Delhirious

11 Aug 2010 2 Comments

by Sindhu Murthy in Psyche does matter

It was a bright, sunny morning. The night had been damp. It had rained. With a fresh cuppa and sunny determination to look into a case that had long been put away, Normalcy sat at his desk. Today seemed to be promising and he had decided to deliver, albeit the perceived complexity of the case at hand. The issue concerned private, inhibited individuals, also usually termed introverts, who shut themselves from the outside world, particularly when brought over to the unknown. Having tried and tested many suggestions, Normalcy could not restore any of these private persons to his ideal state – that of Normalcy. Myopic vision correction specs perched on his hooked nose, he read out his notes aloud:

In the mind of a very private person who cares too much about his own troubles than those taking the world over, entering an unknown zone can be quite appalling. These private people like to blame cities which they just move into, for their ill adjustments. They like to call it this uncanny character about new places which induce despicable emotions into their confused minds. Those of fear, anxiety, agitation, the great need to ‘fit in’ and the utter helplessness of figuring things out. There is a compelling urge, they claim, to share this drama with actual people but of course fail to find one at their beck and call.

Normalcy paused to think. For private people, an encounter usually translates into looking further on into their own selves and a tad more into the others’, rather than treating this as a casual, friendly encounter, only. One leads to another and before they want to be aware of it, paranoia sets in. Mostly, this turns out to be an overbearing syndrome that can be quite life threatening – confinement to the walls of the vicinity, the apartment complex, home, or worse, a little room fortified by the dark walls of such a private mind can damage the ‘normal’ mind.

Excited and eagerly sipping into his cuppa, Normalcy read on:

A regular claustrophobic claims these symptoms of withdrawal can lead to a sudden burst of creativity or, as they usually prefer to put it, a much pre-meditated release of loaded emotions is usually in the offing. Atleast most characters that seek the comfort of complacency in those dingy, dark walls say this – they explain, that’s how it turns out, even though everyone wants to believe it is a ‘sudden’ outburst.

Fine, lets face it today, Normalcy decided and slipped into those shoes. . .

Looking at the green trees glistening with the night’s rain and the early morning chirpers pecking on the raw fruits, Normalcy wondered for how long the feelings must have been latent that the pressed down safety valve popped out of its way one queer day, letting the steaming pressure sneak out – at first, as a faint stream whistling its way through, hoping someone would pay heed, and then, as a last ditch attempt, a startling ‘outburst’ splattering its vigourous vapour on the freaky white walls. And creative symbols they were, for those who cared. And the much intended was achieved. Rapt attention was commanded. And was this all too sudden? Of course it was. It could’ve very well been slow, informing and graceful, or much rather stayed out of occurrence all together. Could’ve saved those freaky white walls too.

Feeling blessed and supreme, Normalcy understood that such saviour acts rarely happen. And if you are targetting creativity, when has it ever been thought of as a systematic process? Alright then, Normalcy declared that ‘this’ thinking was appalling, it needed attention and possibly some tender repair too. With spanner, plier, some screws, nuts and bolts, Normalcy sat in meditation to device a way to deal with this new found dramatic distress. Perhaps with a set of brand new eyes? Well, he retrieved past experiences from his mental files.

Maybe the way Miyana did. This option is strictly for those who can afford them expensive pair of eyes. Those appalling symptoms had showed up in Miyana. She had let the steam out and had splattered her mind on those freaky white walls. She had finally commanded her due attention. But what had followed was what she had thought she must do. Not because it would better cure her to normalcy and she can live upto ‘their’ expectations but because no one else could see the picture she had painted before herself. Miyana took charge of her distress. She abandoned the identity prefixed to her by her society. She changed her job, her residence, her family, her wardrobe, her friends, her affiliations and her sex too. She became a sparkling, new person. After this unexpected turn of events, obviously her fears seemed minuscule. Her goals became bigger. Her achievements, envious. And her life, liveable. Finally. Miyana’s sweet little Utopia was thus constructed. She thrived on inspiration. Her Utopia served her some inspiration for every morning, for breakfast. Such inspiration this was, that she gaily sailed through, till the evening of her life. She usually skipped lunch and came home hungry. But never once did she sleep hungry. Piping hot motivation was always waiting to be served for dinner. What peaceful nights those were: her dreams grew wings and soared high, higher up. Those large, sweeping, fluid wings journeyed her across the worlds she had only heard of but never herself experienced. She lived out her fantasy, her real fantasy that taught her how to love her life and love it while living it to the brim… until she woke up energised to breathe in another blessed morning. And for another precious morsel of inspiration.

Now, lets move on to those who can’t afford those over-priced, expensive pair of glassy eyes. How shall they deal with this overwhelming dramatic pressure steaming around their poverty-stricken cobwebs? Refilling his cuppa and shifting positions, Normalcy tried hard to retrieve the concerned mental files.

How about Jhumpa? She made no fuss, commanded no attention. The freaky white walls were of course splattered. Her fears were indeed exposed. Her vulnerabilities lay bare. But no sooner, she cleaned after. She gulped her ambitions. Apologetic about her outburst, she moved on. Nothing changed for her. Her life was pre-destined and she lived it out with acceptance and more sincerity with every passing day. Every morning was the same as the previous and the nights, more threatening. She knew nothing of life beyond this reality that she herself had constructed. She suffered it, unaware of a possible life outside. Without complaints, regrets or indecisiveness, her life appeared enviable. Those who promised to swap lives with her naturally refrained from further encounters, for the fear of being encumbered with Jhumpa’s karma. All was ugly, all was unbearable. All was deplorable. Except her spirit. It saved itself, as it did, the carrier. It was a peaceful night. The starry night had promised some tranquil rest. Those tired eyes had just then drifted into a few worlds away from the real – those worlds that were spoken of in careful, faint whispers, lest she entered them. These sneaky worlds were flowery, fragrant and picturesque. Ostentatious luxury was floating about. Everything was aplenty. Everyone, gluttonous. There was no wanting for anything, ever. Once, a limp, jealous, sadistic sneaker-by reflected: this excess has to be burnt and the suffering of this land be witnessed. No sooner had the fuel ignited his imagination, it greedily lent itself to the prosperous world too, setting it ablaze. There was an all-consummate fire. Raging flames spluttered. Voices drowned in disbelief. Prosperity shattered into ashes. . . Jhumpa rose up with a start. What she saw around her was reality, less of a dream. Her home was falling down. Her infant lay charred to death. The roof was crashing down in slabs of fire. Her vision blurred as smoke and fire danced in fury before her. The neighbourhood was fuming, the unsparing fire was gulping everything down. Jhumpa rose, her dead infant in her arms, she ran to save her awakened spirit. She ran till dawn. . .And then, she embraced the new daylight, spiked up her spirit and faced another day of her dreary life … with such gusto never known before.

Alright, Normalcy decided. His glasses on his nose, he signed off, noting that these inhibitted private people should immediately fix an appointment with an ophthalmologist. Realising that something more immediate had to be done, he squeezed in another note above that – before anything, an appointment with a psychoanalyst. Shutting his mind off, Normalcy took off, for a brief siesta.

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