Contradictions... a letter
A musty smell… of thoughts and memories. Do memories have smell? I still remember the smell of Amma’s saree, starched. They must be having a distinct noise also because I can remember the clang of the bell when they were taking her away in a possession. A celebration of the dead by the living and a cremation of the fears of the living in the pyres of the dead. Fear, afraid, scared. Scared of death? But isn’t death inevitable for every life? Then isn’t life the prime cause of death? What other causes do we search for? Why do we try to blame circumstances, situations and people for demise when life itself is the criminal and life is the victim too. Funny isn’t it? Yes funnier is the fact that this pen was given to me by Appa when I was going to my exams. Funny that now all I can ever feel of him is this pen. Did he know that one day this pen would be a memory. Then he made that memory. He made my memory. We make memories too. I make memories of people. People make memories of me. When me make memories then why do some memories make us sad. Why do we make sad memories. Are we masochists? No, we make memories for others too, so we are sadists. I am alone now. I have no one for company. Its just me. A thin worn out, rambling me. But am I alone? Do I not have thoughts. Aren’t thoughts perceptions of the inner sanctum. Aren’t thoughts the manifestations of feeling? Then what am I feeling? Yes, he asked me this question. In the ward. Which ward? Who? Why? When?... questions, or are they answers. Aren’t questions the answers to more questions that have answers to more… a vicious cycle. They are answers. Answers to my life. Answers to its absence, answers to a reason, answers to a cause… answers….more questions….
Which ward? Should I say the ward of the living dead? Can you understand? No. Because you say that is no answer. Then you already made a perception of the answer. Why do you ask me then? You perceive the answer, to which I provide questions. You have the solutions to which I create problems and you call them solutions. Wordplay.
Yes the ward of the living dead. The ward where death is invited by many and forbidden by some. The ward where people orchestrate their own banshees, the living script their own epitaphs. Where people want to know the route to the morgue but are always mislead into the jaws of something more dangerous than death… life.
Is life dangerous? Life causes death. And if you are scared of death, then life is dangerous.
Who? Again you expect answers that you want to hear. You need a name, a face, an identity, a nose, an ear, eyes each of these different from another package but each package identical in contents. Who?I don’t know who. I don’t care who. Ignorance, apathy. Ignorance… of the pain. Apathy towards the want. The want? Death.
Why? Reason? Because it is destiny? Not satisfied? Let us play the little game. Which answer do you want to choose for why? Because I wanted it to happen? Because he longed it to happen. Because god was playing human and human was playing god. You would never choose the last option. Because you have different notions about the answer. But if I say that is the answer, then will you face it? You might not. Because it is ambiguous. Vague, nebulous, synonyms. It is clear but it is grey. And we prefer black or white. We prefer wrong or right. Light or dark. Good or bad. Beauty or the beast. But what about the beastly beauty and the beautiful beast. The goodness of the bad and lightness of the dark. What about the voices of the dumb and the dexterity of the crippled? Contradictions? Scared? No uncomfortable? No uneasy? Are you uneasy? Well so were they. They? Yes they. They is we. We is you and you is me. Me is us. Uneasy. Then why do they judge. Because they can? Because they want to? Because I shouldn’t?
But they judge. Judge what? More questions. Curiosity. The reason for life. Inquisitions inquiry the raison de atre. So if he lost curiosity, then why should he live. Why should I live, why should they, or me or you or us live?
When? Yes now. No then. What is the difference between now and then. Time? Transcend it. I transcend it like he did. No like I made him do it. And like I do it now. What transcends time? Death. Yes death transcends time. Because death never changes with time. It is eternal. Death is unending and the ironic end. And here I die. Do I kill myself? No guilt kills me. Guilt for what? For what life made me do. It made me kill. This time, life the accused and death the victim. Yes my death, a victim of life, his death a victim of life.
Does it pain? Yes it pains as much as an ant pricks. Or precisely like a syringe. I pricked him. He needed it. Not because I hated him, but he loved death and I hated his life. Reason enough? No contradictions you say. But I am a contradiction. What I did was a contradiction. Mercy killing. Yes
But I killed him out of mercy, and mercy is killing me. A mercy that they granted me. And that my guilt takes away from me….
Euthanasia. A long word in the short time I have. One last question. Is this suicide or euthanasia…….?
Which ward? Should I say the ward of the living dead? Can you understand? No. Because you say that is no answer. Then you already made a perception of the answer. Why do you ask me then? You perceive the answer, to which I provide questions. You have the solutions to which I create problems and you call them solutions. Wordplay.
Yes the ward of the living dead. The ward where death is invited by many and forbidden by some. The ward where people orchestrate their own banshees, the living script their own epitaphs. Where people want to know the route to the morgue but are always mislead into the jaws of something more dangerous than death… life.
Is life dangerous? Life causes death. And if you are scared of death, then life is dangerous.
Who? Again you expect answers that you want to hear. You need a name, a face, an identity, a nose, an ear, eyes each of these different from another package but each package identical in contents. Who?I don’t know who. I don’t care who. Ignorance, apathy. Ignorance… of the pain. Apathy towards the want. The want? Death.
Why? Reason? Because it is destiny? Not satisfied? Let us play the little game. Which answer do you want to choose for why? Because I wanted it to happen? Because he longed it to happen. Because god was playing human and human was playing god. You would never choose the last option. Because you have different notions about the answer. But if I say that is the answer, then will you face it? You might not. Because it is ambiguous. Vague, nebulous, synonyms. It is clear but it is grey. And we prefer black or white. We prefer wrong or right. Light or dark. Good or bad. Beauty or the beast. But what about the beastly beauty and the beautiful beast. The goodness of the bad and lightness of the dark. What about the voices of the dumb and the dexterity of the crippled? Contradictions? Scared? No uncomfortable? No uneasy? Are you uneasy? Well so were they. They? Yes they. They is we. We is you and you is me. Me is us. Uneasy. Then why do they judge. Because they can? Because they want to? Because I shouldn’t?
But they judge. Judge what? More questions. Curiosity. The reason for life. Inquisitions inquiry the raison de atre. So if he lost curiosity, then why should he live. Why should I live, why should they, or me or you or us live?
When? Yes now. No then. What is the difference between now and then. Time? Transcend it. I transcend it like he did. No like I made him do it. And like I do it now. What transcends time? Death. Yes death transcends time. Because death never changes with time. It is eternal. Death is unending and the ironic end. And here I die. Do I kill myself? No guilt kills me. Guilt for what? For what life made me do. It made me kill. This time, life the accused and death the victim. Yes my death, a victim of life, his death a victim of life.
Does it pain? Yes it pains as much as an ant pricks. Or precisely like a syringe. I pricked him. He needed it. Not because I hated him, but he loved death and I hated his life. Reason enough? No contradictions you say. But I am a contradiction. What I did was a contradiction. Mercy killing. Yes
But I killed him out of mercy, and mercy is killing me. A mercy that they granted me. And that my guilt takes away from me….
Euthanasia. A long word in the short time I have. One last question. Is this suicide or euthanasia…….?
Funeral service by Ganty> at 10:24 PM
