The Obituary of Mark IV

A boy on the beach. Shorts-clad. Bare-backed. Lying on the hazel sands. The sun going down… that’s how I want to see myself, want my life.

As the term is drawing to its end, forgive me if I am misty eyed. It is always like "first you came, and then you die". I am a nameless spirit, walking the barren lands carrying a load under indifferent skies, my mind a perfect blank, and I am just 21 years old. I am struggling. Loads of burden. Tired. People bump into me, walk a distance, become a part of me and then just go away. Just like that.

I am cruel; I am the devil in human form. A "laugher", loudmouthed connoisseur of existential pain. Ever since this lifetime began and as it ends, there has not been much difference between me and a beast. But I hope I am able to change myself in the next life, for the better.

I have changed my identity, name, face and clothes in a continuum of experiences, not ever knowing what to feel, what to think. I regard myself through a multitude of masks that this outrageously weird world wears. At any given moment, I am what others want or really do "not" want. Depends on "me" and my mood swings. I ask obsessively of myself, who are you and what are you? The great tragedy is that neither am I equipped nor am I willing to confront these questions. These are great questions and probably the reasons for misery and sadness I been through and am in.

I guess laughter is essential for me because it releases all the sadness that wells up inside me. It actually is sadness, just in another form, I guess, because when I laugh, I laugh alone. It is my only escape.

I am trying to find my own niche, my own space. Sometimes, I am so afraid that I want to vegetate. It would have been great, had people been able to understand the needs of an individual and their basis. I am a pretender. Somehow I beg you not to be fooled by me. I wear masks, lots of them and I am afraid to take them off for none of them is me and what if I don't like the person I am, when I ain't wearing a mask. I give people an impression that I'm happy and secure, confident and cool. That I need no one and I am happy all alone in my all too lonely castle. Believe me not. I lay hidden, in fear, in confusion all alone. But even this is hidden from you. I hide because I am afraid about what will people think of me. I am like the gentle river, the surface may seem smooth and calm but in the depths, the current is turbulent. Thus, here I am, hiding behind a facade, to help me pretend. I hate people knowing me inside out and probably the reason why I have no "friends". People who would be able to accept me as I am, are the ones who can help me out, but the fear makes me turn away. I want to be accepted and loved as I am, but is it possible.

For me, life has been brutal and unkind. Focus is not on what is but what could have been. It is always bitter in my mouth. An unromantic, dead existence. My “beat the shit” attitude has caused me to be grounded. Not once or twice, always. If you don’t like my attitude, you will not get close enough to know me. I am just a normal, natural guy. I welcome with closed arms and people get stared back. Wherever I been, I have never been accepted easily. I am terrified of moving out of my home and packing my suitcases. I like to stay rooted. I want to settle down and stay put. I am close to my family. Home is one-stop and I have barely been there in the past three or so years. I have traveled all over the country. My childhood was full of road trips. The world and its complexities made me shrink into my shell like an oyster and my individuality “the pearl” is still hidden.

And yet, this world feels like home, albeit a foster one. It was here I discovered my penchant for sports. I started with cricket. I got hit and gave it up. Gave it up because I was afraid of the rising ball. Later I picked a sport which was all poetry and passion. It taught me life. Morality, sportsmanship.. I learnt to work as a team. I captained the state and still play dedicatedly for the institute despite the grueling schedule. When we play, we practice three hours a day, six times a week.

I spend some time on all this and studies, rest is all for myself. To do what I please. Lie on the bed, stare at the ceiling, paint, and watch a movie. I love doing things alone. Although it does not leave time for socializing or a relationship, I have already been in enough serious relationships. Probably one was more than enough. Rest always ended as I don’t give them enough time. After classes, assignments, sports where’s the time for anything else.

Humor is very important to me. People should be open to have a laugh at their own expense. I see humor in every situation and so should everyone, at least try to. My spicy tongue in cheekiness and irreverence has been evident all my life and my creativity is good but limited. But I am a bit angry. Every time, I deliver something loaded with my creativity, some one less deserving gets away with the top prize.

This obituary is of a man who failed. But he tried and tried hard, with sincerity. He was born sorry for his existence, all too painful and sickening. Time and again was he reminded of his inadequacies and faults. He covered them up and moved on. He tried to become one with the faces in the crowd, but they made him stand out, because he was not one of them. In fact, he tried so hard that it distinguished him from the rest. He could work hard and he did at various levels. The masks grew numerous in no time.

Suddenly, one day he found that he could not hide, even if he wanted to. Whining inwards, he took everyday as an adventure, with expectation. Not knowing that expectation is root of all misery, he kept up his endeavor. Gradually he wizened. He realized the fruitlessness of achieving a goal, which in fact is superficial. Believing in the goal of achieving common good, he set himself tasks which he later achieved at high personal costs. In the process, the infamy of the name took root and everything went beyond his control. Now the “matrix” had him and he was powerless to control anything.

Honestly, he disliked the superficial game, which went on. Even when he wanted to be genuine and spontaneous, the fear in him got better of him.

People say he was heartless. This is what they claim. They say he was artless too. He had to deal with quite a disproportionate amount of criticism. People had many labels for him. Brash, Arrogant… maybe he was that way. There was this mania in him to ensure that while he enjoyed himself, he be morally upright and not harm anybody else.

Now that he is about to die, let us all forgive him. Meanwhile, I will try to walk my unique path with the sun radiant on my shoulders, leaving fresh footprints on the sands.

"Shoonya"