Wait a minute, what is Bua doing in my home & why on earth is she screaming? I never liked that kurta & pyjama, a man of my exquisite taste, wears shades of cream & gray. Why did I wear it in the first place…? Hmm, see dear readers- the effect of alcohol. Oh, gad! If I’m lying down there, then how can I be standing here?
"Oh, what a shame. My nephew was not a day older than 48 (I am 45!), and the good lord took him away from us. Why God why?", having said this, there was another burst of tears from Bua Ji. God, if there was an Oscar given out for the most ‘unconvincing-actress,’ it was sure to have been awarded to Bua Ji. Look at her, pretend to cry on my death, a big charade. That’s what it is.
What am I saying? is it true? Am I really dead? How… I was going so happily back home in my car, then there was this flash of light…oh no! It's true, I’m dead. Really dead.
Gone-History!
Wow, it’s strange being dead. Hmm…maybe it’s not all that bad…after all. Repulsive, is it dear readers? Well, I always was a sick man. Yes, I’m no saint. On the contrary, I’m quite an ambitious, sophistically sordid and manipulatively an opportunist. You have to be all of the above to achieve something in a place like Mumbai.
How rude of me…I am Mr.Saptrishi.Sharma…CEO (for a week)of Pepi co. India. I’m a bachelor whose parents passed away a few years back. I hope my introduction was sufficient. Being the only child was a wonderful gift that my parents gave me; after all, when you’ve had one like me, you’d think twice. Hey, I’m not whining about it at all.
Wonder how everyone would take my death? From what I’ve learnt from Bua’s conversation is that I died last night & she’s already given an add in the obituary section of the newspaper, stating my death.
Old Bua couldn’t wait to see someone else take up the role of leader, now could she. The office would be closed & most of the staff& workers will be here to pay their last respect, more out of compulsion than respect, I guess.
I bet Deep will be devastated. Hey, what's happening? Wow, being dead sure has its perks! I can’t believe I’m in Deep’s house …there he is on the telephone. He has heard of my death; look at him sorrow written all over his face. Sandhya enters the room, " what’s wrong Deep? Why the long face?" she asked. " Its S.S., he’s dead. Passed away while driving back from the party last night, the stupid man!"
"I told you scotch would take his life one day. That’s the very reason I kept telling you he’s no good. All that arrogance went straight up his head!" Sandhya added. Dear readers, only 10 years ago, these two people who, now ridicule me, shared quite a few cups of tea with each other at my house. That bill alone would add up to a few thousand. Had it not been for my generous offer to let them share my house till they found a home for themselves, they would’ve spent the first year of their married life in some low life part of the town. Imagine that as compared to a rent-free stay for no less than a year in a 3-bedroom flat, in one of the moderately posh areas of the city. Ungrateful souls, who needs them anyway?
Well, Vikas is in Paris so he wouldn’t come to know of my death until much later…who else…? Yes, of course! Smriti, my dear, dear Smriti. Smriti, who, you ask? Well, you are quite inquisitive, aren’t you? Smriti was my lady love. Unfortunately, she went and married a man not worthy of her. Smriti couldn’t take the backseat, she wanted the importance and attention of which only my job was entitled. Harsh on my part? Well, ask any successful man, to be a success, you have to make sure the woman stays behind the job.
Deb (her husband) seems to have told her about my demise, my frail, slightly overweight wrinkled & crying love…Deb consoles her with a few kind words about me (the actor!). "Listen, dear, what comes into this world has to go away too. Saptrishi was a good friend of yours(yeah right!), I understand that. If you think you cant handle the food for tonight’s party, I’ll get it on my way back from the office. Don’t be upset, dear."
I am confused.
Was Deb saying he was sorry I passed away or that Smriti would not be able to cook today?
Deb gets up to go to work. Smriti calls out to him, "Deb don’t worry about dinner. I’ll have everything prepared, but tell me one thing…Indian ya continental?". "You sure about this? After Saptrishi’s…" Deb enquired. " Deb, S.S. never cared about me, I’m not going to let people who actually do care, suffer because of my past," I heard Smriti reply.
That was all I could take of these ungrateful people. Smriti conveniently returned all my letters written to her while dating and asked for hers back, to 'officially end' our relationship. The diamond earrings that I had bought from my(then, i.e. 15 years ago) two months' salary …she forgot to return. Everyone uses everyone else, dear reader.
Spending a few hours contemplating my life, I decided to go back home and see what was going on there. The ramification of this decision was unheard of. There they were Uncle Mandy & Bua Ji, fighting over why Bua ji had written her name over his in the family section of the obituary. Only Uncle Mandy & Bua Ji could fight at a time like this, for such a ridiculous reason.
To satisfy my calm & patient reader,(who have endured the torture of my writing), queries. I shall tell you a little about old Uncle Mandy. Actually Mr.Maninder.Sharma, elder brother to my father. Mandy uncle had fallen in love with a British tourist who’d come to Shimla. Uncle Mandy was in the family business, i.e. he was a hotelier. The hotel showed indomitable progress under my father (who was the real brains behind the outfit) than it could ever have.
With the arrival of Aunty Karen into the picture, Uncle sold his half of the hotel to my father. He did what many people in love would do…destroy himself. Like a love-struck teenager, he followed Aunty to London & eventually married. He didn’t get a job which lasted more than a week, owning one's own hotel is a lot different than working in one, right?
Things didn’t work out & after 2 years in London, Uncle returned with nothing else other than a divorce & that ridiculous accent.
At least I died a respectably established man, right?
Success comes at a price, I paid that price. My lonely evenings with only a bottle of scotch are witness to that. With tears in my eyes, I see dawn arrive. It’s funny how I never noticed the beauty of nature…sun, moon, and stars until I now know I no longer can appreciate them.
These nemeses are far too much than I can handle. Yes, dear reader, even big men, can break down and cry. My ‘antim-yatra’ or funeral ceremony had already begun. There I lay all pale & lifeless waiting for my ‘loved ones’ to carry me to my bed of fire. Several colleagues and family had come to my funeral. My body was given ‘kandha’ by Deep(yes he did come), Uncle Mandy, Bua’s no-good son and a few people from work.
All the patronizing murky talk made me abhor these people. None of them were here for me, they all were here to show that they knew the CEO of Pepi…the very high profiled man. My death was just an opportunity to make new contacts like you would in a party-that my dear reader is Mumbai.
Oh, for heaven's sake, don’t pity me; I’ve done the very same thing to several others. But all those phantoms seem so different at my own death. Yes, dear readers, I have a heart. Term me as an ingenuously pestilential as a person…I did yet have compassion…even though it was for myself only. Amongst these so-called ‘influential’ people, I see my body begin its final voyage. In this crowd of hundreds, no one with real grief for me. It tells me that I died an established man, yet, it makes me wonder…
…had I ever lived…
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