Death

I am not sure why but these days, as I ride across Delhi roads, I feel dangerously close to death most of the time. Death, no less. While riding elsewhere, poorer infrastructure, chaotic traffic, hence less ambitious speedometer needles ensure that the worst is often a few bruises, at times few fractures. Here in Delhi, more of Central and South, death looms large. I feel maybe half a mistake away from it; in all likelihood, not mine. This is when I've had accidents, fairly diverse kinds; I am no stranger to them, the shock followed by a long or short recovery. Still. Often after a close shave, I think of Camus, and how silly, how disgraceful, how embarrassing it would be do die on the road, crushed by a car, or having banged into a wall. My greatest regret - I don't know however - before dying could be that I am dying on the road. Wonder what was Camus'.

But then, I could burn myself as I make a cup of tea. I wear a shawl as I make it. It could catch fire and that could be it. Far more graceful, I should think, but silly nonetheless. At least the tea should not go waste. I hope the one who discovers me dead there, drinks the tea, and appreciates it. Which connects me to the point that it is tragic that those who hang themselves in a room, haunt the room for a long time. They shut down a space in the universe as they leave, they forbid others to enter it maybe without willing so. I would rather not leave an absent presence, or a ravaged automobile, but something that is a product of love and creativity. Wonder what it could be. As if we really have choices. But maybe we do. Maybe, even a road accident first enters your life, looms large, lets you think of it often before embracing you. Perhaps. What is indeed pitiable is to sit back in your automobile and not even anticipate death, let alone 'see' it coming.

Okay. Forget about it. Let me end this macabre post by mentioning something more pleasant. One of the most entertaining instances in Lucknow Boy is that of an English media man, known for his wit all his life. His grave has it engraved on it: "I told you I was not well." I am not saying that, not right now.