Tuesday, December 9, 2014

The Last One ... Not Yet

This was supposed to be the last post on this blog.

The Puppet Master decided to cut the rope and take away my best-est friend and my most favourite person in the world, a few months back. Losing Astha in a road accident has been plain devastating and I never thought I would write again. After all, she was the biggest fan and supporter of my writing. She was the first one to read anything that I wrote on this blog. She was relentless in her praise, irrespective of the quality of my writing. It was her support which kept me motivated to write for so many years.

Thus, a few months back, I decided that I should shut this blog down in her memory. It felt like an apt thing to do. Over the next few days I tried framing the last blog post in my mind. However, the content of that last blog post didn't feel right. Closing down the blog didn't feel like a thing which would make Astha happy. She disliked formalities and ceremonies. Playing victim would have been the last thing she would want me to do. She was the most practical person I have seen. After a few more days of deliberation, I realised that shutting down this blog was the opposite of what I ought to do. And therefore this is not going to be the last post.

It will be difficult to write something and not have Astha to proof read the drafts before I make it public. It will also be tough to not have any one to bounce ideas off. But I will keep writing through all this pain because I know she will love it, wherever she is. 

Saturday, April 12, 2014

Past Tense

Talking of someone in past tense is not easy. Not easy at all.
Reading memoirs is not easy at all.
Writing memoirs - the fact that you have to write 'was' instead of 'is' is not easy at all.

Friday, April 4, 2014

Violence of Death

For a 24 year old guy facing death of a dear one for the first time in his life, it is beyond a language's vocabulary to describe it.

Death is often associated with the violence which causes it. However, sometimes the cause of death in itself is very less violent. Cranial fracture takes away life in a jiffy they say. What follows death, more often than not, is way more violent.

For a mother who lost her dearest daughter, her best friend, her confidante, her mirror image.
For a father who lost his life line, the apple of his eye, the love of his life.
For a brother who lost his role mode, his brother-like sister, his companion in all his mischief.
For an aunt, who was the first one to carry her in her arms in the operation theater after she was born.
For an uncle, who was the biggest fan of her poetry and songs.
For that guy whose dream of living "happily ever after" turned into an anti-climax of epic proportion.

Mere words are an insult to describe what they are going through. Words are all that we have.
Lo and behold the poetic injustice unfolds.

Follow sushantkoshy on Twitter