The Madness Within

Episode 1- The entrée

It was a dark, silent night, punctuated only by an occasional bark of a dog, or footsteps of a beggar. But suddenly, a new set of footsteps could be heard. Several new steps. All new sounds were hurried, as if several steps are chasing someone. From a small distance, the sound of someone breathing heavily could also be heard. Some time later, with utmost predictability, the sounds stopped, and were replaced by new ones which included someone slapping, a cry of pain and a hush of whisper. On straining closer, a rough, dreamy voice was heard to be saying, “Believe me sir. That man had plans to murder me. He used to follow me daily to my home and watch me even when I would in bathroom. Please. I had to kill him. I had no choice!” The voice started crying. Crying out aloud, as if to seek divine help. None descended and the others, obviously the police, dragged him to their jeep. The silence of the night returned, only to be punctuated by the wailing siren of the police car.

“Hello. Is this Dr Poonam? This is Sub Inspector Shirsath talking.”

“Yes, its me. What happened?”

“Ma’am, we have a murderer here who appears to be crazy. Can you check him and give your opinion?”

“First of all, you do not call them crazy!” she thundered, “And secondly, I am attached to JG group of hospitals. You may send your prisoner there with adequate security cover.” Saying this, she put the phone down.

“Damn it!” Shirsath muttered. He hated doctors and Dr Poonam was just giving him a new headache. The older headache was rattling the bars of his cell in his jail, shouting, “Let me out! Let me out! These walls are full of monsters ready to eat me!”  Cursing under his breath, he walked into the cell and ordered the constables to tie that man down and gag his mouth, humane treatment of th mentally be damned. He was sick of the constant rattling, crying and shouting of the mad murderer. “Just one more day,” he thought, with the drawl of his cigarette relaxing him, “just one more day of this madness.” Oh dear, he absolutely had no idea.

It was a long wait outside Dr Poonam’s clinic the next day. From the depressed to the oppressed, from the alcoholics to the druggies; they were all there. And in the middle of them all was the mad murderer, all chained up and surrounded by the police. Dr Poonam conducted the preliminary history taking, examination and followed it up with various tests devised to assess the mind. She came up with one conclusion, “Paranoid schizophrenia. He is suffering from a mental disorder that will make him think that everybody else is out to kill him or harm him in some way. And he will go to any extreme to negate that ‘risk’, even murder the person. I think he committed the murder under its influence.”

“Will you depose your statement in court?” Shirsath asked.

“Yes, I will. Further, I advise that he be admitted in our psychiatric ward. We will keep him in isolation room. Don’t worry.”

“Fine then. See you soon ma’am. And thank you for your help,” Shirsath offered a cold handshake that Dr Poonam didn’t care to reciprocate.

Somewhere else, in a typical hideout

It was a night of wil celebration. Jaggi and his gang had just pulled off the biggest supaari, contract killing of their lives by bumping off the Czar of jewellary business, Mr Rudrashish Majumdar. Their only worry was that their man, Shyam had been arrested by police. Jaggi was worried what might happen if Shyam decided to spill the beans. The educated ones are softer and less resistant to physical torture, the gang members told him. But he was insistent on hiring Shyam for the contract killing business. For one, the man was trained in Police Institute and held a degree in Forensic Psychiatry. And the second, and more important reason, he was angry with the government after his father had died in a train accident and the government did literally nothing. It was a deadly combination- a man with the right knowledge, training and anger all mixed in one violent mind.

But there were no news from him for the two days after the murder. Events of the murder were all over the place and the media reported that Rudrashish was killed by a ‘mad murderer’. Jaggi frowned. Shyam was anything but mad. He was the smartest guy he had met, and the smoothest of talkers and swiftest of killers. Just when doubts had begun to creep in his mind, he reeceived a text message from an unknown number: “Police can’t arrest me. I will be proven a mad man in the court and will be admitted in a mental hospital for sometime. Plan my escape from there. – Shyam”

A jubilant Jaggi called his minions and gave them a lecture on why the boss (in this case, himself) should alwaysbe right, and his decision to hire the educted murderer was the best in gang business.

“So boss, how will we free him?” Chintu, one of the minions asked.

“Are you crazy Chintu? Who said we will free him? Do you want rival gangs to mock  us for keeping a crazy man? He thougt his craziness is his escape plan. Wrong. He might have been the most educated, but I am still the smartest guy here. He as unwittingly ensured our safety. Now even if he spills out our names in court, nobody would believe a mad man, right? No. He will stay in that mental hospital. We can always hire another killer!”

Episode 2- The course

The doctor walked up to the man staring empty space, and tapped his shoulder.

“So, come again about the voices you hear.”

“Sir,” he whispered, “they’re terrifying. Sometimes they shout, scream, bite at me. The next moment, they are soothing, reassuring. But I am truly terrified when they threaten me!”

“Threaten you? With what?”

He stared. He stared into emty space all around the doctr. And then, he stared right into the doctor’s eyes. He kept on staring till the doctor’s eyes began to burn. Tearing himself away from the mad, yet mesmeric gaze, the doctor asked again, “What do they threaten you with?” He leaned closer to the doctor’s ear and whispered, “Murder!” Saying this he screeched out loud, a voice barely resembling the laughter he intended to produce. Stung from the experience, the doctor walked away, scribbling away his daily notes.

It was a daily routine at JG Asylum for the Mentally Challenged. The inmate, Shyam, would scare the daylights out of most of the young doctors who would try to examine him. Only Dr Poonam was able to contain him, that too only fleetingly. The inmate was clearly proving to be a bigger headache than most expected. Inwardly, Shyam smiled. His plan was woring perfectly. Almost perfectly, that is. He was waiting for Jaggi to come and rescue him. When the ‘security’ arrangements includes a door with a rusted lock, guarded by an anemic ward boy, escape doesn’t seem so difficult. It was not so much a question of how, as it was of when.

“Here, take these medications,” the nurse handed over a couple of pills to Shyam. He stared at her blankly for some time, then took the drugs. Slowly, he moved the hand towards his mout, as if to swallow the pills. Then all of a sudden, he threw the pills at the nurse and laughed aloud, hysterically. Terrified, the nurse ran away. Shyam was perfectly evading the anti psychotics. But, what did they say about perfect plans? Something like, perfect plans don’t exist.

“His psychosis is increasing daily ma’am. He doesn’t allow us to examine him, behaves violently and always murmurs about strange sounds in his head threatening to kill him,” Dr Tejasvi, first year psychiatry resident said. Dr Poonam nodded. She had heard all sorts of reports about their new patient. Clearly, he required medications to suppress his violent behaviour or an ECT, in her opinion. But before that, he needed a trial of anti-psychotics. Dismissing her juniors, she sat down and devised of a plan to give him the drugs. It was cruel, and beyond the prescribed course of textbook, but to her, it seemed the only alternative.

“Hey where’s my food?” a clearly agitated Shyam asked the ward boy.

“Your food has been witheld. From now on, you will only receive multivitamin tablets till your vitamin levels are normal,” replied the ward boy, a script drilled intohis brain by Dr Poonam.

“Bullshit! Vitamin levels? You think I am mad?” an angrly Shyam retaliated. The ward boy merely smiled and said, “Everyone here is, my friend. Now take your tablets and go to sleep.” Shyam threw the tablets away in an instant and, ignoring the growls in his stomach, he went to sleep. The plan wasn’t going exactly as he had planned. It was getting worse for him daily. In his gut, a feeling sank that Jaggi might not come to his rescue after all, and he might havto find a way out of this hell by himself. It was difficult, if not an impossible task.

“Shyam,” He whispered, “for how long will you suffer in this shit? Take the pills,earn the confidence of the doctor and run away!”

“Are you crazy?” the Other one whispered. These are mind altering drugs. How can he take them when he doesn’t need them?”

“But then, they will administer an ECT to him. Is that okay? He will lose his memory! Shyam, take the fucking pills!” He ordered.

“No Shyam! Don’t listen to this idiot. Don’t touch the pills!” the Other one shouted.

“Shut up you both!” Shyam shouted out aloud. Realizing he was alone and his shouting would only make him look worse, he stopped. His hands were trembling with cold, as they approched towards the pills. Maybe they were really only multivitamins. Maybe they were anti psychotics. It was almost as if both his cerebral lobes were fighting against each other. He wanted to believe something else, and he knew that what he wanted to believe was false. With trembling hands, he picked up a tablet and swallowed it. A moment later, he did not feel any different. It was just as if he had swallowed a multivitamin. The part of his brain wanting to believe the multivitamin story was giddy with happiness, but the other part, the one which knew, was worried. It was a conflict and the clear loser was Shyam’s consciousness, as he, struggling with the dilemma, fell down and went to sleep…

…only to wake up after twelve hours. When he woke up, there were more pills near his door. Gingerly, he lifted them up and swallowed them, still not sure what to believe. Monitoring his movements ono the CCTV, Dr Poornima smiled inwardly. The cruel, but effective plan was successful.

“Listen you idiot!” He whispered, “This Jaggi fellow isn’t gonna come to save your ass. If you want to escape, you must do it yourself.”

“Ssssh. Don’t listen to him. He wants you to murder that guard and run way. You will be caught in any case?” the Other one argued.

“Look at him! The eternal defeatist! Ha! You will rot here if you follow his advice!” He scoffed.

Voices, voices, everywhere, and not a voice to think.

Shyam woke up after an unknown period of time and found  himself alone in the solitary room, and yet, the silly voices inside his head refused to cease.

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” He shouted aloud, beating his head with a fist. The guard aught this behaviour on CCTV and alerted Dr Poonam immediately.

Some time later, four ward boys entered Shyam’s room. The tallest one asked Shyam to sit on the wheelchair they had brought. Tired with constant argument in his head, he was too weak to argue with the ward boy, and he slouched on the wheelchair. They carried him out of the cell, across a long corridor, to a room at the end of the corridor. On the top of the room it was written “ECT Room”. Shyam was terrified. Truly terrified. He sprang up and fell on one of the wardboys’ feet and shouted, “Please, please. I am not mad! I am not crazy. It was all acting on my part. Please save me. I don’t want electric shock!” The wardboy lifted him and threw him back on his wheelchair. The he laughed and said, “Har paagal apne aap ko seedha hi kehta hai!” Every madman claims to be sane. He was pushed inside the room where the anesthetist was preparing the general anesthesia required for ECT.

“No, no, no! Please! PLEASE!” He cried, but to no avail. It was then that Dr Poonam intervened.

“Stop,” she ordered tersely, “and send the patient to my room.” Moments later, Shyam’s wheelchair rolled inside Dr Poonam’s room. She looked at him squarely and said in a stern tone, “Tell me the truth.”

Shyam gulped. He was helpless now. Speak the truth and he’d be in jail. Lie and his brains would be fried.

“Ma’am, it was all a plan. I feigned schizophrenia to escape the law. But it seems my acting was way too realistic. My boss, who was supposed to save me, ran away. It seemed a perfect plan, but…” Shyam sobbed.

“But perfect plans don’t exist, do they?” Dr Poonam replied stoically. Ten minutes later, Shirsath and his team surrounded the facility.

It made a view for the newspapers, a gangly, dirty, unkept man, all chained from head to toe being dragged out of a mental institution by the police in a police van. It seemed like the end of Shyam’s story.

But wait. Shyam was an explosion waiting to happen. An explosion couldn’t fizzle out so easily.

Episode-3 The just dessert

It is often a source of comfort, sometimes boredom to be stuck in a routine. Only rarely it is a terrifying proposition. But when the routine involves daily beatings, abuses and food being thrown on face thrice a day, one does not blame the terrified. Shyam was ne such man. Ever since he was shifted to the jail, he was tortured on a daily basis, with hope that he would spill out the truth. But he repeatedly said the same line, “Sir, they told me to do so, the voices!” Cue: more thrashings.

“You fool! Why are you rotting in the prison while that ass Jaggi is roaming in the streets?” He whispered in a rasping voice.

“Because he has no option. He cant escape from here,” the Other one replied calmly.

“Shut up you loser! You murdered your way in the jail, now murder your way out!” He ordered.

“No Shyam! Don’t listen to Him. He is a fool, a liar. He told you to murder Rudrashish in the first place, didn’t he?” the Other One retaliated.

“NO! NO! NO! Please get out of my head you sick bastards!” Shyam shouted. It didn’t help, of course, Only that the calculated whsiperings dispersed into more generalized noises. He clutched his head and leaned down on his hunches, the voices filling his head with their incoherent, indiscernible noise. He had no clue what was happening around him. And then, the noises stopped. His brain was clear once again, like a month old stain being wiped off in an instant. Only one voice spoke in his head- his own. Or perhaps that was what he perceived as his own.

“Shyam, listen to me. You go straight to the guard, steal the keys and run away. Simple as that,” a calm voice instructed him. Shyam followed the instructions almost robotically and walked upto the guard, who was snoring, deep in his sleep. He slid his hand into the guard’s pocket and caught hold of a metallic object. Slowly, he withdrew his hand from the pocket. Just as he was about to take it fully, the old rasping voice was back. He was back. He whispered “Put down the keys. Put them down. The guard will wake up and catch you!” With trembling hands, he followed what He said. He was about to put it back when the calm voice resurfaced, “Shyam, pull it out. You can do it. Its your ticket to freedom!”

“No Shyam! Don’t!” He said

“Hahaha!Look who is a failure now!” the Other one smirked.

“Don’t listen to them Shyam, listen to me,” the calm voice ordered.

And once again, with his hand in the guard’s pocket, his mind was thrown into a whir of voices, all unrecognizable and incognizable.

“STOP IT!!!” he shouted, and his hand which was inside the guard’s pocket, tightened a little. Not entirely knowing what lay there, Shyam was somewhat surprised to hear an explosion which deafened him temporarily. He was even more surprised to see blood coming out of the guard and seeing the guard writhe in pain. It was then that he withdrew his hand out of the pocket, and found himself holding a revolver- the guard’s service revolver. It was the last thing he saw before he was hit on the head by the police and lost consciousness.

It made big news, obviously, an inmate killing a guard and not even trying to escape. What made bigger news were the sights of the prisoner holding his head repeatedly and speaking to an imaginary person. Ofcourse, everybody said, he was acting this time, like he did previously. Nobody was going to be fooled twice by the same act.

He was sentenced solitary confinement for fourteen years. Even today, if you manage to pass by his solitary confinement cell, you could hear someone shouting, “ Shut up you four!” or on some days, “ Shut up you all! Why are ten people yelling at me at the same time?” or sometimes, “Save me! Save me! Take your iron horn and break down the door. Please!” If you take pity and think of entering the cell, hold back. Because, on some days, he also sees Jaggi all around in his cell. Those days can be marked by blood spilling out from his cell. A busy day for the prison doctor.

Trying to escape the punishment of his sin,

Shyam, my firend, got caught by the Madness within.

The Not so beautiful game

The IPL just ended, and the FIFA football world cup is about to begin. It’s a ‘sporting’ summer, and yet, here I am, discussing about a game which we all play; a game in which we all can be world champions if we want to. I am talking of the Blame Game.

The past couple of months witnessed a political storm. Even Alfred of Batman fame couldn’t have seen this storm coming. Key issues were raised, important discussions held, leaders projected and promises made. The nation’s economy was in shambles, internal security and defense were in hands of incompetents and the country was supposedly run by a woman whose greatest qualification was that she was the wife of an ex-PM. It was time for change, and we all agreed to it. However, what we did after that was very typical. We decided to elect one person who promised a lot- growth, economy, development, stability, and decided that he and only he will be responsible for converting India into a developed nation. Like a magician producing a rabbit out of a hat, and the audience applauding.

I live in Gujarat, where Modi has undoubtedly a huge following. To his credit, Modi has done a fantastic job here, and we expect him to continue the same at a national scale too. But, does our duty end with voting for our candidate (in most gujaratis’case, it was Modi.)? A couple of days ago, I saw a man roll down the window of his sparkling Audi and spit out a flurry of red paan liquid on the road. Probably he would have voted for Modi. I saw a man break the traffic signal and try to run over the traffic cop who dared to stop him. He could have even run over him if the cop hadn’t jumped at the right moment. Probably he too voted for Modi. Daily we see people jumping queues, breaking laws, creating chaos. Most of them would have voted for Modi. Are they contributing to the developed India they all voted for? Or they are becoming a hindrance to it?

The current electricity problem in Delhi is well known now. The first thing everybody did was to find out whom to blame. The Aam Aadmi Party blamed the BJP. BJP blamed them back. Supporters of both parties are currently engaged in a Facebook feud, and might be privately blaming Mark Zuckerberg for inventing Facebook. I am not justifying BJP here, but why are people so quick to blame each other when anything goes wrong? The nadir was when some Aam Aadmi Party supporters were blaming the Indian public for electing BJP. Seriously?

But this is not limited to the political sphere. When we were in school, many of our Social Sciences lessons would have sentences like “India is a poor country because the British looted us for 200 years.” It made me think even back then, that India has been independent for half a century. How does the British empire still contribute to our poverty? I realized it much later that the textbook are written by diktats of the ruling government, and the government too needs someone to blame. Today, we blame ‘Western influences’ for everything bad, including and not limited to rapes, eve teasing, drugs, alcoholism. Indeed! What were the parents doing when the ‘Western influences’ were influencing their honest-to-God child? Probably they were busy having the late night dose of alcohol, or were probably fighting each other.

I often come across worried mothers who say that they are changing the tuition teacher of their 10 year old kids because the child in question isn’t getting 95%. I once told one such lady that my mother used to teach me till I was 15. And then I entered the world of tuitions for the first time. And no, there was no pressure on me to get 95% (nor did I ever get that score). She was surprised. Apparently she had one less person to blame for her child’s “failure”. And the students are no less either. They might be loitering all day in the ‘hangouts’ but if they don’t score well, they will first blame the teacher. Interesting blame game, this one.

The more we think about it, the more deep the problem seems to be. Why do we blame? Psychologically, there is a ‘defense mechanism’ called Projection in which a person will ‘project’ the ‘socially unacceptable’ occurrences on another person. It helps us justify our own minds that we are not at fault. I have come across people with all kinds of physical handicaps, and to my surprise they seemed to be happier than their normal counterparts. Partly because they had no one to blame for their condition and had accepted it as it was. I had experienced it first hand during my MBBS days. For the first two years, my health was constantly a problem, hindering the studies. I still managed to pass with a decent score in every exam. Once the health was back to normal, I found myself without a reason to blame, in case I performed poorly. It was the loss of a ‘backup’ that hit me and my performance after being healed completely was my worst in two years.

And when we fail in all our endeavors to blame a person, we blame God. Because, He is the one who created us all, and hence He should be the one accountable to us all. Many of us feel that God didn’t do enough for them. Wrong. God created most of us equals. We didn’t make use of the opportunities that came our way. God and blaming has another off-shoot. The terrorists of one religion often blame the other religions and try to attack their peaceful followers. God didn’t create violence. All religions preach peace. It is the followers who get violent.

I would like to end this by taking the readers back to first pitch of the Blame Game, politics, with this quote-

“Democracy is a process by which people select a new person to blame for five years.”

Why blame anybody, when we can analyze where we went wrong and pick up from there? Why blame the existing or past governments when we do not contribute to even basic civic sense? Why blame the teacher when the students don’t prepare well? Why blame God when we could have done better?

The Perils of Development

It was a really awkward day for this Bihar correspondent of ours, when he stumbled upon a group of people celebrating holi, a couple of days before the actual festival. Puzzled by this, he went ahead and asked them the reason for this bizarre behavior. One of them adjusted a heavy gold chain around his neck, and came forward and replied, “Our state has now been declared backward! Now, we will receive help from the Central government so that we can also become rich!” Wondering why people should celebrate upon being labeled backward, he contacted a person from the CM office. The man was obviously elated. He revealed the reason, “We really pity developed states like Gujarat, whose CM speaks about the development of his state, but has his dinners cancelled by American Universities. Look at our CM. He declared to the whole world how poor and backward we are. And look how much he has achieved!”

Upon contacting the Ministry of Human Resources, their spokesperson declared that in the light of recent events, like how only the poor get entry into reality shows, and also develop sufficient knowledge to win knowledge based shows, the Ministry is considering a new borderline to define the poor. This new borderline will include most of the Indians, except the Tatas, Birlas and Ambanis below the poverty line. As a result, India will be the poorest, and hence, the most aided nation in the world. He also stated that the first rank in school will be given to the student scoring the least so that he would soon become sincere.

“Social impact? Hahaha!” the spokesperson laughed upon being asked about the same, and said, “It’s a cyclic process. Those who are developed now, will soon become backward as all the funds and help will go to backward states. And then, they will ask for help. Like this, we will have a constant number of backward states, and we will also develop a lot of states,” he replied in a triumphant smile.

Puzzled by this entire logic, the correspondent contacted the CMO of Gujarat for their comments. However, the spokesperson stated that Modi cannot be reached since he is lunching with a Japanese delegation. Oh, the perils of development!

Indian Society- a perspective

Before embarking on the adventurous exploration of a multi-hued entity such as the Indian society, let us see what a ‘society’ constitutes. The word is bandied about so freely that it can mean virtually anything, right from our immediate neighbors to some unknown person sitting thousands of miles away. It is supposed to be a group of people who are so concerned about us that our every step is supposed to elicit a reaction from them. We all think, before doing anything, “What will the society think?” So, a society is our invisible censor, our unseen reviewer and an indiscernible rewarder.

Our own society, remember, is much more than that. It is the way we think, our psyche, a mirror to our own selves. Our society is a reflection of who we really are. And that might not always be a pretty picture. From what we have observed recently, there is a lot of pervasive negativism. Our list of celebrities includes a porn star, an ex-moll of a gangster, a neurotic and a stripper. Soon, probably a match-fixer will join in. We accept anyone, as far as they donor affect us directly. So, watching Sunny Leone gyrate on vulgar songs is acceptable, but talking about sex education is a taboo. We are a society that bans young girls from wearing jeans because it entices men to rape, but gleefully ogle at the latest Poonam pandey video. We are a society that has the cleanest homes and the dirtiest streets. Metaphorical? Probably.

But, there must be something good about our society, right? Otherwise, how would anyone explain its massive stature, its power to dictate our actions and its ruthlessness in ostracizing those who do not toe its line?  The ‘good’ here refers to the comfort of the majority. The Indian society functions on the perceived majority opinion. So, anyone who obeys the conventional, the traditional is a part of the society, and anyone who doesn’t is a rebel, a rotten apple or a bad fish. But, as HenrikIbsen would tell you in An enemy of people, “The majority is never right. Never, I tell you. That’s one of these lies in society that no free and intelligent man can help rebelling against. Who are the people that make up the biggest proportion of the population- the intelligent ones or the foolish?”Probably he is right. Perhaps not. But, in order to understand the psyche of Indian society, one must try to decode how it functions.

A lot of people say that India is a cultural melting pot. This is where they are wrong. In a melting pot, all the ingredients lose their flavor to become one, to taste the same. And that taste might be absolutely delicious, but nobody will know which ingredient contributed what. India, actually, is like a salad bowl. Its every ingredient retains its distinct flavor and yet the taste of the full dish is equally delicious. So, a society that accepts Sunny Leone is also the same that accepts two great contemporary Pakistani singers- Atif Aslam and AdnanSami! For now, let us observe some of the quirks that set us apart from the rest of the world.

An interesting mirror to any society in the world, and including our own, is its cinema. Over the decades, our cinema, and more importantly, the antagonist of our movies has been a mirror to our societal trends. So, from 50s to 90s, the archetypical villain ranged from a greedy landlord to wealthy industrialist to a mafia don to ‘rich’ parents. All through, one thread was common- the villain was never poor. It indicates a general mistrust of us Indians towards the rich. We felt so angry and disillusioned when the recent match fixing scandal came up. Most of us said that the ‘money’ was the root of all evils, no matter how clichéd it sounded. But the same people never hesitate to offer or receive a bribe. But it’s acceptable as the amount exchanged is relatively paltry. When people are doing scams of hundreds of millions, where does a hundred rupee bribe hurt? So, we explore another side- our society can accept evil, depending upon the magnitude.

While we are exploring foundations, let’s explore another fascinating facet- religion. The word tends to evoke extreme reactions from all quarters. The atheists will be condemned by the believers who will condemn each other for believing in a God different from theirs. Yes, we all Indians have our own Gods. And we all have our own rituals to appease our Gods. And no matter how much we hold Them in reverence, They are also our favorite punching bag when things go wrong. Why do we tend to accuse the same One whom we pray fervently? Is it because we need someone to blame for our failures? If it’s true, then who better than God, whom nobody has seen, at least physically? But, there is something about religion that attracts us all. And that is something we all crave for- peace of mind. And that is the biggest strength of our society. We have Someone to turn to in the times of distress. We know there is Someone who will hold our hands and guide us, should we fall wayward. And that is the biggest strength of our society, perhaps the superglue that holds us all. A belief in the power that is beyond us. In India, our religion decides our name. Our religion decides our marriage. And our religion decides what will happen to us after we die. The very identity of most Indians is their religion, and that gives a distinct flavor to every Indian.

From the highs of heaven to a mystifying malady that we all suffer from- Akinetic mutism. No, not the actual medical syndrome, but just a curious variant of the same. In the original disease, a person can hear, see everything, but lacks the ability to mount a response. In the variant, people drive by someone who is injured on the road, and don’t do anything about it. People who didn’t rush to help a rape victim suffered from it. People who don’t raise their voice when subject to injustice suffer from it. And our society is full of such silent sufferers. The reason afforded is often that one should ‘adjust’ and move on. This curious case of every Indian is the reason that we have crimes against women, corrupt leaders and arrogant administrators. Because everyone who commits a crime, knows he can get away scot-free, since the people will be too busy being busy. Napoleon was right on target when he said that “The world suffers a lot, not because of the violence of bad people. But because of the silence of the good.” And, the values of non-violence being instilled in our veins, we always remain ‘good’, and let the evil rear its ugly head, praying that we be spared.

Our society needs change. And that change will not come from a superhero, but from within. We need to accept that our society, while being great, is far from perfect, and as its future components, we have to make sure it changes for the better. George Bernard Shaw echoes a similar sentiment when he says, “We must reform society before we can reform ourselves.”

Thirsty Land

A stretch of land, barren and parched,

Beholding a spectre of dark

Seeks soothage from the sweet scent

Which promises of rain does hark.

Years of use has made it bereft

Of all juice, life and will.

Whispering wishes of a wet whet

The barren land awaits its first till.

A breeze blows, gentle and cool

Carrying with it promises of rain

Recourse of relief ran through the land

On prospect of freedom from the dry pain.

Ah! An answer to the prayers,

The droughty mind of mine is drenched.

The drops of Divine blessings descend,

The cloud of Almighty showered, the earth of my soul is quenched.

-Shivam'da'

The Dissociation

Friends, here is a psychological thriller which is bound to set you thinking. Now avoiding further cliches, lets straight jump to the story. ;-)

A perfect life- well, that’s an illusion most of the human beings chase throughout their lives. What they do not know is that they are merely chasing the metaphorical gold at the end of the rainbow. Little do they realize how disappointed they will eventually be, when they won’t find their promised paradise. Well, this is not a metaphysical discussion on the finer aspects of happiness, of course! But allow me to indulge for a while. No? Okay, let’s meet a fascinating person to begin our story.

Ruttuja could feel her heart thumping. He was coming! It was only the fourth time that they were going out, but he had swept her completely off the feet. It wasn’t his liquid eyes, which spoke a lot, nor his silken voice or his gift of words, but his mere aura when he would sit beside him had made Ruttuja fall head over heels in love. As a psychologist, her mind should have analyzed him more. But love is a feeling that transcends the mind. It had all started six months ago, when Shyam had walked to her and asked her the address of Connaught place. It would not have been strange and funny if they were not standing right at the Connaught place itself. Realizing his foolishness, he smiled sheepishly and mumbled forgiveness. And then, he suddenly turned back and asked her to join him for a coffee, as he was alone. A nervous Ruttuja replied that her boyfriend was waiting for her.

“I know you are single, alone and half-thinking of joining me now,” he said calmly, his liquid eyes piercing into hers. He was right, and half hour later, they were both laughing they time away, sipping cold coffee and chocolate milk shake. It was the beginning of their story. It only progressed further over the next two meetings, at Connaught place again, when they slipped hands into one another and locked eyes, gazing at each other for long periods until their eyes started burning.

Ruttuja glanced at her watch. He was late, again! He had this annoying habit of turning up late and changing her annoyance into love. And she could feel it blossoming again as Shyam alighted from his car and walked towards her and embraced her tightly. It was one of the most secure and safe moments of her life, being in the strong arms of someone she truly loved.

“I love you, Ruttu!” Shyam whispered in her ear as he put her down.

“I love you too sweetheart!” she cooed back.

“Listen, I want to marry you!”

“What?” Ruttuja was shocked. She didn’t expect him to talk of marriage so soon. She was yet to inform her parents about Shyam.

“Yes, I am serious. I will be transferred to another place soon. And I don’t want to leave Delhi without my love.”

Ruttuja considered her options. Convincing her parents was not an issue. They would not stop her if they found Shyam to be a decent, cultured man that he already was, and with a fat pay package that he already had. But she needed to be sure of it first. Oh, if only she had Netri beside her. She would have known what to do. But, the mere thought of Netri brought out tears from her eyes.

“What happened darling? If you are not sure about this, lets not do it,” Shyam said, wiping her tears.

“That’s not the matter honey. I am missing Netri, my best friend.”

“Why? Where is she now?”

“No more. She was brutally murdered by her ex-boyfriend last year. I can still see her face, her beautiful face bloodied by that animal who cut her head off! She hadn’t shown me his photo either. Wanted it to be a surprise. And now…” Tears welled up in her eyes again.

Shyam sat down. He knew it would not be appropriate to interfere. He kissed her on the forehead and said, “Sweetheart, probably she will guide you from the heavens above. Ask your heart, and it will give you the right answer.”

Time passed, nay, flew by. A fortnight had passed since Shyam’s proposal. Ruttija finally mustered enough courage to ask her parents. As expected, they first asked about Shyam’s job, his pay, his family. Ruttuja replied that he was an orphan, and worked in a multinational company with a five figure salary. The credentials seemed to satisfy Ruttuja’s father and he told his beaming daughter to call her chosen one for lunch the following day.

“Hey Shammu!” Ruttuja cooed.

“Yes, Ruttu!”

“I talked to dad, and guess what? He has agreed to meet you tomorrow for lunch!”

“That’s really great, Ruttu. I am confident our relation will go all the way!”

“Me too, sweetu!”

It would be too much saccharine to describe the meeting between the prospective father-in-law and the prospective son-in-law. But, sticking to the traditions, most of the laughs were artificial, most smiles fake and most compliments appeasing. However, it is the expected behavior and usually, the conventional stands a chance in the society of the unthinking. To cut the long story short, Ruttuja’s father gave his consent for the relation and the engagement was fixed a week later.

The stage was set. The partners-to-be were ready. She was blushing, he was beaming at her. Shyam didn’t have many friends in Delhi except his room partner at the apartment. It he who had selected the engagement ring. Soon, Shyam fished out the ring and was about to slide it down Ruttuja’s finger when there was a sound of the police siren. Soon, ten-odd policemen entered the hall and pointed their guns at Shyam. Shyam was too dazed to move. It had all happened too fast for him. Just as he was about to speak something, another man, this time in plain clothes, entered the hall in a wheel chair and pointed a shaking finger towards Shyam, and said, “Yes sir. He is the one who murdered Netri and maimed me!”

First there was silence. But, just like the impending rupture of a volcano, it was soon broken by a mayhem. Everyone was at their feet, trying to escape the scene of indictment, as if it were an infection that they would catch if they stayed a moment longer. Unfortunately for them, the police had sealed the area and no guest was allowed to leave till the arrest of the culpable was made. The culpable, in this case, was Shyam. No, probably he was someone else, according to the man on the wheelchair, “His name is Vishal!” he shouted, still the accusing, trembling finger pointed at the bewildered fiancé-to-be.

It was not a pretty sight, most certainly not, having to witness a man in tuxedo being handcuffed and dragged to a jail, with his engagement ring still in his hands. But, such is the travesty of fate. Shyam could only look helplessly at Ruttuja whose eyes spewed fury, shock and grief. Shyam’s parting words were a plea to Ruttuja, “Please save me Ruttu! I am innocent!” Expectedly, she didn’t pay any heed.

After two days of arduous and torturous questioning, to which Shyam gave the same answer, “I do not know anything!” he saw his horizon of hope in the form of Ruttuja. She walked up to the inspector and stated that she wanted to meet Shyam in private. The inspector had all the reasons to refuse, but could not stand the determined stare in her eyes and the badge of the government approved forensic psychologist in her hand. “Only ten minutes,” he mumbled, before letting her in his cell. Ruttuja indicated the constable to close the door of the solitary isolation room.

“Shyam, I need to talk to you.”

“Trust me Ruttu, I am innocent. I don’t even know that person, or your friend, except on the day you spoke to me about her.”

“I know it Shyam. Thing is, you have suffered from something the psychologists call dissociative fugue.”

“Fyoog? Whats that?” a somewhat confused-looking Shyam asked. He had heard the word for the first time in his life and didn’t even know how to speak it.

“Yes. Fugue. In this condition, following a traumatic event, a person forgets his past, and wanders to an unknown place, assuming a new identity,” Ruttuja spoke through gritted teeth. It was mentally impossible for her to accept that the person she was loving was not in his true self, but an imposter of his own self.

“But…me? What event?” Shyam looked thoroughly confused. He preferred the tough questioning of the police to this psychological jargon.

Ruttuja took a deep breath, battled a few tears and continued, “You are Vishal. Vishal Singh, a resident of Delhi. I talked to that in the wheelchair for two days. He told me everything.”

“What? You mean, I am not Shyam? You mean I am someone else?”

“Yes, Shyam…er, Vishal. Now, please hear me out very carefully. You were having an affair with Netri, my friend, and you were about to be engaged. One day before the engagement, you decided to pay a surprise visit to Netri’s place with a bouquet. It was there that you found her in the bed with your best friend, Prateek. Something snapped within you, and your eyes showed an unseen madness, you picked up the knife and…and…” Ruttuja could no longer hold back her tears. It was too much for her to imagine her beloved Shyam decapitating her best friend and stabbing the leg of Prateek, maiming him for life, before running away. It was a disorder she had only studied in college, but living it was a different matter altogether.

“Ruttu, I have no memory of what happened. Please, help me. I even do not know whether I committed the murder!” Shyam pleaded.

“You did commit a murder Shyam. But, we will have to ascertain whether you did it in your right mind.” It was the most excruciating moment for Ruttuja. She was about to make a plan to save the murderer of her best friend. But deep down, she believed that Netri deserved to die. She was about to call off the engagement the following day as she had found, in Prateek, a much richer man. And she also knew about Shyam’s history of depression, fully aware that any such action on her part would send Shyam into suicidal depression. Unfortunately, something opposite happened and both Netri and Prateek paid for it.

“But how will you save me? The inspector kept on saying something about a cognizable offence, meaning I won’t be able to get bail either!” Shyam asked worriedly. The new developments had him worried. He still didn’t know how he had killed his own fiancée and maimed his best friend, or why would her fiancée sleep with his best friend. Life had suddenly become very complicated for him to understand.

“I am going to ask the Inspector-in-charge to allow you to spend just one night with me. And before you think of anything naughty, it’s for our hypnosis session. We will know the truth in the hypnosis. I am here by appointing myself as your official counselor,” Ruttuja spoke as she was leaving the room. After an interminable wait of fifteen minutes, the constable came into the room and told that Shyam was free for the night. Ruttuja was very difficult to beat in persuasion. He knew it by experience.

It was close to nine at night when they reached Ruttuja’s place. She was alone, as her parents had gone to their relative’s place for dinner. Ruttuja had not told them of her plan. She didn’t intend to marry Shyam anyways. But she wanted to see that justice was delivered to him in the correct manner.

“Now, Shyam, I would like you to lie on the couch and close your eyes,” she began. And then, the rest of the night panned out in an interesting way. What happened was much different than Ruttuja had thought, and she would probably have only her uncontrollable urge and instincts to blame. It would be too dreary to write about it all, and too impossible for me to expect that you will pay attention to every word of mine. The next day’s headlines, however, said it all:

The new Bikini killer strikes again after 6 months. Victim is a forensic psychiatrist.

The hottest place on earth- a facebook political debate

Temperature of human body- 36.5-37.5 degree celsius.

Temperature of earth’s core-  6000 degree celsius

Temperature of sun’s core- 15.7 million degree celsius.

Temperature of a political debate on facebook- Even higher than that.

Last few months have seen the term ‘argumentative Indian’ take on a new meaning altogether. Now its more the ‘arguing Indian’, the ‘quarreling Indian’, the ‘bitching Indian’.  I was drawn into some of these debates voluntarily, hoping to provide an alternate view to many radical points. As it turned out, not only that I was labelled a rabid supporter of a particular party, I also found myself lowering my previously high standards of debating to ridiculous levels. GB Shaw had rightly said, “Do not wrestle with a pig. You will get dirty, and the pig will enjoy it.” Sometimes I was the wrestler, sometimes, the pig. But, one thing now intrigues me- why did I, or any other debator, who is also pretty well educated, fall to such ridiculous levels?

I do not have the answer, honestly. I can only wonder. Logically, there is no reason to be driven so much. Less than 10 percent of the electorate is active on facebook.  Of those, even lesser are in a particular debate group (306 members in a group I am active on), and of those hardly 1 person might be there whose opinion will change after listening to an argument, no matter how valid. And, we all are not even gonna benefit directly from changing that ubiquitous ONE person. Then, why? My probable theory says that most us are first time voters (in the last national elections, my vote card wasn’t ready). It gives a sense of fulfillment if we are arguing on the behalf of the one we support, thinking that we are doing something for the nation. It is not true, my friends. We will achieve a lot more if we stop posting rude comments on facebook and promise to excel in our respective fields. Of the 306 members in the political group, it wont make a difference if one AAP supporter changes alliance to BJP or vice versa. But it will make a difference if all 306 decide to be honest and excellent in their respective fields, irrespective of who gets elected.

Friends, we have to realize that bad-mouthing each other by politicians is often for political gains. A member of Congress can’t say anything good about Modi and vice versa.  It doesn’t mean that we, the brighter minds should get swayed and start bad-mouthing each other, thinking that this will make us better. We must not become like the people we are going to elect. We have to be better. Negative politics has brought India on its knees today. Everywhere we see only hatred flowing out, and the current situation is a mexican standoff between Congress, AAP and BJP. It doesn’t mean that our peace of mind, our precious time should become collateral damage. It’s a constitutional right to speak what we feel right. So its not wrong if we promote a particular party, but is it right to deride others for not supporting your views? If you have a point which is valid, tres bien. But if someone has a counter-point, you need not get all worked up and call the other person an agent of that party. Utterly not done. 

We Indians are guilty of being extreme most of the time. We often see the world in black and white. So, if we support one candidate he has to be perfect. And more than that, everybody else has to be bad. Why? Why can’t we accept the positives of Arvind Kejriwal and Narendra Modi? Why does a Kejriwal supporter get worked up and start spewing fire when somebody trolls him? Or why does a Modi supporter starts abusing the moment somebody says anything against Modi? We all live in an egalitarian society where everybody has their views, and everybody hopes their views be respected.  Life isnt about finding whats black and white. Life is about finding the right shade of grey.

We are educated, sensible people, friends. If we behave like immature children or hooligans, the country will suffer. No matter who is elected, remember, you support India, and not Kejriwal or Modi. Let the gaalis flow between the politicians coz its their job. Let us join hands to rebuild the nation, coz that OUR  job.

Jai Hind.