Epilogue
Did you go to his funeral? Did he even have a family? Of course, he had one. Why do you ask? Didn’t I tell you they had all come wearing black armbands?
In mourning? Of course.
What did I see?
I saw them going home, into their loos. “Fucking long funeral,” they said and perched over their shitpots. The radio was on full blast. Turn it loud, Captain. A little jig, a little swerve, and a spray of sallow pee all over. And the band came undone and fell under. Then they flushed their loos. Or they remembered to save water and didn’t.
The next morning the obituary read
Loving father and caring husband passed away in his sleep.
He was bereaved by his 2 children and wife, who inherited a sprawling 52 acre estate and a plush bungalow.
Many years ago, as a child, he had looked up to his parents and had inherited his father’s stupidity and his mother’s perfidy. He led a life blissfully unaware of that, tinged only with the regret of a moment when he had been weak enough to believe in himself.
He went no further than a fetid shitpot. That is where he had to go.
At least, he didn’t have to suffer. He met a painless death.
That moment
A ray of light darted in his head. Yet, it did so like a streak that belonged to a lingering sunset, casting a glow over the remains on the shore. Memories shone resplendent like wet, glistening rock faces only to be extinguished, awash, by the returning waves. A shadow had come upon some parts of the world, while the others waited for their turn. Something told them their moment would come, and they must blaze in all glory then. “I must not forget. I must not,” the words jetted out from between his teeth.
He wanted to learn to enunciate each sorrow, each prick, each punch. And let the pain seep in like faith seeping out during acts of infidelity. Hold every image against the fading light and see through the negatives. Let them dance, with nakedness as their sole guise. Under the naked guise of pity, promise, and fatherhood. Stand with arms hanging lazily by his side and witness the collapse of institutions. Throw his head back insolently, proudly. And say, “You can’t touch me.”
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
He who could have been
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7 comments:
it's you birthday.. what a time to think about this... i like the way u described the moment.. reminds me of the last scene from American Beauty.. well, it's one thing that we can only imagine and never know.. and when we do.......
tikna: i remember the last scene..he says something like "except that its not a moment" and goes on to say about how the feeling "seeps in like rain"
no, we must know the feeling..it'll be too late otherwise
how can you imagine the feeling?
everyone meets the same fate...remember dust to dus to dus....?
What happened to the blog about you playing cricket as a child?
but i must congratulate ou..first it was about a span of decades with the love of your life..cricket, then it was a question of a few hours with an english medium education, then it became a description of another world after listening to a song and now its just one moment...do i have anything to say to this?
may you wirte oneday like it has nver be written before.:)
sucharita: what do u mean by "how can you imagine it?" do you mean to say that since i'vent experienced it how could i've imagined it?
clarinda: its in the archives
yes...like peter pan said " to die would perhaps be the greatest adventure of all", and I am not sure if insolence, self respect or even plain observation and an entity called "me" exists beyond the mortal self. if things do become immortal after death, they must attain a degree where the preservation of an identity in response to human reactions in the event of a death become too trivial and inconsequential.
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