After the day I committed suicide, I woke up.

I started contemplating about my abruptly ended life early in the morning as I saw my corpse lying on the bed.
I made myself breakfast in bed. Poha for myself and added some extra sev to it, just the way my mother makes it for me. Poured some Apple juice in a glass. Poha and Apple juice, the way I love it!

Scrapped the charred ashes from the kadai, put it in the sink and started eating Poha and sipping on the juice.

The morning after I committed suicide, I rushed to catch the train to work as I didn’t wanted to get late to work for the last time.

The morning after I committed suicide, I fell in love. Not with the girl at work or the curly haired smiling beauty I greet everyday at the station near my workplace. Not with that hot one sporting a shredded jeans and milky white sneakers boarding the same train that I do.

I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each of my concert wrist bands from my collection in her palms until they were moist with sweat.

I fell in love with my father standing down and cleaning my love, my own first bike – Connor.

I fell in love with my brother who still believes in ghost but who now sat on the couch trying desperately to believe I still existed.

The morning after I killed myself, I cleaned my  car and my own bike with my own hands.

I watched the way how birds attacked the window panes of my window as they sensed someone behind it. I saw squirrels eating peanuts in breakfast that my mother has served. Squirrels ate with their tiny little hands judging and flipping for the best part and anticipating that I would come with my camera to click their picture but they won’t pose. But all they saw was an empty space inside the kitchen window. No hide and seek, today!

The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the building terrace where I left my footprints in concrete with my 4 childhood besties and examined how they were already fading.

I lit a cigarette and watched my best friend sobbing as he listened to Richie Hawtin’s music with the news of my death. I saw his mom making his favorite breakfast in shock after hearing about me.

The morning after I committed suicide, I watched the moon and the sun together in one sky at one time and the little Gabushi pointing it out to his mom and dad who are still trying to believe that I no more exist.

The afternoon after I committed suicide, I saw my relatives sitting in the drawing room near my dead body reminiscing moments I have spent with them in my childhood. All those cute stupid memories!

I saw my friends queuing up to pay their last roasting punches, digs on me and drinking on the final set of rum shots I emailed VJ to get on my funeral ceremony for everyone.

The afternoon I committed suicide, I saw my mom crying over her disbelief that I am not there anymore to mock her psychological and old school theories about life and society.

The afternoon I committed suicide, I saw my brother sobbing asking me to come back so that I can wear all of his clothes and shoes and he won’t ever mind.

The day after I committed suicide, I went back to that body lying on the pyre and tried to talk some sense into him.

I told him about the oreo shake and early morning station chai, the bike, the best friend, the elder brother and the parents. I told him about the sun and moon in the same sky at the same time and how his father spoke to Connor today.

The day I committed suicide, I tried to unkill myself, but couldn’t finish what I started.

Recreated from a piece written by Meggie Royer.

Artwork by legendary Édouard Manet – Le Suicidé.

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