Death makes everyone a saint...
I have never seen anyone speak badly of the deceased at their funeral. In those ceremonies, they are great heroes unmasked; spiritual beings unheard of; simple, gentle, lovable and most angelic creatures to have walked the length and breadth of the earth.
It would be too pessimistic and bitter to say that all of this is a fallacy. Because, though the moral fabric of the society is significantly tattered, we still find that occasional kind creature, who melts the ice around your heart, makes you smile and makes you want to love. For every 100 losers and 17 villains you meet in your life you have at least a handful of people to cry your sob-stories to and at least 2 people to ask sane advice from. Don't ask me the mathematics to it! But, it is true enough in most cases.. Go figure...:)
Death need not be the end...
I lost a close somebody recently. He was not the picture of perfection. No, he wasn't... But, I had somehow come to love his imperfections.... un-oiled, cranky motor-like snoring ; over-perfectionism ; pointless anger bouts ; addiction to the daily news paper ( which he read from 9 in the morning to 9 in the evening. But still, if you happened to ask him about "x" news on "y" page, he would have most certainly missed it... definitely, 'cos you "never" let him read his paper in peace, he would say! )...... all of it and more!
When he was gone to the brighter world, his mortal remains were burnt to ashes and those ashes too were dispersed off into a nearby river. He was a man of few words, fewer gifts and even fewer gestures... So, when I opened my little treasure box later, I had just one thing left of him with me...an Archie's card with no personally written messages. Just my name on the left upper corner and his dirty, illegible signature on the right lower corner. Within a few weeks, his things were gone.. that T-shirt he always kept hanging at the door knob... that silly white hat he wore all the time... his brown leather purse in the drawer... his dirty black sandals on the shoe rack... Gone... Today, it has been more than two years. And some how, from some deep crevice of my mind, a few memories are gone too.
Looking back today, I feel it is better to bury a dead man. Because we don't just need people to cry at funerals... We need them to keep coming back... Not to cry their eyes out on some sweet November morning... but to remember, cherish and smile at old, silly memories. To make death seem a little less final, so what if it is just in a fellow's mind. People deserve more...
And for those like you and me who are reading this.. and are most definitely not dead...
Count your blessings...
Live like you are going to die tomorrow.
Love like there is no tomorrow.
Sing like no one is listening
Dance like no one is watching.
To life! :) cheers....
I have never seen anyone speak badly of the deceased at their funeral. In those ceremonies, they are great heroes unmasked; spiritual beings unheard of; simple, gentle, lovable and most angelic creatures to have walked the length and breadth of the earth.
It would be too pessimistic and bitter to say that all of this is a fallacy. Because, though the moral fabric of the society is significantly tattered, we still find that occasional kind creature, who melts the ice around your heart, makes you smile and makes you want to love. For every 100 losers and 17 villains you meet in your life you have at least a handful of people to cry your sob-stories to and at least 2 people to ask sane advice from. Don't ask me the mathematics to it! But, it is true enough in most cases.. Go figure...:)
Death need not be the end...
I lost a close somebody recently. He was not the picture of perfection. No, he wasn't... But, I had somehow come to love his imperfections.... un-oiled, cranky motor-like snoring ; over-perfectionism ; pointless anger bouts ; addiction to the daily news paper ( which he read from 9 in the morning to 9 in the evening. But still, if you happened to ask him about "x" news on "y" page, he would have most certainly missed it... definitely, 'cos you "never" let him read his paper in peace, he would say! )...... all of it and more!
When he was gone to the brighter world, his mortal remains were burnt to ashes and those ashes too were dispersed off into a nearby river. He was a man of few words, fewer gifts and even fewer gestures... So, when I opened my little treasure box later, I had just one thing left of him with me...an Archie's card with no personally written messages. Just my name on the left upper corner and his dirty, illegible signature on the right lower corner. Within a few weeks, his things were gone.. that T-shirt he always kept hanging at the door knob... that silly white hat he wore all the time... his brown leather purse in the drawer... his dirty black sandals on the shoe rack... Gone... Today, it has been more than two years. And some how, from some deep crevice of my mind, a few memories are gone too.
Looking back today, I feel it is better to bury a dead man. Because we don't just need people to cry at funerals... We need them to keep coming back... Not to cry their eyes out on some sweet November morning... but to remember, cherish and smile at old, silly memories. To make death seem a little less final, so what if it is just in a fellow's mind. People deserve more...
And for those like you and me who are reading this.. and are most definitely not dead...
Count your blessings...
Live like you are going to die tomorrow.
Love like there is no tomorrow.
Sing like no one is listening
Dance like no one is watching.
To life! :) cheers....
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