Life at half-life kills you anyway. What of it then, if you go on living or if you died-, he had said this some time ago in his status. 'Kisiko kya padi hai!', and he was right- hamein kisiko khaas nahin padi thi.
He died today, cousin, my age, by early daylight, he passed into unconsciousness first, then passed into the angel's kiss on his lips. He died with a blue bruise swirling and licking all up like grass about his guts, as if the door of the hells open, and gives you to the ghosts that will kill your life at half- life, anyway.
He made one striking figure because he was quite handsome, ripped- worked out, and was tall like tall. I used to tease him all the time for all the girls that would keep texting him, for the girls that brought gifts home to him: it was crazy. Frivolous, we used to advise each other to get married, settle down, start straightening up. He used to like that I wrote the little poems and notes, though he'd tell me- not his cup of tea, he used to call my pics artistic, and he used to ask me why I was fond of such a setting and not the other. I had once dreamt the two of us free and wandering in an Assam of old, adoring forgotten crannies and making pictures: an 'artistic' worthwhile life.
It's funny now, some would say, the drink got to him. Some would say, it's about his attitude which was growing increasingly blind, difficult, stern, and aloof. Funnier is- man must die and it's most urgent, life kills you at half- life anyway, but that's not my cousin. Funnier yet is none of you knows him, just a handful of guys ever did. Even as more people were forgetting him as he grew darker, more reluctant in his bent corner.
I want people to know him- that's what. I want people to think of him and think that they have lost the blessed man today. I want you to mourn, and admit that his life was indeed a gift, and he'd made a gift out of it. 'Hamein khaas nahin padi hai' but I want you to know that I am missing my cousin starting today, who was a good person, who was filled with youth and passion and desires for life and joy and frolic and wild plans, he could have 'aimed' for the greatness of everything. But man must die, it's the utmost urgent, and he just provided his attendance naturally.
Man must have gifts, that is what I want you to think him by. He had a gift, cousin Pinku, he had seen the Gurus in a dream. He must have been just 3 when he was left fatherless, with his mother and an elder sister. The household had zero income, hardly a decent shed to call home. They had some education, but at some point with the fees always a biting bother, it was pointless anyway, they were not any academically gifted.
They could get Pinki (his sister) married at 18, but Pinku had to make one and two livings, it would fall to him to run the household at 18. At 16, lying about his age on paper, he sneaked into a military enrollment camp, and cracked the physically taxing tests with brilliance. His lie was later caught, and he was sent home with life counsel and grave pity about his poverty.
By the time he came of age, besides college, he'd fervently beat any ends to make them meet, but he had only bad-luck and desperation. On one such night, when he was about 18, in his dream he saw that, an early morning walking about, he had wandered into the community Gurudwara, where he saw the Gurus who showed him how to repair an electronic gadget, what you unscrew, then which chip and blade goes where kind of thing.
The next morning, in the same fashion, he went first to the Gurudwara, offered prayers, back home and opened up a gadget to fix it, and he could. That's how he began to set up his little factory of mechanical repairing, and became the go-to gadget guy of their quaint small town. Seriously, who doesn't know Pawanjeet in Tangla and everywhere nearby, who doesn't need him over at their place urgently, checking some minor glitch!
Who doesn't think him talented, hardworking, providing, accomplished! Beautiful, warm, jovial, sprightly! But man must die, it's the most urgent, as must man man gifts. And when you do not do the call of the angel right, a universal bruise opens up in the centre of your very earth; the doors of hell unfold and the ghosts of hell enfold, claiming you at half-life, anyway.
He was a magical little dispeller of poverty, at least 3 peoples', and a house and home's! When riches is one thing people need before love and a God; he was the businessman: the pristine go-to gadget guy owned and trained under the wing of the ten Gurus.