A psychiatrist was trying to get a grip of my gaze contact.
His boyish assistant said. " He moves a little bit after a couple of Lorazepam injections. Occasionally seeing in the direction of us, but not communicating. Shakes his head hard as if to indicate 'no' when the food is offered to him "
"Catatonia" the psychiatrist blurted. His voice resonated with a pride. I couldn't understand why he is feeling pride for naming my condition. I looked at him. He was encouraged.
"Please speak, I know you are hearing me", he said.
I blankly stared at him.
"Sir... Is his catatonic condition is due to depression or schizophrenia?" assistant asked.
"Let us not jump into a well that doesn't have any water... let him speak first" psychiatrist replied
Assistant had an expression on his face as if he had been answered wrongly.
Psychiatrist tried to persuade me to speak in every possible way. Even after long time, as perceived in my catatonic state, he persisted with his one sided dialogue.
At last, he said, you could call that a diluted scream. " please let out your boxed emotions"
'Boxed emotions'
'Boxed'
'Box'
'Boxes'
I was kept in a life sustaining box for about a week after coming out the box called uterus.Then shifted to a box called cradle with a ventilated lid. As I am an 'infection prone kid' as my mother defined me, I was raised in a box called room, which was painted pink and filled with boxes of toys.
I went to school in a box called van, with an instruction from my mother " Don't play in the open ground. you may hurt yourself"
I would stay in the box called classroom and watch kids playing through the window until the van box arrived and delivered me back to my pink painted room box again.
When I cried in frustration they bought me a box called television which engaged me for a while.
When in teens I cried, they bought me a box called computer. I started to mingle with people in virtual boxes called chat rooms.
As I grew bigger, I was put in a college. I fondly called it campus. I had an illusion of attainment of freedom, but slowly it dawned to me it was just a bigger box than school but definitely a box.
Ambition of my college life is to fill up a blank box daily, named status update, in an online virtual book funnily named 'Facebook'.
I got a job in one of the cubical box, in one of the floor and my job is to stare a box which was once my friend, now a foe, the computer.
I expressed my emotions to the girl of next cubicle through emoticons, but she failed to understand my feelings.
I got Married in an air conditioned box of a star hotel
I booked a box in a 16th floor in a 'closed' gated community draining all my money in my bank box.
My married life was smooth, I had my joy stick, she had tablet and we both had smart phones. When all batteries got drained, we had sex.
We had a kid, he stayed in life sustaining box just for four days.
I was so happy. I took extreme care that he also would pass through the same boxes as I am, to be as successful as me.
To my shock I was informed my wife died in her sleep inside the box called car with air-condition machine running.I buried her in a box deep underground and buried her memories in a box deep within me.
My grown kid now is working in a similar cubical box in a similar floor, but I should accept that he is more successful than me because his working box is situated in United states.
I settled with my television box watching news channels, where they used to discuss about world in a box called studio.
Slowly I lost interest in everything and started lying in a place without doing anything like that kid on that cradle but without that ventilated lid.
Who brought me to the hospital, I don't know. Milkman or the newsboy ?
Anyway that was not an important question.
I told the doctor...
" Don't put in a box after I die. Burn me and spray my ashes into the wind"
The boyish assistant became so glad after I spoke.
" Sir... as I thought, he is a schizophrenic. see ... he is talking irrelevantly"
'
His boyish assistant said. " He moves a little bit after a couple of Lorazepam injections. Occasionally seeing in the direction of us, but not communicating. Shakes his head hard as if to indicate 'no' when the food is offered to him "
"Catatonia" the psychiatrist blurted. His voice resonated with a pride. I couldn't understand why he is feeling pride for naming my condition. I looked at him. He was encouraged.
"Please speak, I know you are hearing me", he said.
I blankly stared at him.
"Sir... Is his catatonic condition is due to depression or schizophrenia?" assistant asked.
"Let us not jump into a well that doesn't have any water... let him speak first" psychiatrist replied
Assistant had an expression on his face as if he had been answered wrongly.
Psychiatrist tried to persuade me to speak in every possible way. Even after long time, as perceived in my catatonic state, he persisted with his one sided dialogue.
At last, he said, you could call that a diluted scream. " please let out your boxed emotions"
'Boxed emotions'
'Boxed'
'Box'
'Boxes'
I was kept in a life sustaining box for about a week after coming out the box called uterus.Then shifted to a box called cradle with a ventilated lid. As I am an 'infection prone kid' as my mother defined me, I was raised in a box called room, which was painted pink and filled with boxes of toys.
I went to school in a box called van, with an instruction from my mother " Don't play in the open ground. you may hurt yourself"
I would stay in the box called classroom and watch kids playing through the window until the van box arrived and delivered me back to my pink painted room box again.
When I cried in frustration they bought me a box called television which engaged me for a while.
When in teens I cried, they bought me a box called computer. I started to mingle with people in virtual boxes called chat rooms.
As I grew bigger, I was put in a college. I fondly called it campus. I had an illusion of attainment of freedom, but slowly it dawned to me it was just a bigger box than school but definitely a box.
Ambition of my college life is to fill up a blank box daily, named status update, in an online virtual book funnily named 'Facebook'.
I got a job in one of the cubical box, in one of the floor and my job is to stare a box which was once my friend, now a foe, the computer.
I expressed my emotions to the girl of next cubicle through emoticons, but she failed to understand my feelings.
I got Married in an air conditioned box of a star hotel
I booked a box in a 16th floor in a 'closed' gated community draining all my money in my bank box.
My married life was smooth, I had my joy stick, she had tablet and we both had smart phones. When all batteries got drained, we had sex.
We had a kid, he stayed in life sustaining box just for four days.
I was so happy. I took extreme care that he also would pass through the same boxes as I am, to be as successful as me.
To my shock I was informed my wife died in her sleep inside the box called car with air-condition machine running.I buried her in a box deep underground and buried her memories in a box deep within me.
My grown kid now is working in a similar cubical box in a similar floor, but I should accept that he is more successful than me because his working box is situated in United states.
I settled with my television box watching news channels, where they used to discuss about world in a box called studio.
Slowly I lost interest in everything and started lying in a place without doing anything like that kid on that cradle but without that ventilated lid.
Who brought me to the hospital, I don't know. Milkman or the newsboy ?
Anyway that was not an important question.
I told the doctor...
" Don't put in a box after I die. Burn me and spray my ashes into the wind"
The boyish assistant became so glad after I spoke.
" Sir... as I thought, he is a schizophrenic. see ... he is talking irrelevantly"
'
No comments:
Post a Comment