Our Self-Written Obituaries – Kanksshi Agarwal, Somewhere in Delhi
The 203rd death.
[Text and photos sent by Kanksshi Agarwal]
Kanksshi Agarwal was a 25-year-2 month-a-few-rainy-days-old woman. Her sudden demise, tainted with sympathy and poise, looks more like a high-paid planned event. She believed in magic and seems like her wish has been granted. She died on the stage, while launching her first book, and reciting Faiz’s poetry, “Nahin nigah me manzil toh justaju hi sahi, nahi visaal mayyasar toh arzoo hi sahi”.
In search of new philosophies, people, experiences and poetry, she was a conversationalist, mirroring whatever life met her with.
A masochist, she has left behind a bookshelf, an elaborate collection of half-filled and inked diaries, a ring in her middle finger, uncountable number of ear-ring pairs, letter-stationaries, and some unposted letters to her lovers, friends and family. She has a laptop, with a folder called, “I weave”, in which her heart, opinions and curious mind peacefully rests. She is scared of missing her family on the other side of life.
She lived drama, weaved stories, hummed laughter. She loved too much, wrote lesser, and talked a lot. She acted, orated, lead and created, in the end wanting and waiting, wide-eyed for something satiating. She would huff and purr then walk away like a cat.
Her funeral is to be attended by as many people as she had invited on her convocation. A motivated feminist, her last words ideally would have been–Eat my heart to savour any truth, if there is any at all.
Even if no one comes, she would smile as she always does.
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.