Ok first let’s make this clear. I am not suicidal. I am not
contemplating killing myself. This is not a suicide note. If I die after
writing this it would either be an accident or someone has murdered me (I’m
sorry I’m reading too many whodunits these days). It is just another blog post.
The topic might sound creepy but then you see, writing about cute things is not
really my forte. Everyone has got their own style. So someone writes heart
wrenching, feel good stories of her day to day life in the capital city of
India. Someone writes about her travel stories and her (so far unsuccessful)
trysts with men. Someone writes about recipes. I write about creepy stuff. That’s
my thing. And whenever those episodes of depression and mental turbulence hit
me I get awesome ideas in my head. Well, you see as long as you are living in
those little bubbles of temporary happiness you try not to look at the harsher
aspects of life. You shut your eyes really tight and try to recall the taste of
wine you had on your last trip. Ah, life is good, no? Rest of the world can go
hang themselves. But when the bubble is gone and you are suddenly standing
amidst an ocean of misery and suffering buck naked? Then?? Well, I don’t know
what others do. When my initial embarrassing self-harming phase gets over and I
regain a little sense I begin to think. And that’s how the creepy ideas are
born. That’s how Rhapsody in Blue was born to begin with. No salvation here
really. Just an outlet to share creepy thoughts so I don’t go full psycho.
You may wonder why death. Why of all topics I choose to talk
about that bastard in black robe and scythe in hand? Well, westerners have shit
imagination I would say. Look at the Egyptians. Look at the Tibetans. The Grim Reaper has turned into a surreal, romantic, mysterious demi god in their
mind. Death is only the beginning. That was the motto of the ancient Egyptians.
They had imaginations, before the Islamic invasion ripped them off their
slightly creepy yet romantic view on death and afterlife. And for the Tibetans? To them
death is nothing but a passageway to the next life. The recycle of soul. Until one
reaches Nirvana and becomes one with the Ultimate One. I have varied views on
death. When I am happy I avoid that topic altogether. When I am not, I seek
solace at the isle of Thoth and Anubis. I begin to wonder how I would perform
when they have weighed my heart at the room of judgment. Or if I go by the Tibetan
school of belief, how my transitional journey would feel like when my soul would depart my body and set out for its next chapter. How much comfort and how much
pain would I experience during the in between phase?
Human mind is weird. Downright weird. At least the one I possess.
I never dare look directly at a hearse on the street. I either pretend to watch
something more interesting in the far or I pretend to fall asleep (if situation
permits that role). And then I am the same person who reads murder mysteries
(stories that have no point without sudden, untimely, violent deaths) with such
a fanatic devotion that some people (only partially correctly) take me for a
cold blooded psychopath. Well, we all suffer from the terrible malady of
sugarcoating everything with a comforting, romantic, spiritual blanket of
fantasy.
Dear readers, please don’t feel creeped out. Please don’t
stop reading my blog. Please don’t send comforting emails requesting me not to
kill myself (I won’t!). I love life. I love it’s moments of joy, sorrow,
struggle, happy ending, heartbreak. I am an avid collector of them. If you
sneak into my house and peer through the stash I have gathered till date you
will realise with what love and devotion I have preserved those moments in my
little closet. Because I know they give us a taste of immortality in our daily journey
towards the inevitable decay. I believe life’s sole purpose is to defy the
cheeky bastard until the very last moment despite knowing all too well that
someday, on some unexpected moment, he will arrive and knock at our door and we
will know that it’s time to go. Until then we take it from Syrio Forel and say to
the god of Death, not today.
p.s. For the Game of Thrones uninitiated, Many-Faced God is another name of the god of Death worshiped by a cult of assassins in the city of Braavos.
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