I often think about death, and wonder how would others describe me when I am gone. While I hope others have nice things to say about me — they always say only nice things about the dead somehow — this is what I would like them to know about me.
This morning Anubhuti Krishna, was found dead in her bedroom amidst her pile of journals, ink pens, half-read books, and silver earrings. Her laptop was found beside her, her glasses were still on her nose. Her half written notes suggest she was trying to fight the writers block yet again.
She is said to have been survived by her unfulfilled dreams and unrealistic aspirations. Some of which include seeing her book in print, being a famous writer, making a bank full of money and having thick wavy hair. Believed to be rude and arrogant by most, and obnoxious by many, she died an extremely anxious and partly depressed woman, albeit she did a fine job of masking her true emotions for years.
In the past few months Anubhuti had made peace with many a demon in her head and had put them to good use by writing lyrical verses to the dead. Some of which were said to be a-one, but most were read by no one.
A die-hard romantic, she wished for everlasting love, a clean hand-loom draped home, and overflowing youth. In her last days she is said to have been deserted by those she had kept closest to her heart, and bruised by the ones she had held in great regard.
Since humans had started to fail her, she had found solace in places. She could love them without having to worry about being abandoned. In her notebooks, on the pages of her computer, in the pictures of her phone, one finds only places: beautiful, ugly, romantic, dirty; old, new, fast, slow. And if you look closer, among these places her ghost is said to flow.
Anubhuti is a travel and food writer and aspires to see her name on the spine of a book someday.
This post first appeared in The Dilliwala