Rare encounter

Published in Greater Kashmir on January 1, 2009

Flying through the skies of imagination

Deviating from my norm I present today to my target readers- chiefly adepts in the field of literature and psychotherapy, synopsized extracts of my intended novel in a new experimental mode of fiction writing style of European literature, under the title – “One Night Sagittarians II” yet general readers may also find something of their interest in today’s write-up if they focus on the name I have chosen for this somewhat regular column of mine Mindscape and also on the key words- stress management in our valley and know about the ascending graph of stress related disorders worldwide; including the sudden increase of psychiatric patients in our valley during the past turbulent decade; for which our health sector wasn’t ready-as witnessed in the stressful conditions our doctors and patients face in Govt. run hospitals or private clinics day in and day out where doctor patient ratio and time devoted to patient interaction mismatches the requirement-leading to bad results.

Isn’t it a cruel joke that orthopedic patients suffer more while negotiating the pothole strewn street leading to a famous doctors clinic and so do unruly crowd of nearly four score patients jostling on a pre-curfew day in the ill managed clinic of a famous Neuro-Doc- where inadequate seating and the lone assistant, manning front office & dispensary etc., bursting at seams adds to the chaos leading to the out of place outbursts by the doctor (“….we Kashmiris have been talking for the last sixty years”)- who wanted to finish his job in haste in two hours.

I restrain myself from talking about the efficacy of the commonly prescribed drugs; questionable conclusions drawn in prolonged couch sessions done by therapists in metros- themselves infested by conditioning; paradoxical debates going on from the time of pioneers like Freud and Jung and present luminaries though these too are interesting topics just like catharsis; church confessions, diary writing traditions; succour patients find in religious practices at weak moments; personality development training and therapeutic aspect of creative writing, especially modern English poetry in West but keeping in view the frame size the newspaper offers me to fit in I ask you my dear reader to allow me to switch over to the literary experiment I intend today. Hopefully you will find it enjoyable too as the subject matter is the same.

Sibyl-I : “Yeah ! I can hear Ezra Pound reciting Eliot’s Wasteland……My nerves are bad tonight. Yes bad. Stay with me. Speak to me”

Sibyl-II: “I remember some words of my poem The Garbage Truck published on 7th Sept. 2003 and that I presented to poet Gulzar in Srinagar on the same day

But
Thunder bolt like awareness
Of nightmarish intensity
Later jerked me up
As distinction was lost
Between the blue receptacle
And me.

Sense the shivers
Down my spine O Ted (Hughes)
Weigh O Andy (Andrew Motion) the inheritor’s pain
And tell my Liz (Elizabeth Jennings)
I long for a song
And cry for a soothing
Lullaby


Do you know among the three mentioned renowned British poets the last one was MY BELOVED

Elizabeth Jennings

who died in 2002 after fighting severe mental illness boldly … for some time …. To whom I dedicated a poem published in 2003 in Kashmir University Journal "The English Studies in India". Read it ?


Sibyl-III: Just shut up. A proximal voice is also inside the
alley……Hush! I hear Nidda Fazili is reciting his beautiful Nazm
…..Kabhi fursat milay to fatah padhnay chalay aana.




Sibyl: yes my love these quotes and the preamble have common strands…but you are getting late. You will miss the train. Please drop the phone and rush. Don’t worry dear about my stress torn condition or what my neurologist has prescribed minutes before. Take care…..no honey listen to me please…disconnect and rush please….



Last chapter:
Within minutes the whole world changed when she arranged a brief shikara ride to stay by my side.

Sybl: Things will change for better soon, my Man. Let us sing the choral- we shall over come…. Poora hai wishwas hum hongay kamyaab ek din.

Sibyl-II: As the shikara glided she placed her head in my lap and in silence our eyes spoke volumes. Crude sound of the boat hitting the bank after twenty minute ride made us open our eyes. Chund roaz aur meri jaan faqat chand hi roaz of Faiz Ahmed Faiz played in our hearts. Loo! The wintry chill had gone and spring was readying the orchestra.

Sibyl: Back home in my lonely bedroom I fished out her rose- red lipstick and wrote on the dressing mirror one word ----JIYA


My laptop beckoned so I got engrossed type setting today’s write up dear reader and forgot the rest. Adieu (Ps --- but speak up today at least O! men with the pen – if you aren’t dead already).