Graham Greene, the British author, wrote in one of his memoirs titled ‘Ways of Escape’ (1980) that “Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic fear which is inherent in the human situation.”
Of course, there is an element of lunacy and wretchedness embedded in each aspect of human life which at times becomes frightful to face and battle out.  And any creative work just chips in to help us cope up with the whole drama. It also opens up interestingly novel and unexplored vistas of understanding related to any particular situation.
Going back to Greene, he in one of his narrative from the essay ‘The Lost Childhood’ recounts the precarious instant when he first discovered that he could read. He writes—“I remember distinctly the suddenness with which a key turned in a lock and I found I could read--not just the sentences in a reading book with the syllables coupled like railway carriages, but a real book.... All a long summer holiday I kept my secret, as I believed: I did not want anybody to know that I could read. I suppose I half consciously realized even then that this was the dangerous moment. I was safe so long as I could not read--the wheels had not begun to turn, but now the future stood around on bookshelves everywhere waiting for the child to choose--the life of a chartered accountant perhaps, a colonial civil servant, a planter in China, a steady job in a bank, happiness and misery, eventually one particular form of death, for surely we choose our death much as we choose our job. It grows out of our acts and our evasions, out of our fears and out of our moments of courage....”
Many of us have speckled experiences whenever we confront a new happening, a new episode, a new situation in our daily lives. There are some unusual truths and realities that one gets familiar with often, and is astonished at the atypical enigma that get unfolded in the process.
The inscrutability of human life and its formless facets will perhaps make most of us to moan in the tone of Graham Greene like this:
‘I was safe so long as I could not come out of my mom’s womb to breathe in the mysterious world;
I was safe so long as I could not make out what is what to judge the insignia of the life;
I was safe so long as I could not guess who is who to form an opinion about others;
I was safe so long as I could not think about the intricacies of human behaviour;
I was safe so long as I could not believe that even human brains can be shady;
I was safe so long as I could not imagine that sincerity can be termed suspicious;
I was safe so long as I could not infer that blood is actually thinner than water;
I was safe so long as I could not assume that friends can be foes;
I was safe so long as I could not be happy;
I was safe so long as I could not be successful;
I was safe so long as I could not trust my susceptible students;
I was safe so long as I could not compete with my brittle teachers;
I was safe so long as I could not demur against my big-headed boss;
I was safe so long as I could not be a fanciful rebel;
I was safe so long as I could not question the questionable;
I was safe so long as I could not see what I am seeing;
I was safe so long as I could not listen to what I am listening;
I was safe so long as I could not read what I am reading;
I was safe so long as I could not write what I am writing;
I was safe so long as I could not murmur a word;
I was safe so long as I could not sing what I am singing;
I was safe so long as I could not close my eyes and feel that bad people have a bad end and world will be a lovely location to live in;
I was safe so long as I could not dream;
I was safe so long as I could not think;
I was safe so long as I could not hope;
I was safe so long as I could not be understood;
And I was safe so long as I could not believe I am I!
Now that I am unsafe, I cherish the bliss of ignorance, the moments of unawareness that were so calming and comforting, de-making the world a bad, brute place.
I am vulnerable, now. From every corner. I am scared. I am snared. The claws of injustice and unfairness, crooked and criminal, mean and malicious can pounce on me anytime. Perhaps on anyone, around. That’s why some of us have already ‘Lost the World’ ala Graham’s childhood.

 (The author teaches at Media Education Research Centre, MERC, Kashmir University.)

Lastupdate on : Sat, 30 Apr 2011 21:30:00 Makkah time
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