The 190th death.

[Text and photos sent by Rajeswari Bhattacharya]

Rajeswari Bhattacharya has been pronounced dead. She jumped off the building with as much enthusiasm as she would sing Tagore’s “Bhalobasi, Bhalobasi” (I love, I love), as if in eager anticipation of a suicidal end.

Her neighbours complained that it was “a ghastly sight”. The local police lugged her mangled, bleeding body with as much grace as life had bestowed her, careful not to leave behind a trail of blood, while being adept at gathering her corpse for an autopsy.

Her family was informed, and they are in a state of shock. Her friends have been trying to fathom the cause of her suicide amidst sombre coffee conversations. There was no suicide note. She loved the thought of an ostentatious end, but was too fragile to accept being judged for it.

She leaves behind a wardrobe that’s part defunct and part out of the ordinary; almost in harmony with what life had repeatedly etched a pattern (with her), in their interactions. She didn’t have many personal effects of note. Her prized possessions (her Instagram wall and scrawled book of poems) are symbolic of: ‘When life met romance’s allegorical existence’.

She was a romantic, she deserved it.

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.

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