A death foretold?

In December 2003 when my short story Broken Stones was put up, I recall one comment:

“This piece for some reason keeps conjuring up black and white images of the days of yore. Really enjoyed it. Someday you'll win something real big.......if your prophecy in the first line doesn't come true i.e...........................”

My first line was: “Last night I tried to kill myself.”

Yesterday when I called a friend, she asked how I would try to die. I mentioned some improbable ways.

“You don’t even know how to die properly,” she laughed, her voice a hug I needed badly. She, among the few people, realised that the last two blog posts were a cry, even if I had tried the camouflage of weak humour. I cannot thank her enough for being around and listening for hours and making me see things in a new light, a light I sometimes avoid facing.

I have realised that unlike my life, which has been irrational, episodic, with even the most significant events catching me by surprise - their comings and goings devoid of any plan, I would like a death of technical perfection. It will make up for all the imperfections of my living moments, only I won’t be there to witness it. Or would I? Would my soul not weep as K.L.Saigal plays in the background:

“Ae kaatibe taqdeer mujhe itna bata de,
tu mujhse khafaa hai kya maine kiya hai?”

Would fate not give me a brief glimpse into that ending, as it has denied me often from watching my beginnings and middles? When things start, they blind me with their bright lights; somewhere down the line as daylight dawns the curtains are drawn and hide the sun, making me dwell in the darkness to prevent me from seeing.

I don’t know what I will wake up to. But can’t I plan for the morrow? And what is it really? A never-ending series of alarm clocks, showers, meals? It cannot be that simple. The alarm does not ring or the clock has stopped working. Time stands still, or maybe there is no time; the water in the shower is too hot or too cold, the shampoo cannot be rinsed, the hair falls in clumps; is my body the same as it was yesterday and will it be the same tomorrow? The food…

Today there were ants that had suddenly appeared in some packet and got transferred to the plate. If one does not look closely, they can look like pepper. Does one die by eating ants? And is that considered a clinically perfect death? Is it an honourable one, a mundane one, an interesting one?