Chapter 1: The Death

I was born self-centred, and that is how I was going to die. Knowing The Answer wasn’t going to change that. The universe had always revolved around me, prancing around in whichever way I commanded it. There was no one alive half as important as I am. I only spoke to other people if I needed to. I never loved; I only obsessed – because temporary obsessions gave me something to live for.
But I frowned a little when I discovered that The Answer was going to be lost with me forever. Or maybe it was for the best, because Anita might have suffered the same fate if I had made it back to tell her. Not that her suffering the same fate is entirely a bad thing. My frown turned upside down.
You have an evil, evil mind Azad, I told myself. Wishing demise on your daughter’s mother is not funny. Never mind the fact that you’re married to the woman.
So I thought of Anita, and I thought of young Niyati as well. And I thought of other things before them. Hollywood had taught me that your entire life flashes before you when you’re dying. Bollywood had taught me that no life could end without a song and dance sequence. Either way, this might end up being a long fucking death.
Although time sort of loses its value when you’re awaited by nothing but an eternity of nothingness.
At a time like this, I had imagined that I would probably collect a list of my life’s regrets and torture myself some more during my last moments. Strangely though, the regrets never came. I had punished myself severely in past, ruing the fact that I had a child too soon, that I was stubborn and didn’t listen to Atty or my friends’ or anyone else’s advice, that I shouldn’t have gotten into my line of work in the first place. In the past, I had thoroughly questioned my hurried decision to marry Anita, and I had thoroughly regretted the fact that I didn’t work hard enough in college.
But in these last moments, there were no regrets. After all, there is nothing better than dying in Varanasi, is there? If all the liberation and moksha bullshit of holy Varanasi that Mummy fed me over the years is true, then I can conveniently skip the suffering of reality and relax in eternal enlightenment from now on.
Surprisingly, I didn’t miss Kalpana either. That stage of my life was over a long time ago. I guess death is a good way to move on.
Thank you for everything, Deepu Chachu. I would’ve probably not lived long enough to die today if it wasn’t for him. I am OK. I have The Answer.
I must say though that I’m slightly disappointed that my death isn’t more gangsta rap. All of those secondary school years spent listening to Dr. Dre and his colleagues talking about elaborate stories of murder had definitely raised my hopes a little. Even the organized crime didn’t have a hand in this – I would have imagined that my recent acquaintance with Rajju Bhai and his pals would at least grant me that. This is boring. And this is too soon. How can I die without telling someone?
Someone needs to take the blame. I mean, I’m sure I wouldn’t be seeing the white light this very moment if certain events had happened differently.
The van came out of nowhere. Although, I must admit, I was a little distracted. You would have been too, if you had discovered The Answer. No fucking way you’d be able to keep your eyes on the road. So is it the fault of The Answer? But I wouldn’t have even have been at the ghats today seeking it if it wasn’t for Sahni and the rest of the censors. Those confused disabled hypocrites. Fuck them.
I could always blame the mafia. I mean, they have been around since before Niyati’s birth. Hell, I wouldn’t even be in this whole mess if that dead dog hadn’t inspired me to join the rat race. It’s his fault. Oh, if only I hadn’t burped in that church, I would’ve never met Anita, and I would’ve never seen that god forsaken dog again.
No, it’s that van drivers fault. The fucker came out of nowhere.