Death is real

Sometimes words simply dry up. When life hands you one disaster after another. It is like being battered so badly that you don’t even bother with tears. You turn numb. The mind freezes. Logic flies out of the window.

But the eyes don’t stop looking. The ears don’t miss a single beat. You keep asking why. And there is no satisfactory answer in sight. And suddenly the daily sham called life begins to reveal its true colours, making the future seem even more bleak.

The flowery words of consolation sound shallow. The nuggets of philosophy doled out by people around you, feel hollow. And the ambitions that so-called friends seem to be chasing leaving you out of the game, seem utterly meaningless. What is the point in stepping over others to reach that rainbow, when life itself is so unpredictable?

Hours after a human life lies stilled, people forget what that person actually meant. I wonder if they meant anything even when they existed in our lives. Someone who is now referred to as a ‘body’ was once a person full of life. So what are we chasing? Is there anything we leave behind for the others? For ourselves?

Human memory is fleeting. Worse, we have the capacity to gloss over everything which is inconvenient and ugly. Human beings have the capacity to tell a tale in so many ways, adding masala to suit their motives, that the real story is forgotten.

Sounds remarkably like some governments.

But the disaster, even if it is not apparently visible, is real.

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