The Many-Faced God

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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