A Post-mortem of my living obituary

Just my 3rd day to work and my gingerly feelings continue. I am at the bus stop, a fresh waft of jasmine and a promising dull sky. Looking forward to my first ever teachers' orientation programme in Hyderabad in Tarnaka at Satyodoyam. Boarded a 10H, I sensed trouble. I was in the midst of my one-on-one with the fellow up there whom believers and non-believers call God. The conductor was a middle-aged foul-mouthed resentful employee. The driver looked tortured and was not any less than an angry irresponsible piece of shit. The bus started its dance of tandava from nearly banging an auto on legal parking area to running over many grannies. On hindsight, he should have. I would have been avenged to see his balls crushed and lynched by the mob. I sat on the left, first seat reserved for the "physically disabled", the rest were occupied. After Jubilee Checkpost, at the Venkatgiri blind turn, the driver screeches and we avoid a major disaster of becoming the dear departed by inches. An Infosys office bus and the tandava bus at loggerheads, in right angles, two big monsters fuming. Life came to a standstill, my life definitely did, my heart stopped beating, it flew out of dear life. I flew from my seat and crash landed at the footboard, all expletives buried in the nether world. I was clinging to the window rails and one hand held my huge bag. Divine mission aborted. Recovered and straightened myself, tried to breathe, yelled at the fellow up there for this -- was it a trial run or a prank? Agitated fellow commuters stood stunned, asked me if I was fine. Oh yeah, I am. Resumed the journey. Looked at the watch, it was 8:23 am, lucky moment, blithe me! Nobody said anything and I dint feel that outraged, life is that cheap. Driver shrugged, I forgave him. Infosysy driver blew his top, it was more of get-out-of-my-way. Called up Father Sunder, no prayers for that fellow up there, He cheesed me off.

I am not fatalistic but still wish to go on record that the driver is not a catalyst, it was just not his day. That's between me and the fellow up there. He better cancel any plans, if any. My wishes are different -- I want all my loved ones around me when I die, I want to make sure they are smiling and promise to keep smiling after I go. I felt small and insignificant that moment. A terrible moment of vulnerability. Did not have the heart to call anyone -- did my loved ones get any sign that moment that I could have been gone? I don't want to know the answer. Doubted if people who loved me really loved me or was I undeserving of their love? That fellow up there told me love saved me. I was angrier -- love is not some premium you pay for the rainy day, why is it such a big investment? I don't want that love to be bargained for my life, I feel I am poorer today. I live a life of debt, where I am supposed to be scared and unsure because anything can happen anytime. I have to make sure I say i-love-you to all my loved ones, I am not complaining. Just that, I hate this feeling. I hate all my loved ones now for loving me.

I am not scared of death but the close encounter and the near-death experience is scary especially when I shudder to think what my loved ones would have gone thru. How many will come to bear my pall? Confirmed news from the morgue, a call from the police station. Thousands of miles away, an anxious but childlike voice (Ma) will answer "Hello, Sana.." My home receives STD calls from one number regularly. Very rare one-off cases of that number not being mine. It's not Sana, she fumbles and gets nervous. Her phone antics are still amusingly and lovably clumsy. An old frail voice will take the call, Pa. The flashback to old times and the old lanes in Shillong, where a young father takes his daughter to nursery who celebrated her birthday two times in a year. She's fades into a nobody today. All achievements in life pale into shallowness. The regular rituals will happen, from a funeral to a memorial amidst tears and more tears for some more months, years and then just a lingering memory. Pa and Ma will meet some people who touched my lives in this big city. The only regret is they might not meet some about whom I did not get any proper opportunity to talk about. Whoever is reading this now, please count yourself in and stand by my family for that big celebration of life after I am gone. You are family to me. Do get back to my loved ones and do recall and regale to them about the good times we have had.

I am alive and crying and feel like an absolutely lonely stranger in this warm city. I am still cheesed off with the fellow up there for making me the chosen one that morning. Listen God, I have my parents' grace as my shield and therefore, you have to go talk to them and take their permission even if you want to joke with me. You can't and won't -- both of us know why. I know you love me too. I am just a lil' tired and want to lie down and rest my head somewhere. I am sorry Pa-Ma for not telling you this. Forgive me. The STD calls will happen more oftener. And yes, I don't feel gingerly anymore.