The 13th death.
[Text by Shujaat Khan; photo by Yuvan]
On a lazy winter afternoon of 12 January 2088, Shujat Khan shifted from his 1 BHK abode in Pratap Nagar, Jaipur, to his heavenly abode. Phew! At last, no more house shifting! His whole life had been a balancing act between the real and the surreal, till the weighing scale went… snap!
Mr Khan’s soul is not resting in peace. It never did. Just gave up the shit. He strictly instructed his near and dear one (there is only one) against glorifying him ad nauseam. “A damn arrogant man, nevertheless a passionate lover,” says his girlfriend ‘abc’. That woman could never keep her trap shut.
Mr Khan caved in to an abrupt asthmatic bout that pursued him all his life, which included a constant engagement with Philip Roth’s The Professor of Desire. His last wish was that his body be shoved into an electric crematorium sans any fuss or fanfare. The society and its bloody conventions being his nemeses, he would have no more of them at death than he had in life. He leaves behind several unpublished poems, short stories, an unpunctual blog, an impressive collection of English songs and foreign films. He laughs at all of your fucked up lives from above. Adios!
Our Obituaries invites Delhiites across the world to write their obituary in 200 words. The idea is to share with the world how you will like to be remembered after you are gone. (May you live a long life, of course!) Please mail me your self-obit at firstname.lastname@example.org.