This morning, a clouded summer morning, I called D to tell ‘I quit. I cannot do this anymore. I am going to die’
I had my reasons, of course everyone have their reasons for their actions, right. Anyways, the point is simple ‘ennala mudiyala. Sema vazhiya irukku’. Every single thought process in my mind is streaming down to one point - death. I feel it is better to die, this whole fight is worthless.
I prepared lentil (kollu)rasam last evening, that was for my today’s lunch. If you have ever tasted it in your life you would know the specialty and importance of it. 12000 miles from my home, I had made this rasam to replenish my memories so that I can find energy to keep going. Such small and beautiful moments are the ones that make up my life. Rasam was spoiled this noon during my lunch, half my rice also had got wasted with it. The pessimist in me tells now I am half empty stomach. The optimist tells am half full stomach with wonderful lentil dhal and curd rice.
My mind goes with the pessimist inside me now. I am not able to take the fact that all that I had done has gone waste. Like musician has his very important piece somewhere in the middle of his creation, rasam is very important note in my lunch menu.
Now my life is like my rasam. The very important moment is spoiled, ruined. There have always been very small things I had loved and enjoyed, but all that has spoiled now. I don’t see meaning without them. Like my lunch, it has now meaning. There is reason for the food and the order that we eat it. Similarly in my life there were things that had to be in order and how it should have gone, but now all is topsy turvy. I do some here, I dream some there, I wish to be somewhere when all I am is here without any interest. This is not I should be living for.
Okay, let me go do what I want, I thought to myself, I planned for it; promised to be strong for it; hoped to get back and do all that. Still I called D this morning.
It is the same me who had changed a suicidal girl into an ambitiously career purser (she would be devastated if I die now, her own words); who always stood till end of everything to see what happens next (I have seen and made 10 more people to see Anti-Christ movie till end); who thought defeats leads to great victory; who had ambition to become a very filthily rich person; who wished to have dozen kids playing all over his home and farm; who thought living in itself was a pleasure; who was so eager to make a mark in this history before dying; who wanted to have even strangers come mourn over his dead body.
What happened to this ‘same me’? Why do I feel to quit? I have gone through all this hurdles for this?
These are the questions that come to you, the same that D asked me. I have never been good at explaining things to anyone, leave D alone. D can prove gravity is up and I cannot even prove that the word ‘apple’ starts with letter ‘A’. That is my case.
Same thing happened this morning. He has convinced me to be alive, for a time period where I would write down all the reasons that I have for dying, or atleast turn back to see what I have across to get this mind set. It is not so strange right? More than that there is one more thing, he had asked ‘you have believed me every time, believe this one time, if you feel the same after that point, then I will not stop you’. This is the first time he had asked me something like this.
I have never been able to be rigid or say no, that is how I had grown. I have seen very less people telling no on others face, on top of it, this is D, how can I tell no
As per his request, I am going to live for some more time in this world, I do not know how long that is going to be for. Before I quit I would like to record things that have been running in my mind and things I had faced. It should have happen to all of us, at one point of time. By writing it down here, I would be able to connect to that moment of yours with my moment, like a Dejavu. Let us see how much of it we come across. I have had many, people around me know about it.
From the time I am able to remember, I have had this question, ‘why do people want to live?’ With all killing troubles around them, people want to live, they want one more last second, one more last minute, one more last supper, one more last hug, one more last day, only one more of all of it. Why? Why everyone is so focused for it? Why afraid of end? Is it so horrible?
One reasonable explanation is that no one lives the present moment, so they need more of it to enjoy it more.
For me, I do not know if I had had lived all my moments, but my life has been a satisfactory one till now. So why to die then, if life has being so good and satisfactory?
The reason is this, the little boy inside me is in his death bed. The pressure in his respiratory pipe is constantly increasing. He has been breathing very scarcely for years now and whatever he has breathed is only poisonous smoke. He is being tortured. Who is doing all this right? Why should a small boy be killed? Answer is simple- he has to become a man. So to be a man I myself am killing the boy, I have to, if not there is a big queue to kill him.
This small boy has been the very source for my satisfactory life till now. If he dies I die; my identity is lost; there is no more anything left of me. I don’t want to see me living a single day like that. I have to kill this man before this. This is not a decision that was taken in a rage, anxiety, rush or any feelings. This has been a well thought out solution as of now. Mother nature also has told me to do this. How? I will tell you that part of the story as we go, it has an interestingly silly and serious side.
I have been seeing every single person around me after they have lost their girl/boy. I have seen various countries’ people by now. With all that experience I have seen that all have a slight trace of her/him, but this life and its day-to-day pressure has made them not think about it. If they think about it, they would become a rebel or kill themselves, but they can’t do their usual work. That is why they have to forget it.
I am going to tell the story of this boy. He has so many colours as a rainbow. He has tried to uproot a coconut tree to brush as his grandfather told, but the same grandfather is afraid to tell him to remove his beard; he could have been a good husband, wonderful son, great employee, a terrific rapist and a serial killer, still he became a losing farmer, possessive lover, absconding employee, philosopher who doesn’t know when to stop talking and a tissue paper for others.
To understand all this I have to start from the place where this all begins and give you all the important incidents that had shaped him to become suicidal.
Before that, I will ask you all two questions.
- Why do you want to live?
- Why do you think a person (me) should not suicide?
I will ask these same questions at the end of this series of memories. Let’s see how it goes.
I was named mowgli, but I wanted to change my name as priyan ahktar, though I was called as banian jatti, muradan, pappu, aandhai, aloo… all these names have a history and that is what is now coming back to show you all the reason why I should die…
Dejavus to begin from here…