Can you talk about death? #1
In Krzysztof Kieślowski’s Dekalog One, Pawel asks his father Krzysztof-
“Why do people die?”
A calculated answer with a shrug comes “Various reasons, heart attack, cancer.. accidents, old age..”
12 year old is not satisfied. “What I meant was.. what is death?”
“Death?” A pause. “The heart stops pumping the blood. No blood reaches the brain. Everything stops. comes to halt.. The End.”
“But what is left?”
“What a man has done. The memory of that, of him.” A conscious pause. “Memories seem to be important. You remember that somebody hopped strangely, or that.. he was good.” A pause. “you remember his face, his smile, or his front tooth was missing…”
Milk turned sour.
Pawel continues, “ It says here: ‘a mass for her soul.’ You didn’t say anything about a soul.”
“ It’s a way of saying goodbye. The is no soul.”
“Auntie says there is.”
“ Some people find it easier to live if they think so.”
A pause, Powel asks, “Do you?”
“Me? To tell the truth, I don’t know”.. “What are you thinking about? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.. except.. I was very happy this morning, when I got that sum right. When the pigeon ate the crumbs.. And then I saw a dead dog on my way o the shop. I knelt down and thought: What’s the use of working out when Piggy will catch up with Kermit?” Overwhelmed Pawel continues, “What’s the use of anything?”
A pause. An intense and curious look of father. “Which dog was it?”
“The one with yellow eyes. He hung around the trash cans. He was so pitiful, you know? Perhaps he is better off now.”
The reason for writing the conversation in such a detail is just to demonstrates the awkwardness pertaining the subject of death, point of no return. I tried to strike a conversation with my mother that I am exploring the death as a subject of my curiosity, was utterly strenuous for me, irrespective of the fact that she was willing to talk.
Get Shwetoski’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
Having said that, the emotional burden and necessity of asking the question ‘what is death?’ engrosses many, as early as with 12 year old, humans are consumed by the thought of death and after death, hence I need to talk about it.
A close and very dear friend of mine wanted me to read her ‘will’. Both of us swallowed the bitter pill and started reading the document together line by line. The legality and practically of her final wishes. We spoke about it made a few corrections, with some pauses when we were silent, before we resume the discussion again.
Mostly, person’s will speaks about the distribution of material possessions, some worldly advises to the next of kin, some expectations; but all about the wills and wishes after the owner of the ‘will’ would cease to exist. The posthumous instructions are important, so that the families can follow the wishes of the deceased.
People go further sometimes, my great grandfather was known to be a very practical man. Before he got sick for good, he went to Triveni Sangam(a holy place in India now called as Prayagraj) and performed Aatma Shraadha (the rituals of the deceased) for himself while he was alive. Quite a radical move. Either he was skeptical about his family or talking about his wishes could have been difficult, I can only imagine and guess what was going in his head that time.
But lets take a step back and speak about end of life. Every one has a bucket list, realistic or unrealistic to execute while someone still has a chance. I wish to travel, visit the mystic places in the world, write a brutal and honest journal of my life -about all the shitty things I did, failures and disappointments or otherwise- all of it; before I hit my bucket.
While most of us seldom we talk about the impending death, the last stages, the some parts of the world take a different approach. Bhutan for example, worlds happiest country (the Gross National Happiness Index far too high that others), is said to have its secret rooted in quite a macabre(!!?) phenomenon — “You need to think about death for five minutes every day, It will cure you”
Interesting, isn’t it?
