Death and Drama

Recently, a famous Indian actor, Sushant Singh Rajput (34), was found dead in his apartment in Mumbai. Ever since social media is abuzz with posts on him.

Some are writing lengthy monologues in his memory, others are posting stories of his life. Some are busy discussing conspiracy theories; while others are busy blaming other actors, directors, and producers for not being supportive of him.

Even before the postmortem report arrived, people who didn't even know him personally had declared that it was a suicide case and started giving free lectures on depression.

Meanwhile, some media outlets and reporters are being criticized for insensitive reporting. A disturbing photo of his dead body has been doing rounds on the internet. Some news channels have been using cheap headlines to sensationalize the entire case. Some others were seen trying to get a scoop from the actor's grieving father, who was clearly traumatized beyond words.

But this isn't a lone case. Even when veteran actor Shridevi (54) died, the media had gone crazy. She was found dead in the bathtub of her hotel room. A reporter had gone to the extent of recreating that scene, sitting inside a bathtub himself, to create extra impact.

So people are right to comment and raise their voices against such an inhuman and lunatic way of handling news reports.

But then again, are people in general caring enough?

A woman in my social media friend list keeps on sharing harrowing pictures of people (in ICU mostly), with comments below such as an XYZ organization has said they would pay the family of this person 50 paise or so per share (the word here referring to the sharing of the post). She urges people to share the photo in order to help the person financially. Some pictures say, "One share means one prayer".

The question that arises here is the same as that in the case of famous actors.

Would you share such pictures of your loved ones on the internet?

I have zero clue as to who clicks such pictures in the first place. But instead of reporting them, if you share these photos, you're equally guilty, aren't you?

Okay, let's at least assume that we as humans are mean and mindless only with people we don't personally know. We're otherwise very emotional and sane, all of us. Are we? Think again.

I've faced many tragedies in life. And with each of them, I started liking people a little less. Every single tragedy made me lose respect for someone or the other. Allow me to take you through some of the instances. The identity of the persons is obviously not going to be revealed for the sake of privacy.

A couple in their 80s passed away. The son and daughter-in-law, who'd been living in the same city but otherwise used to avoid visiting them, started preparing for the last rites. When the particular days arrived, the daughter of that couple, who had stood by them throughout and helped them in all possible ways, was silently told to stand away as the customs and traditions didn't allow her to be a part of the rituals. They became the heroes of the hour while the daughter was forgotten.

Apparently, there's no ritual that tells you to take care of your living parents. All the rituals come up after death. How convenient!

When a two-month-old baby boy living in a small town faced health problems, the child's regular doctor advised his parents to get some tests done in a big city. The confused mother had called up her uncle, who'd assured her that the test was available in the hospital he worked in. On reaching, he'd told me the test wasn't available for kids. While the child was shifted again to another hospital in desperation, there wasn't much left to be done. It was too late.

The doctor uncle, on seeing that, silently left, saying his patients had been waiting for him. He never called later, let alone attend the last rites.

I've seen people commenting on your clothes while you're grieving for a lost person. I've seen grandmothers chit-chatting about suits and bags while their grandson lies cold in the other room. I've seen aunts roaming around a grieving house, talking and laughing out loud while thinking about the last time they'd visited. I've also seen men and women asking for more snacks after food at the bhog ceremony as if they're rather at a tea party.

So when my own father (61) passed away in February this year, I'd seen a lot already. I had mentally prepared myself already not to expect a lot from people.

There were people coming for afsos left, right, and center. We were mindlessly repeating the same story, again and again, telling everyone 'what'd happened all of a sudden'. Some were deeply shocked, some were genuinely devastated. Some were just there pretending.

There were people present in front of me who'd hardly ever bothered to call him when alive, telling me how wrecked they were.

Someone was asking me why I hadn't informed him about my father's deteriorating health. In truth, he would've known had he cared to call my father ever.

My father was flawed in the sense that he was simply beyond words. And just because he did what he did quietly, people thought he hadn't done enough. I, being born with the same genetic material, understand this for I too have faced this in life.

So while at a funeral, a person is supposed to talk about the deceased, all that was said about my father was that he was a businessman who talked very little, and had daughters he'd taught really well. The rest of the achievements were reserved for my grandfather and his government job, and other family members.

And it wasn't really the fault of the speaker.

In a job, you get promotions and recognition in society. In a business, you're recognized for your expenditure. My father bought a small house, sufficient enough for two after retirement. He didn't believe in spending much on clothes. He lived a simple life and died peacefully. He had no debts on his shoulders. But these are no achievements, are they now?

My father was a silent man, indeed. He silently lived his life, silently paid his taxes on time, silently followed every rule, silently paid for our studies, silently got us married, and silently worked hard before he fell seriously ill. While he struggled to continue doing the heavy work, people started telling him he wasn't good enough, that he wasn't trying enough.

So he silently suffered criticism, silently handled loss and abandonment, silently took it all to heart, silently fought with the disease for seven years while the doctors had said he had barely two. He silently took more medicines than food every day, and silently got millions of tests done. He'd got so many syringes injected into his body that towards the end it was hard to find the correct nerve to take blood from.

Such things were never mentioned because these don't fall under the category of achievement because giving away more than he should have to others is not an achievement either. Because not keeping a record of his favors on others while acknowledging others' good deeds is also not considered an achievement.

So even if you tell me people are essentially good, I won't believe you. People are essentially bad. You find sensible ones out of sheer destiny.

No matter what you do, no matter how old you are, and no matter what you achieve, only a handful will actually cry for you after you're gone.

I'd say don't go by the face value of all the celebrities too who're posting lengthy paragraphs on how traumatized they actually are. Even family members sometimes do drama well. And these people are anyway paid for doing exactly that.

Also read: On first father's day without him