The 201st death. [Text and photos sent by Mohit Jain] Dearest bookshelf, We have shared a bond so pristine and intimate. It was the most intimate moment that I spent with you. Your presence evoked a sense of belonging in my otherwise empty life. Each time, I felt alone, you have been a constant companion to fill in the lacks of my life. Without you, I could not have imagined pulling off this life. Dear mom and dad, I hope you did not cry when I died and I hope my funeral to be a celebration and not to be a crowd of suffering and mourning people. I wish none of you shed any tears. Dear friends, I requested that each of you bring

The 200th death. [Text and photos sent by Maham Singh] In the glibs of this beautiful world, I annihilate myself today... Tell me oh women of castles that you need my hair to hold on to the senses of them wandering riches Tell me oh envy eyes that you want my eyes to behold my beloved the way I did. Tell me you the best florist that you need my nose to get the fragrance of the exotic flowers my love showered

The 199th death. [Text and photos sent by Aakansha Srivastava] Late nights of drenching deep in literature too old for her age and long hours of brooding over the same brought the inevitable self-destruction of Aakansha Srivastava’s mind, as often concluded by the nearby villagers who last saw her walking down the corn fields--a pale ghostly figure, finally being absorbed by the fog. Her dog, an old yet no less majestic Samoyed followed her steps--his final act of devotion. Her meticulousness led her into being painfully aware of the vices of the world and her mind, as they say, was often disturbed by her inability to make a difference. In the years nearing her death, she zoned out, more often than normal and sighed

The 198th death. [Text and photos sent by Sameen] Her name was Sameen, “precious” in Arabic. All her life she felt anything but that. If the legend about praying in front of the Kaaba is true she wished to ask for some confidence and trust in her own self. She feared oblivion like many other people but wished to be anything but mundane, the modern-day fairytale of Ayn Rand-style of individuality and ego reigned her veins. She had a problem with remembering faces. Her brain stored names and the faces associated with them in two different folders. This was another reason she couldn’t help but be afraid of oblivion. Finally, after many failed attempts, she found the person who made her feel

The 197th death. [Text and photos sent by Archana Ravi] Leggings campaigner Archana Ravi died of a death curse on Saturday. She had been adamant about wearing ill-fitted leggings, and desecrating the cultural sanctity of Thiruvananthapuram streets, despite being warned several times of evil eye and other consequences. She chose to call it a protest. Well-meaning strangers had often stopped her on roads to point out how the sight of her unshapely thighs was causing them great discomfort. They would articulate it through angry glares, as people like her did not deserve fully-formed words. The good men who met her and her leggings would dispatch female messengers to make her understand how it might not bode well with the rest of the society.

The 196th death. [Text and photos sent by Jessica Faleiro] Although she managed to write prolifically during her life-time, it was the weight of the unwritten tomes inside her that finally dragged Jessica Faleiro’s body down to its watery death. She was 67. Ms Faleiro was last seen walking into the Arabian Sea’s lit-up phosphorescence one full moon night on a Goan beach. The fishermen out on the sea that night told everyone that she had finally gone home. The life-guards called off the search because of their lack of understanding of irony. When her body washed up on the beach the next day, surrounded by empty Kingfisher bottles and plastic cups, everyone said that she looked

The 195th death. [Text and photos sent by Payu Tiwari] Despite issuing several proclamations of apocalyptic warnings to the masses about the consequences of patriarchy, Payu Tiwari died ignoring what she’d been warned of her whole life--daydreaming, as she crossed the bustling roads of Bombay, blushing at her dreams. Unfortunately, they were rudely interrupted by a Toyota land cruiser with an invisible driver behind the wheel. She will be remembered as a textbook example of embarrassment pulled off with elan, being passionate about music and Sorkin dialogue, declaring herself “spiritually attached” to Hamilton’s Angelica Schyler, along with her signature glare at anyone dispensing uninformed opinions about Indian cinema. Also, for writing long sentences. Her tombstone reads the words most frequently uttered by her in her larger

The 194th death. [Text and photos sent by Charvi Kain] She died in an Ola. For years, despite owning a driving license and a Metro card for Bombay and Delhi each, Charvi Kain religiously requested for Ubers and Olas. She was an expert at judging when the surge price would simmer down, when she would get an empty Share/Pool ride, and knew a trick or two to keep getting the likes of “We miss you! Here’s 50% off on your next ten rides” coupon codes. Her faceless drivers were almost always pleasant, for she would swiftly cancel on rude voices on the first “Bhaiyya aap kahaan hain?” phone call. And yet, this final Ola journey inexplicably ended her life before she could

The 192nd death. [Text and photos sent by Amrit Khanna 'Nobody'] We wish to inform to the few who may wish to know that Amrit Khanna 'Nobody' is no longer among us. He was a nobody at workplace, a loser at home and he was depressed in real life. He will be remembered--if at all he will be--with terrible nonchalance and effort. A highly undistinguished personality, he brought big smiles where ever he did not go. In school he was mostly spotted sitting in the last bench with zero confidence to say anything. He mostly remained anonymous to his compatriots. Nobody knew him and he knew nobody. He was as much a stranger to all as all were to him, but then he made