SUNDAY BYTE: Suicide Prevention Begins Long Before the River
“Jaate Jaate Umeed Se Ek Aah Bhari Hogi..Awaz to di Hogi–. Hum Ne Na Suni Hogi”
Dr. Fiaz Maqbool Fazili
The waiting room of Prof. Dr. Mushtaq Margoob’s mental health and de-addiction clinic was unusually quiet. A young woman stared blankly into space, avoiding every passing glance. Beside her, an elderly mother gently moved prayer beads through trembling fingers, whispering silent supplications. A young man paced the corridor restlessly, while a child watched the adults with innocent curiosity, unaware of the invisible burdens they carried. No one spoke, yet every face narrated a story of silent struggle’s, a new member as public influencer to his team of councillors, clinical psychologists.
I sat there, one question disturbed me: Who is truly unwell—those seeking treatment, or the society that allowed many of them to reach this point? For over two decades, I have written about disease prevention, public health and social reform. My work has largely centred on preventive oncology, but one principle transcends every discipline of medicine: Prevention is always better than cure. The same philosophy applies to mental health, which has not received my attention rather de-stigmatizing process or campaign has still gaps to be filled. Timely understanding, compassionate listening and early intervention can prevent years of suffering—and sometimes save a life. This is not an article about mental illness—often loosely and irresponsibly dismissed as “madness or pagal.” Let us dtop using these words and vocabulary or mental illness It is about human dignity. It is not about labels or diagnoses; it is about recognising emotional pain before it becomes irreversible tragedy.
During one of my visits to this preventive mental health programme, a suicide survivor shared a Kashmiri saying with the treating doctor that has stayed with me ever since: *”Bana aawus na pagal; ba karhos yemi ta yemiv pagal.” (I was not born mentally unwell; it was the behaviour of people around me that gradually pushed me towards it.)
This Sunday morning , my appeal is not merely to understand suicide, mental disturbance, depression or its classification it is to rediscover our instinct to care. To create families, schools, workplaces and neighbourhoods where another person’s suffering does not remain their pain alone, but becomes our shared concern. Because healing often begins the moment someone feels seen, heard and valued. Before we ask why someone broke down, perhaps we should ask whether we noticed the cracks—or whether we helped create them.”*It is introspective question to all of us, we the readers, sensitive souls, calling ourselves concerned citizens etc without being accusatory, and it captures the central moral argument of your article: **Society Must Examine Itself Before Judging Those Who Suffer. **.Whether literally true or not, those words reflect an uncomfortable social reality.
Few people collapse emotionally overnight. More often, they are worn down by humiliation, rejection, loneliness, bullying, domestic conflict, addiction, unrealistic expectations, financial hardship, or the slow erosion of self-worth. Those words haunted me until I finally decided to write them down—perhaps they may touch one heart and prevent another funeral. The Qur’an reminds us:”Whoever saves one life, it is as though he has saved all mankind.” (Qur’an 5:32)
The point, or argument I want to make, saving a single life preserves an entire universe of relationships, hopes and futures. Every timely act of compassion becomes an investment in humanity itself.A few days ago, I watched a video I wish I had never seen. A man climbed over the embankment and jumped into the River Jhelum. Yet what unsettled me most was not the leap, but what followed. As the current swept him away, he fought desperately to reach the bank, stretching out his arms and crying for help. While one person continued filming the unfolding tragedy on a mobile phone, others rushed in and eventually rescued him. That scene has remained with me ever since. If he truly wanted to die, why did he struggle so desperately to live only moments later? The same question returns whenever I read about a student ending life after examination failure, a young woman consuming poison, a teenager found hanging, or someone overwhelmed by debt, addiction, family conflict or public humiliation. Did they genuinely want to die? Or did they simply want their unbearable pain to end?
Perhaps we have been asking the wrong question. Instead of asking, “Why did this person die?” we should ask, “What happened in the weeks and months before this desperate act?”The river was not where the tragedy began. It was merely where it became visible.
Modern psychiatry offers an important insight. During a suicidal crisis, many individuals experience what psychiatrists call ambivalence—two opposing desires existing at the same time. One-part longs to escape unbearable emotional pain; another still hopes someone will notice, intervene and offer a reason to live. The wish to die is often not permanent; the wish for the pain to stop is overwhelming. If someone reaches that person during this brief window, the outcome can change dramatically. Seeking a deeper understanding, I discussed these questions with renowned mental health expert Prof. Dr. Mushtaq Margoob, clinical psychologist Ms. Aiman and their team. I asked them a simple question: Has society failed these young men and women long before they reached the edge? Their answer was thoughtful but unequivocal.Suicide is rarely an isolated impulse. In most cases, it is preceded by warning signs that appear days, weeks or even months earlier. These may include social withdrawal, persistent hopelessness, disturbed sleep, sudden personality changes, giving away cherished belongings, increasing substance misuse, or repeated statements such as, “I’m tired,” “I can’t go on,” or “Everyone would be better off without me.”The tragedy is that such cries for help are too often dismissed as mood swings, attention-seeking or emotional weakness. Looking back at the man in the river, I found myself asking different questions. Had he/she quietly withdrawn from friends? Had laughter disappeared from his/her life? Had someone heard his/her silent sighs, and crying and mistaken it for ordinary stress? Perhaps he/she did not first need rescuing from the waters of the Jhelum. Perhaps he/she needed someone to notice him/her a month earlier. Perhaps he/she needed someone to notice him a month earlier.
Between emotional suffering and suicide lies an invisible but decisive space. It is the distance between loneliness and companionship, despair and hope, untreated depression and professional care, silent suffering and compassionate listening. It is within this space that lives are either lost—or saved. Medicine teaches us the importance of the early diagnosis prompt intervention, like *Golden Houror platinum minutes or split-second caring hand * after severe trauma, when prompt intervention can determine survival. Suicide prevention has its own golden hour, but it often arrives long before an attempt. It may be a five-minute conversation, a reassuring hand on the shoulder, timely counselling, or simply the courage to ask, “You don’t seem yourself. Tell me what is hurting you.”The greatest acts of rescue rarely make headlines. They are not always performed on bridges or riverbanks. They happen quietly—in homes, classrooms, workplaces, clinics, neighbourhoods and places of worship—where someone chooses to listen instead of dismiss, to understand instead of judge, and to stay instead of walking away.
While reflecting on this subject, I was deeply moved by an insightful essay by M. Iqbal, Chief Editor of Buzz Bytes, titled “Fencing the Bridge, Ignoring the Abyss.” Its central message deserves in depth careful attention along with root cause analysis through five whys.?. Physical barriers, surveillance cameras and emergency responders are important and have saved lives. They interrupt moments of crisis and should be strengthened wherever necessary. Yet bridges do not create despair.
They merely become the stage upon which despair is sometimes acted out. If we celebrate fencing bridges while neglecting the emotional abyss that leads people there, we risk treating symptoms while leaving the disease untouched. Public policy must therefore move beyond crisis response towards prevention—where emotional wellbeing is protected long before lives reach the edge.
The way forward demands more than expanding psychiatric services, though they remain indispensable. It requires a cultural shift. Parents must learn to recognise emotional distress with the same urgency as physical illness. Teachers should be equipped to identify behavioural changes in vulnerable students. Schools and colleges must integrate age-appropriate mental health education, life skills and confidential counselling. Employers should foster psychologically safe workplaces where seeking help is viewed as strength rather than weakness. Religious scholars, community leaders and the media all have a vital role in replacing stigma with empathy and informed understanding. Healthcare professionals, too, must look beyond physical symptoms. Every consultation offers an opportunity to ask one additional question when emotional suffering is suspected. Listening itself can be therapeutic. Sometimes, the first step towards healing is helping a person feel heard. Families remain our strongest safety net. A shared meal, an unhurried conversation, a parent’s reassuring embrace, a friend’s unexpected phone call, or a neighbour knocking simply to ask, “How are you?” may appear ordinary. Yet these small acts often become extraordinary lifelines. We also need responsible media reporting. Suicide should never be sensationalised or reduced to dramatic headlines. Stories of recovery, resilience and timely intervention deserve equal prominence. Public discourse must encourage hope, not hopelessness.
Mental illness is not a moral failing. Depression is not a weakness. Asking for help is not surrender. Like diabetes, hypertension or cancer, psychological illnesses deserve timely diagnosis, evidence-based treatment and compassionate support. The earlier help arrives, the greater the chance of recovery. As I think back to that quiet waiting room, I no longer remember diagnoses. I remember faces. Faces carrying invisible burdens while waiting for someone to understand what words could not express. Perhaps the most searching question is not, “Why did this person take such a step?” It is, “Where were we while that pain was silently growing?”The haunting words of Jagjit Singh’s timeless ghazal continue to echo in my mind: “Jaate jaate umeed se ek aah bhari hogi… hum ne na suni hogi.”*Perhaps, while leaving, someone sighed with the last trace of hope—and we failed to hear. *May we never ignore that sigh again.
We often speak of Huqooq Allah, but we must not forget Huqooq al-‘Ibad—our duties towards one another. A compassionate ear, a helping hand, a timely intervention and concern for our community are among the greatest rights we owe each other. Perhaps saving a life begins simply by fulfilling those responsibilities. If this article encourages even one person to pause, to ask “Are you alright?”, to listen a little longer, or to seek help instead of suffering in silence—and if, by Allah’s grace, it helps save even one life—then its purpose will have been fulfilled.
Before another light goes out, let us become the hand that reaches out before the bridge, the listener before the silence, and the hope before despair. For in saving one life, we preserve not only a human being, but an entire world waiting to be lived., without repeating it explicitly it leaves readers with one enduring thought: The greatest rescue happens before the attempt.
(STRAIGHT TALK COMMUNICATIONS EXCLUSIVE. The author is healthcare quality professional who writes extensively on preventive medicine, mental health awareness, patient safety, and social reform. His work promotes early intervention, dignity, and community responsibility as foundations of a healthier society.)
