the human condition

 

Three days ago I sat at the platforms of Borivali station waiting for Pratham as I received my phone call from Jesuita first asking, then implying, and finally confirming the death of my dear 80-year-old beautiful Abba, my Nanu. My first thought was why now? Because of the timing and of nothing of what he meant to me. My exams were scheduled for Monday, and I was taking a leave to study that day. Why this timing? It was not likely that he'd planned it, although as I later found out he'd had called my mother and several others to extend his final blessings upon them. Upon telling this to Tanushi, she asked do old people know when they're about to die? I don't know. Is death an inconvenience or a laughing matter? There were parts of me constantly going over the events of the day. Me taking leave, my grandfather dying and me thinking of it as more of an inconvenience than a tragedy. That perhaps is the tragedy of the entire situation. A life was lost and the man's grandson thinks that his exams were ruined by his death. Oh, such is the human condition. One where a son mistreats his father in the name of healing and virtue, constantly abusing him for his misgivings. Another is where a daughter's presence at her father's funeral is considered a facade and a masquerade of ill-intention by her own brother. So it goes. Even a dysfunctional family functions when there's a death of a loved one. Maybe not in the healthiest ways but everyone copes. My uncle did, by keeping himself busy. My grandmother concerned herself more with the people arriving and the daily routine of feeding everyone, giving out the trash, and making eggs and bread for her grandchildren while her husband of 51 years lay cold on the couch just a few feet away. Most affected by my Nanu's death was my mother. She bawled and beat herself up because she said she knew something was off and perhaps in the most daughterly of ways she wanted to be there but responsibilities and priorities don't match with intention.

My notes from the day are seemingly me being myself. I'll be listing them here. 

(A quick note: I'm constantly documenting everything since my life is fixed with maximalist endless possibilities and I don't wish to miss out on it. Even when grief gets in the way of my work, my academics, and my life, I would crazily enough not bother to pay heed in turn ruining my mental stability which at this point is negligent.)

• Workday morning sky pictures are unnecessary
• Railway workers might have interesting stories to tell
• Pratham isn't here yet
• Call from Jess
• Race to reach before my parents do
• Does it hurt to be you?
• Staring at the reflection of the candle on the floor
• Teddy bear pinkie blanket
• He looks better than he did in the ICU
• The sky is beautiful today
• My uncle is not okay
• I didn't see my baby cousins
• Seeing him for the last time
• Socializing hits different at funerals
• I want to go home.

Stanley Kubrick's entire filmography consists of life and the meaning of the human condition, exploration of the broader themes of the universe, finding meaning in nothing, nothing lasts forever, does anything matters, and any of the other existential, nihilist, and absurdist rules and regulations I come up with for myself and how I live and what I create shall flow from within me and when I die I want everyone to remember me for my work and for who I was and those who do not know me well to just being disinterested as they always have been because I don't care. 

I have been thinking a lot about death. My death. I question myself every single day now if I die right now how is it they'll remember me, people, who know me, how would they react? Would I be an inconvenience or a tragedy? Would it be like Miransh, who kept to himself and no one knew neither knew what to make of his death? How do they remember him? I certainly don't have anything to share about him, OH HE WAS SUCH A GOOD FRIEND OF MINE. no, he wasn't. No one knew him, and no one cared that he died, his family did, yes. But did he touch any of our lives, he didn't. But his death did. A loss, any loss is a tragedy. A loved one, a family member, or a friend. His death just made us realize not everything is all bright and good. My friends broke up, fights began through the group, a solemn sort of unintended death of the way of life we had before occurred and we were in the center of this huge pile of shit that is Engineering. A degree that cares less for knowledge but rather the process of it, no one in engineering can be happy truly, it's a painful career. You might make the bucks but you sell your soul for it. It's a lifestyle I don't know if I've said before. I do not want to be remembered as the engineer, the guy who died too early, an aspiring person, or just a cool individual. I'd rather be blown into oblivion than any of that. I want to be known as the person who reminded people of life. As a giver of joy, as a proud master of storytelling, and a body of work that is state of the art and stellar, and the complex characters that I created to remind people of themselves and how they work and how they create work. I'm getting carried away with every word I type.

I think I will end this one here. I've to still write about the Omegle incident. I'll cover that in the next one. This should've been dated 13th October.