THE LAST LAUGH.

 The year 2025, vandalised by the likes of Trump, Netanyahu and Putin, is now thankfully history and I earnestly hope we see the backs of these war criminals in the year ahead. But that should not distract us from making our own New Year resolutions. Mine is inspired by that athenian, observant avian of the jungle night- the owl. And since we are all agreed that what prevails in the world, and in India, is the law of the jungle, I shall model myself on this discerning philosopher in order to survive the coming year, ocassionally emitting two hoots or a blog en passant. And I begin the year with something about which I think a lot these days- death- since I wish I were dead every time either the Donald or Mr. Sambit Patra open their capacious mouths, or every time the Supreme Court delivers a judgment.  

Let me begin this new mission with an account of a recent visit to the Lodhi Road crematorium in New Delhi, an occurrence which has become all too frequent, sadly, as I pile on the years to my biodata. Outside the electric crematorium there is a board which says all there is to say about the hubris of our rulers, buried under layers of insensitivity:

 Delhi's bureaucrats are generally faceless, which is probably a blessing to the citizens of this beleaguered city surrounded by so much ugliness! But it is in the DNA of a bureaucrat to be want to be noticed, so they occasionally give in to the temptation of laying a foundation stone or two provided, of course, that a Minister has not beaten them to it. So one can see the odd Stone in front of a building or flyover or bus-stop, and one doesn't grudge them these little sops. But inaugurating a cremation platform or shed? Who would ever consent to such a ghoulish idea? Someone has, in the Lodhi Road Crematorium (see the picture above). Just outside a shed with four platforms (donated by ONGC) is a stone on which is engraved the name of the worthy (a Director in the Ministry of Urban Development) who " inaugurated" this unit a few years back! Is this macabre, or am I being too severe on him? Sometimes I wonder- did they also arrange four dead bodies to cremate for his benefit, and was he given the honour of lighting the flames, in a devilish twist to the time honoured Hindu tradition of lighting the sacred lamp? Did he have to glorify himself at the very spot which should remind us of "dust unto dust", ashes to ashes?                                                                          Now, politicians and bureaucrats love inaugurations, to carve their names in stone for posterity; nothing is off limits- public latrines, roads that have not yet been built, hospitals without equipment or doctors, schools without teachers. I have seen a first-class concrete bridge standing over a stream in Bathad in Kullu district, duly inaugurated by some local politico, even though there was no sign of any road leading up to it on either side of the river! But one would have thought that, even for this hardened lot, a crematorium would be a no-no.

We Indians take death too seriously, notwithstanding our spiritual belief that it is just a transition from the body to the eternal soul, a release- " Moksha"- from all mortifications of the flesh. We remember the dead with sadness and despair, and ourselves descend into despondency, and relive the depressing memory every year by holding grim functions. No doubt, some of this is due to the Brahmin pundits who can stay in business the longer they can keep you in this miserable state. But it is also due to our taking ourselves too seriously and refusing to lighten up or letting go.

   We lack the god-given gift of humour which is the best antidote to misery and sorrow. In a funny way even the graveyard brand of humour reinforces the love we had for the departed, and imbues our memories of them with fondness, which tempers the inevitable sadness, and makes the latter more bearable. This is not to decry the loss of a loved one but to remember him/her the way they would have liked us to: surely, they would like us to be happy, not moping all the time ? We should learn something from those humorists and writers who can chuckle at themselves even in death- or at death. There is a whole genre of graveyard jokes and I would like to share some of them with the reader. For these I am indebted to my brother-in-law Colonel (retired)  Amit Shukla who has promised to relate a few at my graveside in the highly likely event that he out-lives me (being a fauji, he has pickled himself in liquor from a very young age, and we all know the preservative qualities of hooch). Here are a few of the best epitaphs to remember:

 [1]   In a New Hampshire cemetery:

                 Tears cannot restore her

                 therefore I weep.

[2]   In a London cemetery ( about a spinster):

                  Here lies Ann Mann,

                  who lived an old maid

                  but died an old Mann.

[3]   In Kilmurry churchyard, Ireland:

                  This stone was raised by Sara's Lord

                   Not Sara's virtues to record,

                   For they are known to all the town.

                   This stone was raised to keep her down.

[4]   A lawyer's epitaph in London:

                  Sir John Strange.

                  Here lies an honest lawyer,

                  And that is strange.

[5]   On an auctioneer's grave:

                    Jeddiah Goodwin. Auctioneer.

                    Going!

                    Going!

                    Gone!

[6]   On an Attorney's grave:

                    John E Goembel. 1867-1946.

                    The defence rests.

[7]   In a Uniontown, Pennsylvania cemetery:

                    Here lies the body

                    0f Jonathan Blake

                    Stepped on the gas

                    Instead of the brake.

   I am fairly inspired by these epitaphs to want to have one for myself when, in the goodness of time, the lord decides that I have inflicted enough misery on the reading public and orders me off this planet. But, knowing that my friends are too lazy to attempt anything but an SMS or an emoji, I have prepared my own epitaph for my grave at Purani Koti, Mashobra. It goes like this:

      AVAY SHUKLA.  BORN- 1950.  BRAIN DEAD- circa 1995. LEGALLY DEAD- 20XX

                    " Here lies an unrepentant IAS soul.

                      One we were wary, but proud, of.

                      It was his boast

                      He could handle any post,

                      But he's now in a hole

                      He can't dig himself out of!"

We come into this world crying; lets leave it laughing; if one can't have the last word (at least while the wife is still hanging around on this mortal coil) let's at least have the last laugh!

[ P.S. Did you just hear a hoot of laughter emanating from the bushes?]