The 212nd death. [Text and photos sent by Varsha Pednekar] For a person who loved being alone, dying alone too must have been joyous. Varsha Pednekar, 30, was found dead in her bed with her two dogs at her feet. She was fascinated by Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison, and Amy Winehouse and wished to join the '27 Club' herself. Alas, she was 3 years too late. An empty bottle of her sleep medication was found by her bedside. Next to it were a few datura pods and a bottle of cheap Sauvignon. She didn't want to take any chances this time it seemed. And it worked indeed. Gone too soon, a few may say. But Varsha knew this day was coming since she

The 211st death. [Text and photos sent by Vishakha Khandelwal] In a faintly lit room, with Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” playing in the background on speakers, Vishakha Khandelwal was found dead under mysterious circumstances, with a sketch book and a felt-tip pen in her hand. The words “Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go” were playing when she was discovered pale, lifeless on the floor of the room, with her face towards her favorite scribbled wall, with her little pieces of what she liked to call “art”. She had gotten home just a few hours ago before dying, after spending an afternoon full of moments of putting up pretentious smiles and fake laughter with the people she thought she loved the most, but she

The 210th death. [Text and photos sent by Chetna Sabharwal] Chetna Sabharwal, unfortunately for some people (hopefully), left this world on 28th of November at 11:42pm. She died of a coffee overdose. It was her fantasy to die like this, so this is one thing that people close to her should not feel sad about. Ms Sabharwal was the sweetest person known to some people. Whether it was because she never imposed her opinions on others or it was simply because she didn't care for people to agree with her, none of us will ever know. Her passion, apart from drinking coffee, was hoarding books; of course she read the ones that piqued her interest. But she did not finish each and

The 209th death. [Text and photos sent by Anjali Dhananjayan] Anjali Dhananjayan, a confused journalist, escaped this mortal realm on Sunday, August 8, 2100. She leaves behind 2 golden retrievers, 3 soul mates and a huge pot of butter chicken. Some may remember her as a chirpy bird, big-hearted, energetic and naïve young lady. She was an unconfident yet bold, headstrong female, who wanted to take over the world with her TED talks and pinky promises. Ms Dhananjayan's curiosity had no ends. She was one of the rare ones, who’d gulp down a bottle of beer on a Monday night with her soul mates, sharing deep affinity and seeking relentless joy. She had a desire to do anything and everything with or without regrets.

The 208th death. [Text and photos sent by Vandana Trivedi ] Vandana Trivedi is someone you all knew well. You will remember her as a woman symbolizing energy and inspiration. A confident woman, who could take on the world. An iconoclast who stood up against stupidity and treachery. You will miss her for her love, ramblings, unsolicited sermons and almost-smothering care for you, her loved ones. What you won’t miss her for is her hunger - to be loved, her desire - to be held, her yearning - to dissolve into your hug. What you won’t miss her for is her grief - in losing a loved one that still stung as fresh till her last breath, her self-doubt and her insecurities. Vandana

The 207th death. [Text and photos sent by Arushi Thapar] Arushi Thapar will always be remembered as someone who remembered too much. She was never good at making small talk because she was a fan of the real stuff, of things that mattered no matter how insignificant they seemed. She called herself a 'serial nostalgist' as she was plagued by nostalgia several times a day. Her life was a quest to feel every shade of every emotion. She wanted to feel every subtle ripple or shift of emotion that people go through and thought there was something very important about how they drove us into being or not being a certain way. She will be missed for the kind of adrak chai she made,

The 206th death. [Text and photos sent by Pooja Priyamvada] This poet-lady was always fascinated with obituaries, writing her own is almost a poet’s lifelong dream come true. Newspapers count alphabets and you pay by the word, isn’t it? If similarly life kept a register a small hill-town will remember Pooja Priyamvada as that geek who would dive in every library available and would name all the cedars she met. Teenage page would be full of personal and social angst and illnesses both of the body and the mind, the teenager whose life-lessons came in hospitals and medicines. Youth was just the heady mix of believing in happily-ever-afters and her own omnipotence of being able to create one in her utopia of literature and

The 205th death. [Text and photos sent by Shashank Sharma] Shashank Sharma, 25, who went to bed after savoring his favorite chhole chawal from Karol Bagh, was found dead earlier this morning in what appears to be case of severe asphyxiation due to excessive crying on his pillow. His favorite pilot pen, a can of Thumbs-Up and few scribbled bits of paper were found next to him. Although sources say that Mr Sharma was seen fidgeting and stressed in the last few days, no suicide note was found. Mr Sharma, a marketing enthusiast and a passionate writer, lived a life made out of eccentric choices and regrets. It was only after finishing his MBA that he realized the futility of money. He

The 204th death. [Text and photos sent by Tanishka Goel] Ting. Ting. The Metro arrived on platform 2 of South Delhi’s Okhla NSIC station. Tanishka Goel ran in her favourite blue kurti, a book in her hand, to get into a coach. Instead of boarding the train, however, she became one of those breathless commuters on whose crestfallen face the doors of the Metro routinely shut, almost like a public insult. Ms Goel used to smile every morning when she saw someone caught in such a situation, while she herself would be sitting inside the Metro, snug in her book or earphones. Today, she was that person and she wondered if someone inside the train smiled at her the same way. After eight

The 203rd death. [Text and photos sent by Kanksshi Agarwal] Kanksshi Agarwal was a 25-year-2 month-a-few-rainy-days-old woman. Her sudden demise, tainted with sympathy and poise, looks more like a high-paid planned event. She believed in magic and seems like her wish has been granted. She died on the stage, while launching her first book, and reciting Faiz’s poetry, “Nahin nigah me manzil toh justaju hi sahi, nahi visaal mayyasar toh arzoo hi sahi”. In search of new philosophies, people, experiences and poetry, she was a conversationalist, mirroring whatever life met her with. A masochist, she has left behind a bookshelf, an elaborate collection of half-filled and inked diaries, a ring in her middle finger, uncountable number of ear-ring pairs, letter-stationaries, and some unposted