Death comes as the end

So well, that's death...You eat drink, live and you die anyway....and then you have a whacking great funeral where people come...and refuse to leave you alone. I wouldn't want anyone on my funeral..except my parents (god bless them to live that long) and my sisters and my friends...who cares about people you meet once a year anyways..I don't!! And then it's the money...and gentle probing..what will happen of possessions...people cry while accepting them..a year down the line..no one cares if the dead man's possessions have been drowned in gambling or debts or bought new tv...

And then the people come..for 13 days...wear white clothes, don't cook food since you get free food and you sit in a corner with your hand on your head...you are expected to, what if you don't want to stare at the body for 10 hours..what if you want to do what comes next and next and next and so on till one day you simply cry....cry like an animal in pain...with great racking sobs which make you feel empty..and you know you'll feel a little hollow forever and your throat will ache with too much pain...and your chin will wobble with the effort of holding tears back...

Agatha Christie wrote in her book "The Hollow" about a woman who is so dysfunctional that whe n the man she loves died...instead of sobbing she makes a huge sculpture of grief...all the while crying and still sculpting...I feel the same...My uncle expired today and my dad's in the hospital...and I don't know what to do except write...write as I cry...and feel weird...and dysfunctional....

And then people want to be sympathisers...sit next to the bereaved family and look important, suitable sad...trying to offer meagre comfort...while the others stand with their heads bowed..each thinking "when will this end"..I need to go...and then comes the rituals...no women with periods allowed...no writing with black pen...no wearing chappals when you take the arthi...no women allowed at the crematorium..no talking certain things...no having a bath, no cooking food...wearing white.. All trappings..made to make us fall in line...what If i don't want such things on my funeral...All the while sobs breaking out like melody in the room...

And then comes money..property...you realise that you need it...and you have to behave so you do...and you let people arrange for you...And you worry about what your "share" will be...how much did you do? how often did you come and visit the man?

I hate hospitals...the IV injections make me faint...so does the whiteness...and the patient who is so helpless...to watch them wither...day by day...and see the life being sucked out...To watch people and envy how healthy they are.. how they don't have people in the hospital...to not see and think...and endlessly think...what next..what will happen..all the while avoiding the inevitable "if it happens..then what?"

Pity is what everyone has..."Why me?" is so inevitable that it becomes boring...like mba..or foot in the mouth disease..oh been there...done that....

On 8th november 2010 at 6.30 i was waiting in fortis hospital...waiting for a delivery..like fedex and my sister gave birth to Arin...my nephew...today at the funeral i was watching his photos and looking back at the dead man...and i saw life...and death...and I know it exists..and I know people go...what affects me is that im more worried about the people who are living..since i dont want them to end up the same way...not about the dead....coz the dead don't speak..or shout

I want only few people on my funeral...only the ones who genuinely care...rest all i'd rather give a big pizza party and ask them to chill...

I keep seeing life in the two twinkly black eyes of my nephew..with his lopsided, not so many teeth yet but getting there smile...his movements and his voice...And i remember...

Maybe it is ok after all...maybe you do want to cry...It's not that you're dysfunctional, maybe you have a different way of expressing it...