A Blog on Death
Like I said in my earlier post, death is just one of two constants in our lives - the other being change. We may be fascinated by it, feel funny about it, be terrified about it, be brave about it, but it is there.
And the most fascinating thing about death for me is that I have not met a single person in this world who has been able to tell me how it feels like at the moment of passing away. You read about it in books, see versions - exaggerrated or understated - in the movies even (the 3-minute speech version in Hindi movies, or the simple knock-over version in English), but I do not know how it feels.
And that to me is the true mystique of death. Nothing highly philosophical like where it takes me to, or do I get to have that drink from the skull in Valhalla or watch Rambha dance, seated to the right of that meekest of gods, Indra, or anything like that...Not even something from the realm of spirituality, or metaphysics or whatever.
The mystique for me is the inability to answer that simplest of questions - how does it feel at the moment of passing away? More so because I do not even have the privilege of a preview or a sampling, so to speak. When I do go through it, it will be my own personal experience. I can share it with none.
There used to be a time when I used to mouth stuff like 'I ain't scared of death', 'I will just accept it as it comes'. Now when I think back, I realise it could be one of two things - the glorious and blissful ignorance that we are draped in when we are young, or just foolhardiness/simple plain stupidity. I mean, how can one not be scared of that one thing about which no living person in this world has an idea about?
I used to think like I said a few lines back. Until my grandma passed away. She was one person I was attached to. And the circumstances of her passing away were pretty dramatic for me. I hadn't seen her in about 3-4 years, and so made plans to go home in January 2003 for the express purpose of seeing her and spending the festival of Bihu with her at my ancestral home in Assam, a beautiful little village called Helem. I reached there on January 12th; she passed away on January 11th. Just like that. I realised when I reached home that the person I loved the most I would never be able to see, talk to, and touch, ever again. And that is a very scary thought.
Her death also made me realise another thing. That my own father was growing old. That soon a time would come when this brilliant, lovable man whom I respect more than anyone else in this world would be gone too, and some day, I would be gone too. Those were days of frightening realizations. I realized that a day would come when life would have had enough of me and asked me to fuck off some place where I would not be able to be a nuisance to anyone any more. I would be loved, probably, and even remembered, but I would not be able to sit with my friends and share a laugh or a drink. I would not be able to talk. I was more terrified than sad...
So now when someone says they aren't afraid of death, I feel funny. I mean ... people say they aren't afraid of dying, but they are scared of snakes and lizards...and a million other little things... we have an entire list of assorted phobias...
I think we are so caught up with the idea of living that we haven't bothered to spend quality time thinking about death, the actual event of our death. And every now and then when a loved one or a friend passes away, we get the shakes for a while - could be sadness or fright - but we soon forget those terrifying moments because we are again caught up with the idea of living... which is not a bad thing at all, actually.
Which brings me to another thought - wouldn't an 80-year old Ajishnu feel the same way as a convict on death row whose appeals are being turned down as fast as they are being made? Condemned to die, knowing that the hour is soon approaching, but not knowing exactly when? In fact, the convict is better off, because with the turning down of the last appeal is a sense of finality, he knows the hours.. or may be he is worse off because then he has sit through the countdown...
I definitely want to live till 80, and write down what I experience in my last days, until the end...I don't know whether I will have the strength of mind to do this, though...
The mystique for me is the inability to answer that simplest of questions - how does it feel at the moment of passing away? More so because I do not even have the privilege of a preview or a sampling, so to speak. When I do go through it, it will be my own personal experience. I can share it with none.
There used to be a time when I used to mouth stuff like 'I ain't scared of death', 'I will just accept it as it comes'. Now when I think back, I realise it could be one of two things - the glorious and blissful ignorance that we are draped in when we are young, or just foolhardiness/simple plain stupidity. I mean, how can one not be scared of that one thing about which no living person in this world has an idea about?
I used to think like I said a few lines back. Until my grandma passed away. She was one person I was attached to. And the circumstances of her passing away were pretty dramatic for me. I hadn't seen her in about 3-4 years, and so made plans to go home in January 2003 for the express purpose of seeing her and spending the festival of Bihu with her at my ancestral home in Assam, a beautiful little village called Helem. I reached there on January 12th; she passed away on January 11th. Just like that. I realised when I reached home that the person I loved the most I would never be able to see, talk to, and touch, ever again. And that is a very scary thought.
Her death also made me realise another thing. That my own father was growing old. That soon a time would come when this brilliant, lovable man whom I respect more than anyone else in this world would be gone too, and some day, I would be gone too. Those were days of frightening realizations. I realized that a day would come when life would have had enough of me and asked me to fuck off some place where I would not be able to be a nuisance to anyone any more. I would be loved, probably, and even remembered, but I would not be able to sit with my friends and share a laugh or a drink. I would not be able to talk. I was more terrified than sad...
So now when someone says they aren't afraid of death, I feel funny. I mean ... people say they aren't afraid of dying, but they are scared of snakes and lizards...and a million other little things... we have an entire list of assorted phobias...
I think we are so caught up with the idea of living that we haven't bothered to spend quality time thinking about death, the actual event of our death. And every now and then when a loved one or a friend passes away, we get the shakes for a while - could be sadness or fright - but we soon forget those terrifying moments because we are again caught up with the idea of living... which is not a bad thing at all, actually.
Which brings me to another thought - wouldn't an 80-year old Ajishnu feel the same way as a convict on death row whose appeals are being turned down as fast as they are being made? Condemned to die, knowing that the hour is soon approaching, but not knowing exactly when? In fact, the convict is better off, because with the turning down of the last appeal is a sense of finality, he knows the hours.. or may be he is worse off because then he has sit through the countdown...
I definitely want to live till 80, and write down what I experience in my last days, until the end...I don't know whether I will have the strength of mind to do this, though...
posted by The Wise Man From Hell @ 10:37 AM
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