Month: September 2006

Guilty, But Who?

Dr. Wayne S. Fenton was killed this month by a 19-year-old patient suffering from severe psychosis.[ link ]

Now here’s that classical situation again

Suppose there’s a man lying in the gutter, with all his clothes torn, living in an hypothetical world, viewing himself as king but in reality its just an illusion, a plain overextended hallucination which is never going to end.
So what will you do ?
Help him come to come back to the sad reality which won’t help him Or will you let him lying there in his hallucination [1]

Lets come back and take that doctor first. Unarguably he was only trying to help. And there was nothing wrong in his approach, many have been helped and he could have done it again also. But something went wrong which costed him his life.

And what about the patient, was it his fault?
He was mentally ill with no fault of his own. May be left to himself he would have again tried to commit suicide. But here he was being treated, being helped, being done on something, which he doesn’t understands and if he can’t understand it how can we expect him to appreciate it. How can we expect any other life to matter to him when his own doesn’t. And also he never asked for your help?

I guess we all think from the doctor’s perspective, our perspective. But what if death is the ultimate thing, the actual thing that’s too much awesome than life.
What if reason and explanation are diseases and something else something, metaphysical, is the truth, which obviously i can’t understand but the patient does. And since explanation is a disease to him he won’t explain to us.

Lemme cut the crap [2] and come to the actual point.
Should we let this practice go on?
Yes we have to.
On the same lines where we bring a dying patient to the operation table from an accident and the doctor without his consent operates and unfortunately the operation ends unsuccessful.
When we can accept a patient’s death from a doctor’s hand we also have to accept the things other way round.
Indeed it’s unfortunate butwe can’t help it and we have to accept that. And only thing that’s worth being the yardstick in such situations is the intent.

Donno why but this facet of life is quite facinating, i mean we know something is wrong but can’t point out the wrong doer, we can’t even decide who is the wrong doer.

It just reminds me of a line from some book[3] : “..within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repeled by the inexhaustible variety of life.”

[1] Any answer to that has always eluded me.
[2] Did I say crap? I guess not.
[3] I guess it was from The Great Gatsby by Fitzgerald, alas, i never completed it.


The Ceremony

They were six of them all six year olds standing in a row. The room was dark and they were holding each other’s hands. Though there was a hint of light out thr but just enough to make out the movement of silhouettes.

The reason for darkness was may be that when the lightning strikes it should catch them in surprise.

One could here their repressed breathing which they were consciously trying to suppress even more. But then again someone will give out a long sigh as if telling others that he was still present or may be alive.

The suddenly a silhouette appeared at one end of their view. The person looked quite a giant and was carrying something with him. The thing he was carrying had the shape of bamboo at the lower end but some how it looked complicated.

He stopped in front of them and lowered a bit as if a warrior will bow before his last blow. Then he said something with his coarse voice.
May be he said “Smile please”.
A Lightning flash struck their faces.
Thus concluded the sepia ceremony with lights getting turned on all over the place.

Overemphasizing syndrome

Have you ever had a feeling that the other person may not be able to tell the precise point that you are trying to tell?
Or he may not be able to see the thing the way you saw?

Let us see from listener’s perspective.
Don’t we at sometime or the other have a feeling that the speaker, author etc is again and again making the same point that he simply made understandable at the first time itself.

It happens all the time. Now as am reading Khazuo Ishingro’s “An Artist of the Floating World” the main character made a point initially that he had always been quite unsure about his social status. So he presented an incident from his past where he had been surprised at how somebody held him in high esteem. But as am reaching the halfway mark the author has till now recollected some 4-6 almost similar incidents about that point.

Same happened in Omkara where Mr. Bhardwaj quite unsure whether audience will get Tyagi’s reasons for betrayal or not ended up giving Tyagi so much screen presence that the main essence that was to be portrayed i.e Omkara’s turmoil was all spoiled.

Ah, i guess i haven’t overemphasized trying to make the point.
So the point is why it happens?

Ok i can’t do a Freudian analysis but the one thing, which looks clear, is fear. Fear that one’s work will go unappreciated. Fear that things may look unnatural or rather inconsequential at the end. Fear that the bird that the bird the author wants to free in the end may not look caged to the audience.
So what happens is that the author starts running with a cage after the bird instead of showing how inconsequentially or consequentially he got in. And what is left for the reader are endless repetitions.
Its ok till one shows different perspectives of the same thing or tries presenting the thing in different ways but once he keeps on doing the same thing or sacrifices something else for that, things turn bad.

Everything has an audience of its own. A set of people, likeminded or may be not , who can appreciate what you are presenting. And no matter what you write unless its not maligned by such fears it will be understandable to them. And at times audiences are built over the time.
The very best thing that an author can give to its audience is honesty. Honesty free from such fears and that is what i guess we are cherish for.

Why its Raining?

As i listen
to the sound
My whole world
spins around

I wonder why
as it thunders so high
It all feels like
a vented out cry

As i scream
thoughts knock and leave
The more i try to see
it all looses its sheen

As it pours by
nothingness hovers the sky
It all washes by
still i feel so dry


It had been an eventful morning in Sharma family today. Mrs Sharma had been in the thick of the things as she had to ready up three family members instead of the usual two. From today rahul starts his schooling.


“Ah! What are you doing Rahul” Enquires Mrs sharma as she walks towards Rahul.
“Shoes, Mom”.
“But you are putting on the wrong shoe”.
“Its mine, see” he picks up one shoe and waves towards her.
“I mean it’s for left foot not right”.
“It fits, see”.
“lemme do it”. She bends and starts doing the needful.


Rajat was sitting on the breakfast table, taking bit more time eating than usual.
He was amused and also a bit angry about the attention that his brother was getting today.
He tried remembering his first day in the school. He couldn’t recall much apart from few flashes of introduction session and the fun games that were played that day.
‘After all three years is a long time’ he told himself.
He heard his mom yelling at Ramu asking him to get the car out.


The car stops at the gate of a huge building, dwarfed by its vast front garden. A guard comes forward and enquires something to which Mr. Ranjan replies with an angry expression. The guard returns and another guard moves towards the gate.

The gate is a large one standing beside big square pillars made of some red stone; a semicircular white board stands above the pillars. The board reads “National institute for mentally challenged”.

Rahul had just got his 16th b’day gift.