When I Die

Denial

You deny it. You deny it even when it explodes right in front of your eyes. All the evidence in the world won't make you believe it. It's impossible to believe that someone you once saw, heard, laughed with, loved, dream about, could die. You don't accept it. You can't.

That life could be so fragile. That nothing can survive it; not even love. That everything is just a fleeting glimpse; passing you by. That everyone around you could hurt so bad. That everything you ever believed in, everything you lived for, was nothing but a lie. That God exists. That he is cruel. That you don't even get to say goodbye. That time does not heal everything. That it still hurts so bad. So bad.

That you're left behind.

The days go by in a blur. You're unsure which things happened while you were awake and which ones happened when you weren't. You try to sleep; you can't. You strum your guitar and what comes out reminds you. Everything reminds you.

You stare at the only picture of her you have. A picture from the time she was... alive. She's smiling in it, almost jumping next to Sonya, who stands besides you. You've just cut the cake. You feel the tears only when they've rolled off the picture and onto your hand.

You cry. You cry tears you thought you never could. A passing worry about the exams crosses your mind. You don't give a damn about them anymore. You don't give a damn about anything now, because nothing is worth it.

Your friend comes home. She tells you she's leaving for USA on New Year's Eve. You want so badly to tell her--to embrace the comfort you know you'll find in her. You don't.

You can't put up a mask though; she asks you what's wrong. You lie. She thinks the sorrow's there because she's leaving. You say it is so. She buys it.

She leaves smiling, and as you watch her go you suddenly feel so empty inside you can't breathe. Your feet almost give way right in your doorway. You make it back to your room, and let go.

Sonya's going away too, you think. You lean on the wall, slide down, fold your hands and bury your face in them. You don't cry; only sit that way for sometime.

And the one thought that echoes inside you over and over again is this: you don't belong here. Not anymore. You have no reason to exist. And every right not to.

A question rises from the tattered film of your soul: why? Why did this have to happen? Why couldn't it have been different? Why couldn't you have been two ordinary lovers, basking in the comfort of each other's arms and smiles and words?

Then, something more intense invades you; something that engulfs you with its sheer, fiery radiance: rage. Rage against those in whom you once believed. Rage against those you so desperately wanted to believe in. Rage against everything that happened.

Rage against your birth. Rage against your parents. Rage against your grandma. Rage against God. Rage against Fate. Against Death.

Death. You taunt him. "Come down and pick me up," you say. "Just like you took away Guha. Just like you took away Amy. Come on down. Let's dance, motherfucker. Let's dance."

You start to drift away, and you almost smile. Maybe Death really did listen. Maybe he's coming. But he doesn't. You only go to sleep.

You dream. Not of Amy, but of crows. You dream of crows flocking under a gray sky.

When you wake up your first sane thought is that if you hadn't, the crows would've descended on you. Preyed.

But when you get up, the word that stays in your head isn't "preyed" any more.

The word is "liberated."



Kate, her sister, said that she found Amy's diary a month back. She found a folded printout of the last email I sent to Amy. The one she never replied. She said that Amy'd written something about what should've been a love story of us in the diary. A love story of us.

She found my email ID there, and for a month she wondered if she should tell me what happened. I think she should've kept wondering all her life. I wish she'd never have told me.

She mailed again today and told me how it happened. Amy was supposed to go to the US a few days after the... change. Amy'd gone to the market with her mother that day. The quake struck. Gujarat was raped.

They found her body...

God, I don't want to say this.

They found her body in the wreckage a few days later. Kate didn't say anymore and I didn't ask. I know far too much now than I ever wanted to know in my whole life.

Kate lived. So did her father and brother. They'd all left for the US two nights before the change. They'd all decided to leave India forever. Two of them left the world. Forever.

God, if you didn't want me to be happy, why didn't you just say so? I'd have let her go and wouldn't ever have even tried to see her again. At least she'd be alive. Why didn't you tell me, God?

Or should I have known it? I should've known better, no, God? Yes, it's my fault. I should've listened to my granny.

But placing the blame on me doesn't give you the right, God. What you did was just as wrong as any sin we humans commit. You killed two people, God. One of them was left behind. You have some unfinished business, Lord God Of the Screw Ups. Come on down and finish it. Kill me, O Holy Divinity.

You had no right, God. You had no right to take that beautiful life. What had she done, God? What? What unforgivable sin had she committed to deserve death? Was it because she thought someone like me could be loved? Yes, that was it, wasn't it? But that does not give you the right to kill her. No. No.

You just like to mess me up, don't you, God? Like to piss on me all the time, don't you?

But if you hate me so much God, why not come down and get retribution? Smack my head off.

Why didn't you kill me back then, O Holy Daemon? Right on the operating table; right after I'd poked my eyes open the first time. Why didn't you just kill me off?

All through my life, I've lived with regret. I've lived with misery. I swallowed it all. Lived with it. You made me live in this... unwieldy place--India. I swallowed it. Granny beat me up so bad I wanted to die; the pain didn't let me. I swallowed it. Vomited the bile out, but licked it off the floor again.

You killed Guha. I worshipped that guy. I gulped it down. You butchered away all the love and sweetness out of Sonya's life. I accepted that. Didn't want to, but did. You made Amy go away. It cut me. It shattered my essence. It took away my sanity. I didn't swallow it, but you shoved it down my throat. I choked. I almost died. But I didn't.

You took her away forever. And that I cannot accept.

You let me live. You took everything I ever loved or wanted to live for, and you let me live. Do you know how much it hurts, God? Ever had so much misery on your soul, God? Do you have a soul, God? A conscience? You don't. Do you?

I can't even begin to imagine how horrible it must have been for her... how painful. I hope... I wish--I WANT, goddamit--that she died quickly and painlessly. I hope she didn't live beneath the concrete hell and...

No. She died painlessly. I don't want to think about anything else.

Kate said she'd be coming to India sometime in January. She said she'd give me that diary if I wanted to read it. I've said yes. I want to read it very much.

I've also asked her if it'd be all right to know where... where my love sleeps. I want to... visit her. Talk to her. Maybe tell her a few jokes. She used to laugh when I did that. I loved it. She'd hide it behind a cupped palm for a while, and when I or any of us got really loony she'd let it all out. Laughing as if her life depended on it. You could see the whole universe in that laugh. In that smile. You could see life. And her laughter was infectious. When Amy laughed, we all did. Sonya too, with her neverending giggles.

I remember this one time, Steve cracked a joke, and we got laughing. Some time later, we stopped. And then she looked at me; my eyes were always on her. We just looked at each other for a moment, and I almost started feeling a little uncomfy, thinking she was gonna ask me why I kept looking at her like that. And then we both burst out laughing again. Didn't even know why. Nor did I care.

Such good times. So long ago.

The one thing I do know is this: In a saner world, we'd be together now. I somehow just know it. I feel it. We'd be lazing around somewhere. The beach maybe, watching the sun set. And talking about... I don't know. But we'd be talking. And I'd be watching that face. And wondering how in God's name did she ever fall in love with a jerk like me. And I'd be smiling a dreamy, jazzy, nutty smile. And she'd smile back.

In a saner world.

We'd be together.

Amy and I.

Together.

Broken,
         KC.


P.S: Thank you people. Thank you for your words. Thank you for your time. Thank you for caring. I can't reply to all your emails right now; I will in time. I'll say it again: thanks, people. I can't say you made me feel better, because I don't even know what better means now. But thanks.