Monday, April 10, 2006

d.o.a.

We begin our slow crawl to death the second we are born. Maybe that’s why we come into the world crying. Some primal instinct that lets us know that the shadow of death follows in our every footstep. We’re Dead On Arrival. Each of us has come into this world with a fixed stock of years to live, or exist, as the case may be. Every year we live, we exhaust it from our supply of time left. And what better way to celebrate this than on one’s birthday. Where we wish each other, splurge on parties…and in some subliminal way living the illusion that we will live forever. Birthdays become a celebration of life. When in fact they are moments for mourning. For our time is fast approaching. Birthdays are reminders that one more year has passed. You’re older. And hopefully, wiser. And that’s a good enough reason, one hopes, to celebrate. If not for anything, for having made it to one more birthday…without dying.

Breathe. Breathe in the air. Don’t be afraid. Breathe. And now you’re shorter of breath, and one breath closer to death. (with due apologies to pink)

3 comments:

Santosh said...

OK, stop fishing... when _was_ your birthday?

shenoy said...

many months ago last year. many months away this year. this post was not about me...but about us all, and was inspired in part by a certain birthday bash i was witness to recently.

Communal Cow said...

I am always late, and so here's wishing you a belated birthday wish, whenever it was or whenever it will be.

Just remember, you are one bekku, the cow enjoys being here, in this jungle, that we are in!