My Death Wish-list

Death... My father-in-law, whom I call Appa passed away on 26th January, 2014, Republic Day. He was just 59 years old and had retired 8 months back.  An ex-military man, he was simple, loving and treated me like his own daughter. Appa had big dreams and his enthusiasm for modern-day gadgets especially mobiles surpassed any 16 year old's. I often visualize him nowadays sitting on top of a cloud, wearing full-sleeve white shirt, with the latest iPhone in his hand and laughing at the foolish antics of us mere mortals. RIP Appa.

His death made me pause and think hard. We find an excuse to celebrate and plan everything and anything  - birthdays, marriages, friends' promotions, cousin's first-trip-to-America, our favourite hero's movie release, even the neighbour's dog's naming ceremony.... yet mention the only certain thing in our lives - Death - and we behave as if it's a horror story that happens in our TV sets and not in real life. How do we leave it to chance that once we are dead, people will automatically come to know  how we wanted our funerals to be? Naturally our Ghosts will not protest  from their graves (I personally don't intend to cause a stampede after my death and spoil the chances of a peaceful funeral). This is scarier if you are an Indian woman - People somehow assume that as a pati-vratha wife, you are supposed to be buried or cremated as per your husband's family-customs. Well, if you are dead, there is nothing much you can say or do about it.
So before it's too late, here's my Death wish-list of do's and dont's:

1) Donate and  cherish - It's my wish from the time I read my first Reader's Digest book (an article on how a family had pledged to donate their organs after death had moved me to tears) that whatever is re-usable in my body should be reused. For God's sake, 6-feet under the earth, these organs would otherwise be soon digested by bugs. Instead donate to someone, who will value those organs for life.

2) Keep it simple, dress cool - A BIG no for me is the heavy kanchipuram saree, bridal make-up and jewellery. A simple, neatly-ironed, white cotton kurta and salwar will do for me. India is a hot country and I plan to dress cool for the big occasion.

3) White & yellow roses - I am a simple person at heart. So please don't burden with me with garish ribbons, orange marigolds, stringy jasmines and purple-gold decorations. White and yellow roses will suffice to say that 'You meant a lot to me'.

4) No band-bajaa-baraat - Simple is the keyword here again. There is a reason that Death is called 'eternal sleep'. So please let me sleep peacefully -  no thappatam, kutthu or drinking and dancing in front of my funeral procession. Just lead me solemnly to the graveyard, bury me peacefully and move on!

5) Women aren't chinaware - In some cultures in India women are not allowed to go to the graveyard. Oh come on, we have periods and give birth, we are not made of glass to break at the first glimpse of a dead body. I want the women to be fully present at the Graveyard saying their last goodbyes - otherwise no funeral, sorry!

6) Finally, move on - I am dead and it's done once I am buried. No celebrating 16th day, 40th day, feeding crows, giving clothes to relatives.... Be assured, I will move on even if these rituals aren't followed.

There ends my simple Death Wish-list. Please note that this list can be modified/ amended based on my whims and fancies in future. And anyone who doesn't adhere strictly to the above list.... Beware, my Ghost will come back to haunt you!!!!

Netaji and his missing Topi

            

Netaji was 59 years old. He was the ‘young’ shining star of Indian Politics. His chamchas (followers) lovingly called him Chota Bhai (little brother) Netaji. Dressed in white cotton kurta and dhothi, Netaji was the darling of the young and old alike. As the youth icon of the country, Netaji believed in being tech-savvy - he was active in FB and tweeted regularly. He made it a point to touch elders’ feet and kiss the babies. He was billed to be the next PM of the country until that fateful day…

Now Chota Bhai Netaji had a chota secret. His power, he believed, rested in his pristine white Gandhi Topi.  The topi symbolized him. Whenever Netaji got out of his official car, the topi came first and then the rest of the body followed. In private, when nobody was looking, he would gently caress his topi and talk to it, “ Jaddu ki topi, tu hai power ki putli.” 

Netaji had a professional topiwalla appointed just to guard and tend to his precious Topi. Gangu Lal was given strict instructions to only take care of the Topi and nothing else. This order applied even if the High Command i.e.  Memsahib asked Gangu to buy sabji from the market. So daily night, after the Netaji returned from the Ministry, Gangu religiously washed, starched and pressed the Topi and placed it on the night stand near Netaji’s bed. Every morning, Netaji woke up to first glimpse his precious Topi, place it firmly on his head and then get ready to face the world.

So imagine the shock on Netaji’s face when he woke up one eventful day to discover that his Power ki Putli was not at its designated spot on the night stand.

“Ganguuuuuuuuuuuuu!” Netaji hollered in his most disruptive parliamentary voice.

Gangu came running. “ji..ha.. haan ji.. maalik ji.”

“Where is my Topi?!” Netaji fumed, pointing at the empty night stand.

“I…I.. don’t know maalikji. I had placed it as always on the stand….maybe a right-wing rat took it.”

Gangu shivering and stuttering bend down to look under the bed for the fascist rat and was given a mighty kick on his back by Netaji. Gangu went scrambling out of the room with his tail between his legs.

“Bhagwaan, where’s my topi?” Netaji hollered for his wife next.

Memsahib was a fat puss who had mothered seven wild cats and weathered bigger tantrums than Netaji’s stately hysterics. She could not be easily cowered down like Gangu.

“Haan Ji, like your topi is made of gold. Why don’t you put the CID on the case of the missing topi? Let them sometimes earn their salary.” With that, the Memshaib waddled out, her nose held high in the air.          

Netaji decided to hold his tongue. If Memsahib got angry, Netaji would have to go hungry for a week. Instead, he ordered the household staff to search for his topi. The staff searched high and low, up and down but couldn’t find the topi. They found a year old lollipop under the key stand, a raunchy magazine hidden in a schoolbook and a dead rat in the kitchen but they couldn’t find the topi.

For the first time in his illustrious career as a politician, Netaji had to step out of his house without his trusted topi perched on his head. His driver, gardener, bodyguards, chamchas and favour seekers were left speechless. It was as if democracy had lost one of its salient pillars.   

Netaji without looking left or right stepped into his Laal Bathi ambassador and ordered the driver to make haste to his office – Lok Upkar Charcha Kariyalaya (Centre to Talk on People’s Welfare) or LUCK. He immediately convened a Joint Parliamentary meeting of all parties. The issue of the missing Topi was put on the table and was discussed first before other less-grim issues like education, corruption, women’s welfare and poverty. There were many groans and grumbles across parties; Netas couldn’t believe that someone could hoodwink the country’s top political powers and pinch the esteemed topi. It was decided that it was a National Emergency and a resolution was unanimously passed to locate the Topi before any other work was done. The order passed, the Netas went back to their AC cabins to catch up on forwarded MMSes and bet on cricket matches, satisfied that they had saved the country from the brink of world war.

The National Bureau of Investigation, Secret Services, Army, Marine &Air Force, Royal Guard, Terrorist Cell, Police, Elite Bodyguards and Central Garbage Disposal Unit were all assigned on the Case of the Missing Topi.  The Joint Forces searched high and low, nation-wide for hours but the Topi wasn’t found. A world-wide alert was issued to nab anyone suspicious of smuggling Netaji’s topi. An elderly cleric of a small village in a distant country was imprisoned for wearing a similar Topi. A civil riot ensued that led to 5000 people being killed in the small country.  

The news was leaked to the National Media by the Information Minister’s Under-Secretary’s PA. It was telecasted as ‘Breaking News’ at 10 am, 2 pm, 6 pm and 9 pm. Prestigious anchors dissected, bisected and analysed the news from all angles and passed the verdict that our country’s political system has failed us and we are going through a economic crisis. This verdict caused national turmoil – stock market crashed, petrol & LPG prices rose, schools & colleges closed, onion prices soared and Television serials’ ratings increased.    

At the same time, a friendly argument was happening between a father and a son in a happy family that lived in a town in the central state of the country.

The father said, “The Topi must have developed wings and flown away to a more religiously-tolerant country.”

The son said, “It must have fallen in love and eloped to Topistaan.”

A neighour with nose the size of a cricketing bat over-heard the conversation and caught the words; ‘religious’ ‘love’ ‘elope’ ‘Topistaan’. He put two and two together and concluded that a religious plot was hatched by the green-minded family. Surely, the son of the family planned to elope with the girl of the saffron-minded family staying two blocks away. He passed this information to all and sundry. Soon an angry crowd of saffron gathered around the house and protested against such religious bigotry. The enraged mob didn’t give a chance for the happy family to explain but cut them into pieces and their house was set on fire. The green community couldn’t bear this injustice and attacked the saffron community. The fire, that had burned the happy family, spread across the country killing millions in religious riots. Two neighbouring countries took this as a godsend opportunity and fired a couple of missiles on India to add to the chaos.

By evening, a national emergency was declared. The Netas were forced to leave behind their MMSes and cricketing matches. Grumbling at this unfairness, the Netas blamed each other and the country for the crisis. Finally, after an hour of unruliness, chair-throwing and abuse-hurling, the benevolent Netas decided that it was all Netajis fault. In no time, he was judged as an enemy country’s spy, insane and a danger to society. He was stripped off all the honours he had earned in the last forty years and thrown on the street. His chamchas and servants by some magic melted away. Netaji walked home lonely and miserable.

His head bent low, Netaji entered his house through the backdoor. Too embarrassed to look anyone in their eyes, Netaji headed for his favourite spot under the ancient mango tree. Playing under the tree was Netaji’s four-year-old granddaughter; she smiled seeing him. Clasped tightly in her left hand was Netaji’s Topi. The little girl had used the Topi as a boat daylong in the stream running behind the house; happily unaware of all the violence caused by her innocent game.

The Topi was muddy, creased and torn in places. 

Glossary:

Neta - Politician

Chamchas- Followers

Chota Bhai - Little Brother

Topi- Indian Hat

Jaddu ki topi, tu hai power ki putli- Magic Hat you are my source of power

Haan- Yes

Maalik- Master

Bhagwaan - endearing way to call one's wife

Memsahib - Madam

Laab Bathi - Red Light