The 33rd death.

[Text by Saudamini Jain; photo by Pallavi Gurtoo]

Saudamini Jain, a journalist and writer, died in her sleep, precisely the way she would have liked to.

Ironically, death was perhaps the only thing that went according to her life plan. But that’s okay.

Ms Jain was born on 10 February 1990 and like all millennials, she had died several times before – of sheer boredom. And trying to figure out how relationships work.

In 2013, she began working on her first book. But abandoned it several times. In many ways, she herself was like a half-finished poem. Make of that what you will, but she had a certain lyrical quality to her. Or so somebody once told her. She (moderately) loved him for it.

Ms Jain is survived by copious notes for a work of nonfiction and sparse ones for two novels – and a best friend. Really, how many people can say that about themselves?

Cocktails will be served at the funeral. Drunken odes will be appreciated.

Ms Jain is truly dead. Please don’t tag her in RIP posts on Facebook now. It’s too morbid.

Our Self-Written Obituaries invites people to write their obituary in 200 words. The idea is to share with the world how you will like to be remembered after you are gone. (May you live a long life, of course!) Please mail me your self-obit at mayankaustensoofi@gmail.com.