Predeath

Of late, I've started living in mortal dread of death. Well, not death itself, but all that precedes it. Irreversible degenerative afflictions leading to a state of dependency on others, having to leave in a state of unpreparedness, and leaving a dirty footprint, are all the pre-death issues that terrify me more than death itself.

Topping the list is easily the deadly possibility that despite my regular visits to the gym, accompanied by a near obsessive compulsive attention to diet, I'm still scared that one day, I might turn into a vegetable myself. I hate to think that it is within the realm of possibility, even though a glance at the mirror suggests the probability is remote, that I may end up in bed, not being able to move my limbs or worse still, my lips, and be dependent on others to feed, clothe and shave me. Some may think that it's a privilege to be cared for by following generations, but I'd rather my kids went about their business as usual, and washed their kids' asses than mine. And I just can't live with the thought that when it's time to pull the plug, it will be my children who will be faced with the unpleasant task. Hell why put them through this--it's simpler to write down instructions for the doctor myself. What if Euthanasia is not legalised in India by then? Well, if doctors also decide to turn incorruptible at the same time, the simple answer would be to go to a country where it is. So there: my first resolution for the rest of my days is made--the only thing left is to put pen to paper and notarise or otherwise legalise it, before dementia sets in, and I forget.

Which brings me to the wider issue of what a dear friend termed 'preparing for death' during the course of a recent discussion. To many, the notion that one can, or ought to, prepare for this eventuality, much like one prepares for higher studies, marriage, or a child, is absurd. Why, I ask? Is it really that stupid to prepare for the ONE eventuality that is ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN? Why is writing a will not cool, when buying insurance is? It's a bit late now, but had I realised this simple truth earlier, I might even have considered venturing into this potential business--I can even see the brand possibilities for something like 'How to leave with a smile (and without a wallet)'. More I think about it, the more I'm convinced--just consider at a conservative estimate, that two thirds of all who die (and there are around a hundred of them who oblige, every minute), leave behind unaccounted property, bank accounts, pets, and occasionally, mistresses. Doesn't say much about the most intelligent animal on two legs, you'll have to admit, but then until he evolves, one man’s misfortune will continue to be another’s opportunity. So, whether ‘death preparers’ becomes as valid a career option as ‘tax preparer’ or not, I promise to take matters into my hands soon enough, and not be caught on the back foot when the googly is bowled at me.

Finally, I argue, if one has to leave, as everyone must, one day, why raise smoke and noise on the way out? I admit I've dirtied the earth enough with my filthy carbon footprint during my lifetime, and can’t justify leaving a trail after I leave. And though the Hindu system of disposing of their dead is supposed to be ‘hygienic’, it certainly isn’t green. Right from the piles of wood required for the pyre, to the clouds of smoke emitted into the skies, to the ashes that are immersed in rivers, the colour of death is decidedly more grey than green. Which is why I must insist on being pushed gently into an electric crematorium, when it’s time. Having survived numerous shocks in my life, some mild and others not so mild, I daresay I’ll be reasonably prepared for the bigger one, hopefully because it’ll be my last one.