Death be good, death be kind.

November, 1996 stands out in my memory because that was my first encounter with the concept of death. My parents told my brother and me that our uncle had passed on and that we’d be going to Bombay to visit our aunt for a while. I knew what death meant. I had squished the life out of way too many insects to be completely oblivious to the idea of death. Yet, I believed death for humans was way different than death of insects and animals. I hadn’t seen other ants mourn for the ant I had killed. The ants just carried on with their task, when an occasional ant would stop and nudge the dead ant and it would just continue with the task at hand. When dogs got run over, the other dogs never stood around the dead dog and paid their respects. When we went to stay with our aunt after the funeral, I would always see her crying. I had never known her to cry. When we returned home, my brother came in to our room and sat across me and asked me, “Have you ever thought of what will happen to us if Amma and Annu die? What will we do?” He just dropped that humungous bomb on my head and went out. I sat there imagining every horrible scenario in my head and started crying.

Few months later our stray canine friend lost one of her pups in a hit and run. The mother dog was nowhere to be seen so I wrapped the puppy in a cloth and left it in the bin at the end of our street. My parents would tell the garbage man to “dispose” of the puppy in the morning. I cried during the entire time that I was wrapping the pup up in the cloth and leaving it. I knew the puppy, I used to play with her. She was my friend. I sat outside my house waiting for Mary to come because someone had to tell her about her pup. When she came I pet her and told her about her pup. She actually went to the bin pulled the bundle out, unwrapped it and sat there licking her puppy and making painfully loud howls which to this day bother me. Witnessing that was my first lesson that all life is the same and all death is the same. It is no different for animals and humans. Humans have elaborate rituals and rites for closure, animals have their own way of grieving the dead and mourning for their loss. The only reason why I had never understood it before was because I never sat out and observed. I had never witnessed how gentle a mother can be with her child dead or alive.

This didn’t mean I had a clear cut idea of death yet. My ideas of death were still very obscure and were tailored to make me feel secure. In my thoughts I started reconciling with the idea that my friends and I would probably start dropping dead after we turn 45(for a 10 year old me, 45years seemed like a very long life.) when the years of stress would finally take their toll on our systems and we would go out of this world and the happy ones would probably stick around for 2 or 3 more decades depending on how they had maintained themselves physically. This idea got thrown out of the window four years later when a kid on the street ended his life. He was my age. It went downhill from there. Friends and acquaintances seemed to drop dead either because of suicide, accidents, drunken driving, overdosing, heart attacks and cancer all of whom were in the age group of 14 to 27.

I have lost a chunk of people I know even before I turn 30 and that is not something I thought possible. Such is life.

“Such is life” don’t you just hate those words? They aren’t comforting, kind or remotely the kind of words you say to console someone and yet there I was saying those exact words to my cousin when she told me her colleague/friend had passed away in an accident leaving behind his wife and two kids. The moment I said those words I remembered every time I have had to hear them and the grating positive effect they have had on me and so I decided for once to let the morbid fanciful in me out for a little stroll. I mean I was after all talking to my cousin. No need to feel shy there. She knows I am mental. I am just going to let you into a little bit of my madness. Beware this is just me fancying something in my head. I know that this can never happen but just the thought of it brings me some peace.

Imagine a world where people’s life span had to do with their deeds. If you were good you could have full health and continue living and for every bad deed your health would deteriorate and finally lead to your demise. Of course if you did a good deed you would gain some of your health back. If this was even possible I know some people would go on living and some that would drop dead in an instant. (Not that I would have much chance of a long life in such a world, but I probably might try to be good but we’ll never know.) I know if all of us were always good the world would be a really boring place to live in. It is the wickedness and mischief that gives life that zing! But just for a while there when you hear of a young person dying you just can’t help wondering why death is so harsh to some?

When my great grandmother died, I didn’t express my “grief” with tears instead I was angry at the world. Other kids had two sets of grandparents and I had zero. I never got to know my paternal grandpa and my maternal grandma. My maternal grandpa passed away 5 days before I turned 5. I have very vague memories of him but nothing concrete that I can fish out and reminisce about. My paternal grandma didn’t like me because I was a girl so I didn’t like her back. With my great grandma gone I realized I could never complain about my parents to anyone. She was THE authority. Kids need grandparents. If mine were alive, especially the granddads I would have told them how I feel about certain things that I just can’t seem to talk to or tell my own dad. Maybe if I spoke to them they would’ve figured a way of making him see things my way or just maybe remind him what a hot head he was at my age.

This love and need for old people around me lead me to Mukta Ajji. I adopted her as my granny and she loved me so much. In a way I got a lot of grandma love from her. She lived to be a hundred and one years old before she called it a day. 17.10.2003. That was the last time I cried when someone I loved died. I cried for hours and I’d end up crying randomly during the days that followed. I just didn’t know how to deal with this loss. This put everything in a different light for me. I became more aloof. Decided I didn’t need anyone and pretty much shut a lot of people out.

The next big loss was Fenny-girl. She ripped my heart right out of me and left a few shreds that are still finding ways to tie the ends. Every time she was sick I would play or sing Annie’s song by John Denver. She left the world the exact same way too, she died in my arms while I lay down beside her.

Why am I even writing this? Why am I even thinking these thoughts? I have no control over my thoughts today.

A guy who studied with me in kindergarten decided to end his life by drowning because people wouldn’t stop telling him how fat he was. That got to him so bad that he decided to die!

Growing up means visiting people at their death beds, I have sat at their bedside hearing them out and making promises to live a full life and the worst was when they confided in me certain things that they would otherwise never have spoken to me about.

Later in the day they are going to bury Dr.A.P.J.Abdul Kalam. That was a fine way to leave the world. He died doing what he enjoyed the best. That’s a fine way to go.

Today they/we are going to hang Yakub Memon. What a harsh way to go.

We all come to this world with a death sentence and yet we fear it. We fear it for us and people we love.

Death be gentle when you come knocking on the door. Yeah? Don’t kick the door open, or incessantly ring the bell, or peep at me from the windows. Knock once and I’ll open the door and welcome you in.