Tuesday, March 11, 2008
..do not send to ask for whom the bell tolls..

I've been thinking I should post something for quite a while, never really got around to it, as anybody who's checked out the archives would know by now.. N yes, now that I'm doing it, well, it's all a jumble..

What got me thinking first was a friend of mine losing a couple of members of her family on the same day, in an accident. My prayers n thoughts with her n the family at this juncture. In all our life, if there is ever one single reality which cannot be denied, which cannot be disproved, that is Death, le Mort. And whatever religion you believe in, Hinduism, Christianity, Scientology, whatever, nobody really knows anything about what happens afterwards, except that the corporeal body returns to dust.

That should be it about Death for now, have a lot more to say but I'll come back to that later. Anyways, this kinda got me thinking about my own death, and what happens then. NO, I did not want to prepare a will, or make a last wish.. I was rather thinking, what impressions would I leave behind. Like Chandler Bing once said, it might be that the world will remember me only by the ass-print on my favourite chair.

I'm not saying death aint a sober or a sombre affair, it is, because you've just lost a person who somehow or the other mattered to you. But something I've kinda noticed, the concept of "eulogy" does not seem to be common in our society, and as far as I know, not anywhere in India. The funeral is as much about remembering the departed, as it is about the relatives' n friends' grief. N i got thinking, I'd like a eulogy by a friend, that is in case, I have even one friend left by the time I die, n yes, I do have some candidates in mind.. :D

Generally, even though I sometimes write what I like to call "poetry" (ahem!), I dont like reading poetry, with all its metaphors n surrealism and what-not. Jhanjhad hai yaar, mere se nahi hota.. If u wanna write something, make it direct, in your face. Anyways, more on that later. Point is, while browsing the net, I kinda stumbled on this poem, "Funeral Blues" by W.H. Auden, really touching. And I thought, I'd like to have it read at my funeral. Just thought I'd put it up here..


Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

<< style="font-style: italic;">Guns n Roses cover of "Knocking On Heaven's Door" by Bob Dylan. Awesome song, those who're familiar with it would say, and those who arent, you're missing something.

So, that's it.. A poem or a song, 5 minutes of the mourner's time.. Now, some of you might call this post morbid, but really, I dont know, I think it's pretty normal.. :D
posted by One Bizarre Scribe at 12:21 PM | Permalink | 11 comments