must read: Sometimes, You Meet Someone Who Feels like home
4. The weight of the invisible
Evenings in Darvila were usually serene. The town was a symphony of crickets, rustling leaves, and distant temple bells. But inside my mind, the noise was deafening.
Dinner with Anant and our two children was a ritual, punctuated by half-hearted pleasantries. That day, I tried to broach the subject of my struggles.
“I have been feeling… off lately,” I began, picking at my food.
Anant looked up, concern flickering briefly before being replaced by dismissal. “Everyone feels off sometimes. You just need to relax.”
The children nodded, distracted by their phones.
It hit me like a blow—I was invisible even to those closest to me.
5. Nature's solace
The next day, I sought solace in Darvila’s orchards. The air was thick with the scent of guava, and the ground was a patchwork of fallen mangoes. I wandered aimlessly until I reached the riverbank.
Amma’s voice echoed in my mind: “The heaviest rains always leave the brightest blooms.”
Amma, who had been the only one to see through my bravado, was long gone. But her words lingered like a balm on my aching soul.
6. The letter
Frustrated by the futility of speaking to my family, I penned an anonymous letter to the editor of the Darvila Gazette.
"To the world, I am the perfect picture of composure. But inside, I am crumbling. How many others wear smiles that hide storms?"
I mailed it and thought little of it—until the letter was published the following week.
“Did you read this?” Kavita asked, waving the paper in my face. “It is heartbreaking.”
I nodded, pretending to be just as moved as she was.
7. An unexpected reply
Days later, I found a note slipped into the library’s suggestion box.
"Your words touched me deeply. Please know you are not alone. Let’s meet—no names, no judgments. Just listening."
The note was signed with a simple initial: R.
Intrigued and desperate, I agreed.
8. Meeting R
We met at a quiet tea shop on the outskirts of town. R turned out to be Revati, a retired schoolteacher with kind eyes and a firm handshake.
“You wrote that letter?” she asked.
I hesitated, then nodded.
“You are braver than you know,” she said, her voice steady.
For hours, we talked. Revati shared her own battles with grief after losing her husband, and I poured out years of pent-up emotion.
9. Seeking help
Encouraged by Revati, I booked a session with Dr. Payal, a therapist who came highly recommended. It was terrifying at first, peeling back layers of my carefully constructed façade.
Anant joined one session reluctantly but gradually began to understand.
“I didn’t realise…” he began, guilt etched into his features.
“You weren’t supposed to,” I replied softly.
10. The bloom after the rain
As the weeks turned into months, the storm inside me began to quiet. I started a diary series, “Letters to Myself,” sharing my journey anonymously in the Gazette.
To my surprise, the letters resonated with readers. Strangers began leaving notes in the library, thanking me for giving voice to their struggles.
Epilogue: The art of smiling for real
Darvila’s skies were clear the day I realised I was smiling—not the practised smile of old, but one born of genuine peace.
The hibiscus flowers swayed in the breeze as if nodding in approval.
I was not cured, but I was healing. And that, I realised, was enough.
Frequently Asked Questions
What is high-functioning depression?
A condition where individuals mask their symptoms behind a façade of normalcy.- How can one help someone struggling silently?Listen without judgment and encourage professional help.
Which invisible rules have you been following?
Imagine that nobody ever taught you a formal rule about relationships, but you absorbed one anyway.
You learned that you should always be strong. You learned to avoid inconvenient emotions. You learned to wait for other people to notice that something was wrong rather than risk asking directly for support.
Eventually, these habits can begin to resemble personality traits. You call yourself private, self-sufficient, or low-maintenance. Those descriptions may be partly true, but sometimes they conceal needs that have gone unacknowledged for years.
Consider these possible beliefs:
The belief
How it might appear in daily life
A more flexible alternative
“I must be useful to be loved.”
You offer help but struggle to receive it.
“My presence has value beyond what I provide.”
“If someone cares, they will know what I need.”
You feel hurt when others fail to notice your distress.
“I can communicate my needs without making them less meaningful.”
“Rejection proves I am unworthy.”
You avoid invitations or vulnerable conversations.
“Rejection hurts, but it does not define my entire worth.”
“I should be able to handle everything alone.”
You delay asking for support until you are overwhelmed.
“Independence includes knowing when collaboration helps.”
“I am too much for other people.”
You minimise your feelings and hide difficult experiences.
“I can seek people who have the capacity and willingness to listen.”
These alternatives are not magical affirmations. They are more balanced statements that leave room for evidence, context, and change.
You do not have to believe every alternative immediately. Start by asking whether your existing belief is always true, whether it protects you in every situation, and what it costs you to keep following it.
For more inspiring insights, subscribe to the YouTube Channel at Tushar Mangl!
Tushar Mangl, Energy Healer and Author of The Avenging Act. Writes on personal finance, Vastu, mental health, food, leisure, and a greener, better society.
Comments