The Death of a Person.

(Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Please do not take any actions upon reading this. But, I appreciate your concern.)

I know I want to die. I count the over-the-counter medicines and estimate how many of them will work in my case.

There will not be any cries of justice for me for I am an invisible person. I have not done any thing which characterizes greatness or modesty. Men and women don’t see me and there are no means wherein I can go and claim my personhood.

My mother never said she loved me. Guilt made my father a better one. My friends couldn’t understand me.

So, what if I die today?

The fear of resuscitation scares me. Do they take the person’s permission before doing that? What if that person wants to continue to die?

What if I attempt to die but I don’t die today? What if they see me lying, half-consciousness and rush me into the emergency ward? I would not want that.

But, what if there is indeed a glimmer of hope inside me which wants me to live?

But, what if this is only the fear of death itself? What if it hurts in the process of dying? I wish the dead could come tell me what it felt like.

Of course, my death will cause some news – only among a few though. For the others, it won’t matter and I guess it is better that way. If this letter lands into the hands of a filthy mind, I will be dissected into inglorious urgency and I would be portrayed as some heartbroken woman.

But, if someone worthy finds it (N), I know my death would not be in vain. Because, I didn’t die because there were so many reasons. I am dying because there aren’t any reasons left.

I owe some money to P B (Rs 5000) and a lot to N. From D, I have to get money back. To the rest, I owe nothing but an explanation, which I hope this letter offers –

N, I don’t like you yelling in the office, especially at me. I wish you would know that it hurt me. (Not the same N as before.)

A, ugly girls have a heart too.

T, you have broken my heart twice. No, many times.

S, I wish you changed for good. You have married someone whom you would not recommend to me. So, get out.

Most of all, I don’t blame anyone for my decision. I didn’t live a happy life and so, I am ending it.

And, this is my handwriting. No one wrote this except me. I have been wanting to die for a very long time. There is still some time before I actually die. I haven’t made up my mind, you see. But, this isn’t funny, I know.

N will be the most affected. I could never find support but I hope she does. She is in pain as well (but don’t let them read this, they will drag her into an asylum), she is not ill. She just wants love and care. K, what is your problem? You seriously think you will find someone better? I don’t think so.

I don’t have anything to say to my parents. This is not the moment I would want to evoke some remnants of love for them. But, if I have to share my best memories of them, here they are –

Under the grove of the Indian lilacs, my father told me that I had turned five. I was sitting on the baby seat of his bicycle clad in my Saturday white.

I came back home from an overnight stay to the warm bosom of my mother. The family with whom I had stayed the night had to take me to my mother at five in the morning. That warmth from my mother is the one memory I know of her love.

I am sick of the world, witnessing so much hatred and such murderous rage. Why would anybody want to live in this world? It sickens me to the core. I have always tried to believe that this world and the people are good but I don’t want to try anymore. I was molested by my uncle when I was 14. So, I don’t believe in the goodness of this world. I don’t want to share the other things.

But, please don’t read too much into this letter. I am sure there are better texts to misinterpret like the Bible or the Quran. Leave this letter be. But, if you want to know, I am influenced by Eckhart Tolle, Oprah Winfrey, and to some extent by Thich Nhat Hanh.

I am not a practising Hindu although I have a natural inclination towards Zen.

Also, I can write in multiple hands, meaning I can write many different kinds of handwritings. It is something natural in me. So, please do not get confused if you see multiple writings in one notebook. It is all me, unless otherwise specified.

Just please don’t resuscitate me. I would not want that.

I also wanted to find a man who could love me and who I could love back. I also wanted to adopt a little girl and name her Zest (after the story I read in grade eleven, The Future is Now: A Zest for Living). But, I also like the name Anahita (from Castle).

I don’t feel sad writing any of this. In fact, there is peace.

I won’t have the time to proofread so please don’t even mind doing that. Print this letter as it is. All rules are made by humans and box could be boxen as simply. Also, the cock crows in the morning, midnight, evening, and every time.

Bury me and on my tombstone, please inscribe:

“She was nobody.

She believed, systems are meant to serve people, not the other way around.”

Oh! and tell K, I love her. She was the one who could see something in me.

And, N, hope I was a better sister than before. All my money is yours. You will find the password of the bank account at the end of this notebook. And, before you too go crazy, please leave this house for good.

Also, please collect all my haiku and publish them – not the stories, only the haiku. You can name the book something. I don’t care much.

But, the introduction to the author can be found in the About Me page of my WordPress blog. Do not put a picture in the book. It is not needed. You can use signs like Eckhart Tolle uses in his book to mark the end of a part. I would like that.

And, please, No Postmortem. I overdosed on ordinary paracetamol.


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