Raju Korti
Death, or the thought of it, does not have to be always morbid in its wake. I remember veteran journalist, writer Dr Baburao Patel having said that a man who chuckles at the thought of his own death has to be the liveliest man alive. Reading dear friend Mayank Chhaya's post of August 14 and reacting to it so late might not well be in tune with a journalist's instincts in timeliness but this one has a long shelf life.
Wrote Mayank: "Someone informed my dear friend Sharad Bailur (a common friend) today that I have died. I have checked. I don't think so. But then, who can tell these days? People have been known to die and it is always in the realm of possibility. I will be the first to let you know if it comes to that."
There are a few things that stand out from this succinct post. One, death or even the thought of it, does not have to be morbid as I have borne before. One can and should laugh it off. There is precious nothing that one can do about it. Two, like any old-fashioned journalist, one should cross-check all information when it comes to him. Even if it is about his own death. Three, it is also about the uncertainties of death. Death writes its own will, is self-styled and no one can rewrite it. Four, and finally, again the instinct of a good journalist and his sense of pride in "you read about it here first."
Death may have triggered and spawned a myriad poetries but ask me, As someone who has constantly lived in the shadow of death after an almost fatal bypass surgery in 2015, I count each dawn as a blessing or a curse, depending on how the day shapes up. I clearly remember the surgeon telling some of my friends: "Is ka operation to kar diya hoon, lekin guarantee kuchh nahi hai." This is the realm of possibility and uncertainty that Mayank writes with his characteristic humour. My family folk and friends believe talking about death is a taboo and not worthy of even dark humour.
Some time in the early eighties, I recall my newspaper had published the death of a Parsi Bawaji. Someone had made a prank call as his relative and informed that he had died. The newspaper published it in good faith without cross-checking. The next morning, the Bawaji landed at the editor's doorstep, seething with anger and seeking an explanation how his paper could commit such faux pas. The editor, an affable man, made no attempt to control his laughter. "Relax, Sir, you will live a longer life." That infuriated him even more. He didn't realize that if he had indeed died, he wouldn't have had the good fortune of listening to this profound piece of philosophy.
In one of my interactions with Dev Anand, the actor once told me that "when it (death) comes, I will take it." As if he had a choice! But while we all believed that in our smitten naivete, it never occured to our imbecile minds that death does not discriminate between lesser or any other mortal. The operative word is mortal.
People who sound pompous when they say, "it's my life", conveniently forget that it's their death too. Death doesn't give anyone a power of attorney. Take it and leave! As far as I am concerned, being not dead is not the same as being alive either. There is no cure for birth and death, so just glide through the interval,
The End!
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