Our Self-Written Obituaries – Aakansha Srivastava, Lucknow
The 199th death.
[Text and photos sent by Aakansha Srivastava]
Late nights of drenching deep in literature too old for her age and long hours of brooding over the same brought the inevitable self-destruction of Aakansha Srivastava’s mind, as often concluded by the nearby villagers who last saw her walking down the corn fields–a pale ghostly figure, finally being absorbed by the fog.
Her dog, an old yet no less majestic Samoyed followed her steps–his final act of devotion.
Her meticulousness led her into being painfully aware of the vices of the world and her mind, as they say, was often disturbed by her inability to make a difference.
In the years nearing her death, she zoned out, more often than normal and sighed heavily when snapped back into reality.
By the tiny bunch whom she allowed to be close, she will be missed. Her ability to turn sorrow into mirth will be brought up in conversations during the evening teas to follow.
Her blog, an insignificant corner in the giant labyrinth of the web bore words that didn’t sound her age.
Ms Srivastava is survived by a small library, a thick collection of indie music, some letters written on parchments and a small box of old, empty perfume bottles.
Our Self-Written Obituaries invites people 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.