Perhaps this is a very morbid topic to start the year with. However, it happens that nothing else has been written this calendar year, and a long road journey to such an event is the only free and contemplative time one has had till now this year. So, here goes nothing.
On the question of deaths, I had a very cossetted upbringing. Great grand parents, or what was left of them at my birth, passed away before I could really form memories. Being in boarding school, I remained largely unaware of such occurrences in the far and wide relations. Hence, we took such news quite personally, whenever a death did occur. I remember the first such case of one boy, 2 years junior to us, who had succumbed to Diphtheria, when we were in Class VII. Ours was a small school, with Class strength less than 40, and everyone knew everyone. It really stunned everyone in the school. We had a special assembly of the three schools for condolence. Suddenly, Diphtheria, a word which we quizzers hitherto had associated with DPT vaccine, became our biggest horror, and we started imagining our windpipes feeling constricted at night! The other death that we recall was of a very jovial "localite" (a term we used for the staff and family), who had just been selected as an ASI in Uttaranchal Police (as Uttarakhand was then known). We were in Class XII then. We saw horror struck as his body was brought one day, to his parents quarters near the school back pitch. It was a sudden heart attack - very surprising for a person so fit in body as well as mind. We, almost collegiate boys, were terrified by the fact that a corpse lay just metres away from our dormitory! We heaved a sigh of relief when the next day, he was moved for burial.
Many of my classmates had experienced the demise of their grandparents, though. They used to regale us with the tales of funeral rites and the supernatural occurrences they encountered in the said episodes (in those non-cellphone non-internet days, our "group chats" were physical!) I, for one, was rather lucky. Till 10th April 2021, way after my own son was born, I had my full set of four grandparents.
My brother, though, had quite a different experience in this area, at school. In a tragic accident, one of his classmates was shot dead by their NCC shooting instructor, in front of their eyes. Big trauma for a Class VIII student.
It was only after joining the Administrative service, in my capacity as an SDM, did I attend my first cremation! It was a rather messy kind of murder, and the cremation took place in police cover to avoid law and order trouble. Other than that, a brush with mortality was almost a weekly affair as an SDM. The roads had recently developed way beyond the mindset of the populace using them. So a lot of fatal accidents occurred, which invariably led to protests, which we had to attend. It was mostly a grisly affair, with blood and gore all around. Especially stomach churning were cases where brains were squeezed out on the road by tyres of some heavy vehicle! I also had the misfortune of attending a scene of a house fire. Those corpses were quite "well done", so to say, dripping flesh all along the path they were carried. The tenure as an SDM also had me attend post mortem examinations. That was quite scary to begin with. With time, though, it became just another set of ugly memories.
I contemplated my own mortality very seriously when, at the end of my first Collectorate tenure, I was gripped by a viral fever, which registered unknown readings like 107 - 108! It was the era of the First Covid Wave. One had been quite exposed over the course of one's work, and had over the times, become quite indifferent about it. However, the mere chance of this high fever being a probable fall out of 'that virus' was enough to make one very worried and contemplative. An Antigen test ruled out Covid in the end, and the fever did subside after 2 whole weeks. (I could not gather the courage to go for an RT-PCR test then.)
Personal bereavement, though, came very late to me. As I had mentioned above, till 10th April 2021, I had all my grandparents alive. However, as of 26th January 2025, though, I have only one - my Nana ji. Two of the deaths occurred after protracted hospitalization, and one, after a lot of visits to doctors, who could not detect the problem behind barriers, both of language, as well as the physical barriers of Covid Wave 2. A demise at the end of a long medical fight often brings with it a mixed feeling. There is of course a sense of loss. However, it is mixed with a tinge of relief, for the end of the suffering of the departed, as well as the trials and tribulations of their caregivers. Then, of course, the whole post-mortem ritual hits one, of which the cremation is but a small part. It is not a pleasant sight to find the person who is most bereaved, and the closest to the departed, being harried by all and sundry, about their versions of the applicable ritual; versions almost always in conflict with each other; with the bereaved meekly and dazedly complying with the said rituals. It is said these rituals have evolved to keep the bereaved physically and mentally busy with rituals and tasks, so that the bereavement is some distance away in time when the solitude finally hits. While that may be true, it is conversely true that for introverts, the processing of grief happens only in solitude.
Deaths in family and acquaintance bring us to the stark reality and finality of it all. In the immortal words of Majrooh Sultanpuri (and the soulful voice of Mukesh) - "Ye Hayaat to Maut ki Hai Dagar, Koi Khaak Mein Koi Khaak par" (Life itself is a path to Death - whether the ultimate repose be in the earth, or as a part of it.) Their plans, and our plans for them, suddenly become meaningless. Their worldly possession, for which they would have toiled and worried, becomes someone's (unearned) inheritance. In Mahabharat, on being asked by the Yaksha (there are many versions of the Yaksha Prashna episode, this one is the most popular one), that what is the biggest wonder in the world, Yudhishthir replied, that it is the fact that despite seeing death all around us, we humans behave as if we were immortal! Building material possession to a certain level is important - to live with dignity, as well as to die with dignity. One must of course care for one's successors too - however, it would always be better if our successors have been nurtured in a way that they need no material bequest. However, the lasting legacy of a human life must necessarily be in memories, cultural or individual. To make a timeless cultural construct should be the ultimate call of a human life. The creative potential inside everyone should be given an outlet. It is not necessary that one's creation should be of universal acclaim. While looking for ebooks on my subject of choice, I have come across obscure books, written by obscure authors, and yet, reading them felt like a conversation over centuries worth of distance! In the words of AS Byatt - "Think of this - that the writer wrote alone, and the reader read alone, and they were alone with each other.'" However, creative outlets do need some dedication, and some amount of leisure. The latter may not be affordable to everyone. However, everyone can try to be helpful to a fellow human, as an when the opportunity presents. One may become a part of another individual's personal story - something they may feel compelled to narrate to their grandchildren. Once more, in the words of Majrooh Sultanpuri and the voice of Mukesh - "Dooje ke Hothon ko De Kar Apne Geet, Koi Nishani Chhod, Phir Duniya se Dol." (Put your songs / tales on others' lips, to leave a mark on this world before you leave it.) Who knows, that "other" may well write it down, immortalizing one for times to come.
Happy Contemplation!
