I do not like to be hypnotized and that is the truth. The reason for it is that I don’t like being told what to do. There, you have it. So, any trancelike state of altered consciousness which is induced by a hypnotist to have his orders followed at his command is a complete no-no for me.
Therefore, I have not witnessed many hypnosis shows in my life. I mean, why take a chance and go to a performance where you might unwillingly get hypnotised from a distance and made to become a part of the act itself? I would rather not pull a rabbit out of a hat or be instructed to eat both the rabbit and the hat by the mesmeric voice of whoever is performing the hypnosis. You get the picture?
Nevertheless, a few years back, I was invited to a hypnotist’s concert. It was actually a formal black-tie affair, one of those shindigs that nobody actually likes to attend but is forced to, because of real or imagined professional obligations. However, this charity fundraiser could not be turned down and initially they actually wanted to seat me in the front row. I declined and requested to be moved to one of the far corner tables where I could potentially duck under it, if such a need arose. Dire situations called for drastic measures, you see.
I had two people accompanying me to the function. One was my spouse, of course, and the other was our old friend who was visiting us from South Africa. Now, this gentleman, who we had known for decades, never gave us the slightest inkling that he was crazy about hypnosis. But soon he was telling us that so bizarre was his addiction that there was not a single illusionist or conjuror event that he had failed to witness in his life.
Also, he loved volunteering, he confided, and happily offered to become the proverbial guinea pig every time. You can imagine my dismay at being party to this information just as we were driving to the official gathering.
Once there, I tried to dissuade him to the best of my ability. When he strode towards the front, I told him that those seats were reserved and pointed him towards the back table that had our name tags. His enthusiasm dipped momentarily, but, before sitting down, he cunningly turned his chair around to face the lit-up platform.
The show started with some boring speeches. My husband and our friend settled down and one fiddled with his drink while the other puffed on his cigar. Things appeared to be normal. Suddenly the stage became dark, and a lone spotlight shone on the hypnotist as he made his grand entry in a black tuxedo and a matching tall hat. He was also holding a black baton in his hand.
From the corner of my eye, I saw our friend stubbing out his cigar determinedly. Even before the hypnotist could request for volunteers he clambered up onto the stage.
“5, 4, 3, 2, 1, you are in deep sleep”, the hypnotist commanded.
Our friend appeared to fall asleep instantly.
“What do you think he is doing?” I whispered to my husband.
“Being his usual devious self”, my spouse whispered back.
“What do you mean?” I was perplexed.
“He forgot to pack his sleeping pills”, my spouse laughed.
“And so?” I asked.
“So, he is sleeping for free” my husband guffawed.
By Nickunj Malik
|| features@portugalresident.com
Nickunj Malik’s journalistic career began when she walked into the office of Khaleej Times newspaper in Dubai thirty-one years ago and got the job. Since then, her articles have appeared in various newspapers all over the world. She now resides in Portugal and is married to a banker who loves numbers more than words.
