Death Redefined
It isn’t Final as is assumed to be. It is (was) momentary, and it continues, every few years, every few months, every few days and sometimes minutes and seconds. In fact, sometimes, milliseconds. Some are small, some big. Some unknown, unfelt, some understood, some misunderstood. Some felt strongly and some less. I’m talking about DEATH. Not of the physical kind but the Death of who I am and what I stand for? The continuous making and unmaking of me.
Death of an Infant
Now that I think of Death this way, and recollect my first death. It was when I realised who I was. A little boy — the death of my infancy. The death of a state when there is no realisation or at least no memory of realising anything. Not even milk, first steps, mother, father or family. Before the birth of the little boy (the time between birth of me, the infant and birth of me, the boy), there was absolute calm or at least, I think of it that way as I have no memory. Then came the first name, the nick name and the family name. Another Death occurred and this time it was the death of an unknown boy. I had been tagged. Out of the Matrix, I was ordained with a NAME. I saw the mango, guava and lychee trees, the birds, our pet cow, the mongrels on my street and was informed far too late, that I was a human. That day, died the ‘me’ that didn’t differentiate. That day, I became a member of the human silo: an organism with intelligence. This much I can say: I love my NAME and the fact that I’m human😊.
Death of a Tween
Next, the figurines in the little home temple, the many rituals, the religious songs, the exciting stories, the fun festivals and delicious food led to another death. Actually, it was the discovery of religion and that I was a Hindu. Then, there were many other covers (amidst multiple deaths of my innocence) which burdened me with new identities: caste, class, address, district, zip code, state, nationality, region, continent, planet and the list goes on. It was, as if I was a product, which had to be given multiple identities, so that I could be tracked, monitored and controlled. I became, a Hindu Indian boy of Brahmin caste, a Rourkelite (born in Rourkela, India), an Oriya whose family was from a different state and blah and blah. Several identities were given or at least I realised that I was associated with them in one way or the other. I didn’t think of death as it was not near me and perhaps embraced others. Each of these new identities didn’t enrich or confuse me as I was far too little to separate one from the other. But, this was sure that some new beginnings had come afoot👍. And, it was possible only through Death of my tween years.
One more thing: I played with girls and boys alike. Gender was neither a cause to celebrate or to bother about. We were just friends. However, one day, I was dismayed to find that my ‘third leg’ had become active🤣. It stood against my innocence and drew a line between me and the opposite sex. It led to another death: the death of a carefree boy. However, there was also the birth of a shy kid. And, that was no less of an excitement.
Death of a Teen
Now that I recollect my growth years, I can clearly recall, how jealousy, pride and greed took shape in me. Lust came much later as I couldn’t explain why there was an attraction to the opposite sex. It was simply unexplainable. As I progressed through my teens, personality, ego and the concept of ‘what I liked, disliked and hated’ took shape. Layers upon layers quickly assassinated the root of whatever I was. Before I said goodbye to eighteen, I realised (was made aware, more so) that I was not part of a society but an economy. I had to work and for that I had to pick up skills and what better than follow the American way: become an engineer, do a Masters and then wear the crown of an MBA (mocked as ‘Master of Bugger All’). Surprisingly enough, the death of my teenage years were simply wonderful. I could finally fly✈.
Death of a Young Man
Kicking, screaming, jumping, laughing and flirting, if only metaphorically; I completed my college years, came to Australia and found a job. And, as soon as solid money starting landing in my bank account, my ego demanded more respect for itself, and literally forced me to buy a convertible. But, this was a death, I didn’t regret. I would love to die that way every single moment of my life. The celebration of ego and its various tantrums (if at all handled positively) can be a very gratifying experience. Next, what I had ignored for a long time, took shape. The craving for someone whom I could share my life with, resulted in the Death of the young man and Birth of a Householder👩. And, that was exciting too!
The many Deaths of the Householder
The birth of the householder, the husband quickly led to a transformation (and not death). Perhaps, it was a phase but, it was positive. It was me, the father. The two daughters transformed me and so did my career and journey at various workplaces. As experience grew, I saw another Death. And, this time it was the concept of career. Ahem…I realised, this thing called ‘career’ and its associated travesties were just a complicated way to make money and buy goods and services. Beyond that, it was akin to cocaine. Perhaps, a complex way to kill various aspects of life while throttling the doors of satisfaction. The gaps in the strangulation of life, which provided a fresh breath were called promotions and sometimes hikes. But, again, I must reiterate that the deaths and subsequent births in this phase of the Householder are something I would cherish for the rest of my life.
Celebration of Life (I know it’s a cliché)
The famous monk, Swami Vivekananda had said, ‘there is nothing false in the world, and you go from one level of truth to another’. It is the same with life and the many deaths within it. It’s just that we don’t count these deaths (and births) as we go about our day-today rut. Like the cycle of Karma and reincarnation, life too is filled with death of old karmas (and birth of new ones) and every day we see a new reincarnation of our own self.
At this age, when I have stopped counting the years and turned shy of celebrating birthdays, I celebrate all that has gone (and come). Nothing’s been lost as everything’s well preserved in the library of my memories. Standing at cross roads of my life, when I contemplate the missed opportunities, I have a sense of emptiness or should I say, a calm feeling of the dead settled within me, a sense of failure of having spent such a long time on this planet but still groping for answers to my original questions: Who am I, Why am I here and How did I land up in this place.
With hope, I look towards the future, with many Deaths to embrace and celebrate on my journey of life, until I meet my maker, when this role ends, curtains are down, energy puffed out of my body, the body burnt and a new life would begin. After all, it never ends!👻
