The Death Day Celebration

[This is a story that I started writing a while back, but never got around to finishing. Right now, I'm not sure what it is: a stand-alone piece, or a work in progress. Either way, a friend suggested I should consider sharing it, so here it is.]

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“Why do people wait until after someone is dead to write a eulogy?”

Shefali looked up from her book at her friend, only to find her staring into space. “Because,” she replied, confused, “…that’s the definition of a eulogy.”

Riya looked unconvinced. “But think about it – what’s the point of getting together and saying all the good things about me after I am dead? It’s not like I can hear you.”

“So you’re saying we should have eulogies for people while they’re alive?”

“Why not?! That way, at least we know what are the good things others see in us. Imagine how nice that’ll make the person feel!”

Scribbling something quickly in her notebook, Shefali ripped out a small part of the paper and handed it over. “Fine, here’s my eulogy for you.”

“‘Riya, you’re weird’?!” she read from the paper. “I said good things!”

Shefali just shrugged and continued with her work. After a few minutes, she looked up. 

“So, if we wrote eulogies before your death, what would we do after you died?”

“I don’t know…think of all the good times we shared, laugh at all the weird moments, drink in my memory, and then move on with your life I guess.”

“Sounds more like a celebration.”

“Exactly.”

*********

“…was a dear student, and her presence is going to be sorely missed. A natural leader, she always took initiative in…” his voice droned on. Shefali couldn’t bring herself to even look at the university representative as he spoke, his words sounding hollow and meaningless. You didn’t know her. Just stop talking. She closed her eyes in an attempt to stop more tears from falling out, but it was a useless attempt.

“I’d now like to invite some of her close friends to come up here and say a few words about her.” The words seemed too far away to register in her mind. Flashes of the two of them sitting at the canteen interspersed with the sight of her blood-stained body on the hospital bed. Her breathing grew heavier, and she felt a fresh round of tears starting to form.

“Shefali. Shefali!” Joe whispered loudly next to her, nudging her in an attempt to get her attention. Opening her eyes, she saw that everyone was staring right at her, expressions reflecting understanding, sorrow and unease. Turning to face Joe, she looked at him questioningly, not bothering to wipe the tears.

“It’s your turn,” he said, nodding towards the stage.

She heard him, but couldn’t find it in herself to process the words. Slowly, she turned towards the stage, finding the university rep looking at her in impatience. Clenching her hands in an effort to control her emotions, she got up from her chair and walked towards him, refusing to look at the faces of all the students sitting in the large hall. With every step, the desire to run away from that room grew stronger, but she managed to make her way to the stage and took her place at the podium.

Looking up, the first thing she noticed was white. White shirts, white kurtas, white t-shirts, an occasional white sari. Those who could not manage to find white attire were trying subtly to blend in with beige and cream-coloured clothing. Riya loved blue, the thought came unbidden to her mind. Pull yourself out of it, she told herself. This isn’t a party. And the next second, another thought crept in…Riya would have loved a party.

‘Just say a few words about her’ they had told her. Few words…how on earth am I supposed to describe her in a few words? ‘Anything nice that you would have wanted her to know.’

“I met Riya during the first week of college,” she said softly, but the mic carried her voice to every corner of the room. “At first, I thought she was really dull and boring.” There were a few hesitant chuckles in the crowd, overshadowed by the silence. What am I doing here?! She screamed internally. Who are these people?! Most of them didn’t even know her. Why are they here?!

Just get through with it, and then you can leave. Shefali ploughed on. “As it turned out, she was neither of the two. She was caring, and helpful. She was always there for anyone who needed her. She was…” her voice faded out, as a memory that had been lingering in the edges of her mind became more prominent. For a few seconds, she stared at the crowd, seeing only the face of her best friend sitting on the canteen steps, reading a note on a paper and scrunching her face in mock-annoyance. The crowd shifted in their seats, unsure whether to interrupt or wait patiently.

“You know what? It doesn’t matter what she was like, because she can’t hear me right now,” Shefali said, her voice clearer than it had been for the last few minutes. “There’s no point in me standing here and talking about what a nice person she was. Those of you who knew her, you already know it. And those of you who didn’t, well, you missed out. That’s all there is to it. She’s gone. She can’t hear me. And this is the last thing she would have wanted.”

With that, Shefali walked off the stage quickly and strode towards the exit. No one stopped her. No one even knew how to respond. But it didn’t matter to her. For the first time in days, she could feel a sense of purpose returning to her.

**********

To: students, faculty, friends

Subject: Death day Celebration

Dear everyone

This email is with regards to Riya Sharma, who was a student at our university and who died in a car accident last week. For those of you who didn’t know her, please feel free to ignore the remainder of this mail.

I’ve spent the last one week being shocked, depressed, lost, crying my eyes out, cursing fate, questioning why, being angry, and mainly just missing my best friend. In short, I’ve been mourning.

But standing on that stage at the condolence meeting, I realized that Riya and mourning don’t go together. Riya was happiness, joy, laughter. She loved life, and the last thing she would have wanted is for us to stop loving ours on her account. She once said to me, “I want to be remembered in such a way, that every time someone thinks about me, it brings a smile to their face.”

We need to bring those smiles back, because what we owe her is our laughter, not our tears. And so, I’d like to invite all of you to Riya’s death day celebration. It’ll be an evening filled with her memories, a space to share your best moments with her, and of course, an occasion to drink to her wackiness (because let’s face it, any party according to her was incomplete without alcohol).

Dress code: preferably informal (since Riya hated formal wear), and bright colours. Go wild.

This Saturday, James Hall, Room 307.

Let’s send Riya off in style.

Shefali

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The walls were decked in balloons. As she put up the last bunch of them up, Shefali wondered if she was overdoing it. After all, Riya hated balloons. She’d spend hours with her ears covered just in case there was a chance one of them might burst. Well, too bad for her. If she didn’t want them here, she should have been here herself to say it, she thought. Feeling the beginnings of anger and gloom, she shook her head and put up the last bunch. Maybe I’ll add a balloon bursting game just to piss her off.

As she looked around the hall, and some of her friends trying to pull it into a proper shape, she couldn’t stop the smile from creeping up her face. One wall was filled with pictures of Riya with friends and family. At another part of the wall, were random memories that they had jotted down, with space for many more. The music they had stolen from her own playlist – a random collection of old Bollywood classics and ridiculous catchy new tracks. And of course, an entire corner of the hall was filled with more than enough drinks to satisfy even Riya. Looking upwards, Shefali sent a little message to Riya. Bitch, you better enjoy this. You’re getting more bhav today than ever.