ITS MY LIFE?

Suicides.. It has many threads..

Is it escape or desperation?

Courage or Cowardice?

Crime or not?

It’s a god given life?

Personal right?

Why or why not?

Farmers..

Exams..

Love..

Betrayal..

Excellence vs. Natural Aptitude.

Methods.

Quick?

Slow?

Painless?

Painful?

Planned?

Spur of the moment?

Suicide as release?

Suicide as revenge?

Suicide for a greater purpose?

Suicide Bombings?

Suicide to make a statement.

Suicide for self pity.

There is one question which needs to be answered. Is it ‘Just my life’? Is it only our actions that govern our lives and do our lives govern only our actions? Is it, then, a personal right to decide if you want to end it?

There can only be a few things which can cause more pain to a mother than to know that she could not sustain in her child, a will to live. To know that she HAD a child, and had it not been for a few careless words, a decision made on his behalf, she would still HAVE that child. All the dreams, all the love, all the nurturing and conditioning, all the giving without expecting.. That person around whom your entire life centred around. That person you gave up everything for.. All of that could not keep in him a want to live. That the world was so painful for your child, that he chose to cease existing.

We love numbers. We quantify everything. I am the second child of my class 1 officer parent, studying in the 7^th best institute with a 230 rank and earning a package of 7 lacs. Why do we define everything by numbers? Why do we need a number backing us up? The arguments could be many. Its practical, its simple, its easier.

It may be, but all i know is that when you touch the skin of a person that once had warmth, when u feel the stiffness, the strange inhuman quality of what had once been a loving touch, you know that no amount of simplicity or practicality can ever replace it. You know what LIFE really is. You understand, it’s not simply a switch u can turn off. It has implications. It ruins others. The love goes. The faith goes. You don’t feel anger or remorse. It’s a feeling that cannot be classified. And it disturbs you, haunts you. It fills your head with questions.

What did he feel? Why did he do it? Did he think it won’t happen? Did he want to turn back but couldn’t? Was it peaceful? Did he struggle? Was he possessed?

And no matter how much time has passed, the questions stay.

Suicide is a crime. Whether you like it, or not.

It may bring you release, but it imprisons several others. Whether you want it to, or not.

Suicide causes murder. Whether you’re a killer, or not.