The last words



The past 60 minutes have been interestingly morbid. I say so because I have been excitingly memorising what the last words of some of the famous personalities in history have been, courtesy John Green and his debut novel ‘Looking for Alaska’:

Poet Francois Rabelais’s last words were: I go to seek the Great Perhaps.

Henrik Ibsen was a playwright. He had been sick for a while and his nurse said to him one day, “You seem to be feeling better this morning.” And Ibsen looked at her and said, “On the contrary”, and then he died.

Someone said to John F. Kennedy, “Mr President, you sure can’t say Dallas doesn’t doesn’t love you,” and then he said, “That’s obvious”, and then he got shot.

And if I would have died few hours back, my last words, more like a thought, would have been: “I want to die”.

Isn’t that a good thing, Mr Green, that the world is not a wish granting factory?

Here’s what happened… I implore you not to judge me and my weak spirit. We have the tendency to give in to our weaknesses and then regret our immature behaviour…

… There was a blackout. Only in my room; actually there is still no power in my room and will continue to not be there till the morning or even afternoon. Some wires decided to give up and while the whole house has power, my room doesn’t. It’s frustrating because I had planned to do a lot things considering that I didn’t go to work today, nothing on the lines of changing the world but more like — staying up late in the night and watching TV, doing craft work, reading a book; things that you might assume can be done in another part of the house too.

Ever tried making sense to a child when he wants the toy he thinks he needs the most? If you have then I ask you to share the secret with the world because I sure know some monsters in whom I need to drill that sense in.

In my frustration, this was one of the thoughts that raged prominently in my head: I want to die. I can’t help but feel guilty and ashamed now that I am a little level-headed. That’s because I remembered what a friend, who works with the homeless people on the streets, wrote on his Facebook wall: “People on the streets have nothing that they can call their own, just the clothes they wear and the plastic sheets they sleep on. We are so very lucky, surrounded many a times with things we don’t even need.”

I am in the guest room right now. Not as comfortable as my room, but a room that gives me everything I should need for a good night sleep.

And the only thing missing is the anger that I should have kicked right out of the house the moment lights went out in my room.

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