Paradise coffin Makers

Another thing I never fail to observe during my commutation is the way my thoughts are suddenly drawn to death.

If I am on the right side of the bus, I can see the Catholic cemetery.  But most of the times I am seated on the left.  And on the left side, just opposite to the cemetery in the same vicinity is a small shop with the name: Paradise Coffin Makers’.  Outside the shop is on display a coffin box, sometimes two.  Brown, Black and White coffin boxes neatly decorated in gold coloured stripes, like a gift box tied up with bright ribbons.

And my thoughts run like this:

Do we send our dear, all neat and tidy, perfumed, well dressed as in Christians, adorned with flowers as in Muslims and Hindus, as gifts back to our maker?

Life is full of uncertainties with only thing for certain – death. Death is for ‘dead’ sure.  It is the uncertainty of the time of death that makes us live like we are going to live here forever. 

But when I look out at the coffin on display, I sober up.  I dwell for a few minutes on my life – the way I live it.  I am reminded about the transitory nature of life.  How nothing is forever. We leave our material achievements and bite the dust.

We become faded memories.  A photo on the wall.  Sad thoughts engulf me as I think of my own departed dead.  Sometimes I go as far as to imagine myself in a coffin box.

Death – why do we feat it?  Is Death really a tragedy?  I have heard many say ‘ I wish I were dead’. Do they really wish death? 

Why do we love life so much?  Is it because life is temporary that we cling on to ‘dear life’? 

Yet in some case people really want death.  Because at times, death does seem the remedy, the solution (I don’t mean suicide here).

Whatever, one thing is for sure – death.  Death is a great leveler.  There is a poem by that name which goes like this:

Death the Leveler

The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against Fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and Crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crookèd scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill:
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath
When they, pale captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds!
Upon Death's purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds.
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb:
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.

James Shirley       

Death – scares, fascinates, inspires, … there have been already so many blogs on death on Iland. 

But many of you may remember those lines from the film Anand :

Maut tu ek kavita hai…

Maut tu ek kavita hai ..
mujhase ek kavita ka vaadaa hai milegi mujhako ..

dubati nabzon mein jab dard ko neend aane lage
zard saa cheharaa liye chaand ufak tak pahunche
din abhi paani mein ho raat kinaare ke kareeb
na abhi andheraa ho, na ujaalaa ho, na raat na din
jism jab khatm ho aur ruuh ko saans aae .

mujhase ek kavita ka vaadaa hai milegii mujhako ..

And after the next three stages, my stage comes, and I snap out of these dark realistic thoughts as the bus jerks to a halt.  And I scramble to change the bus, and my mood changes too.  From the dark thoughts of death to worldly affairs – to the urgent need to reach on time. 

But this small shop gives me an opportunity to think about life and death.  It is like my daily reminder that today could be my last day and I might bloody well live life like it is going to end today.  Most of the days I manage to live like that and most of the times I also forget and put things off for tomorrow.  The human that I am.