Walking with Death

Most people feel uncomfortable discussing death. I have always marvelled at how desperately we want to ignore something that’s the biggest truth of existence. There is nothing closer to a human being than death; it could be with you the next second. But you’d rather not think about it.
I became acquainted with death early on in life. My father died in a car accident when I was nine. At that time of course, I didn’t really understand what dying meant. What I did understand, though — courtesy Hindi movies — was that I would never be able to see him again, except in photographs.
But the time when the truth of life really hit me was a year ago, when one of my classmates died, again in a car accident. She had been an exceptionally bright person and though we had been competitors, there was no tension between us. We were close enough to share some deep secrets, although we were never a part of each other’s closest circles.
I did not go to her house when she was flown back to Aligarh from Bangalore. (It was devastating to hear people referring to ‘her body’ being flown in… one minute you’re you and the next you’re a body.) I didn’t have the courage to see her lying motionless, lying dead. I have never seen a person lying in the stillness of death — not even my father; he was buried before I regained consciousness in the hospital (72 hours after the accident).
To come back to my friend, I cannot say that she was particularly dear to me, or that I felt a personal sense of loss. The shock, however, went deep, deep down. More particularly, she had been like a space rocket and we were all eager to see where she landed. It was shocking to realise that it was the grave.
People say death shows you the futility of life. I’d like to disagree. It taught me the preciousness of life: Am I doing what I want to, or sacrificing for a future I might not even reach? More importantly, am I doing what’s good and what’s right, right now, or am I waiting to get old before I give up my vices, or get honest and generous and forgiving? There’s nothing as certain as death. I’d rather not be scared of it; I’d want to be prepared for it. Every moment.