A Posthumous Autobiography

I wrote this during the depths of my frustration....Life has jst not been kind to me....Ive decided however tht it'spayback time.


Goodmorning everyone. Or should I say goodnight? I am really not sure because never before has a posthumous autobiography been written and so I don't know what the opening lines of such a piece could be. Well it so happens that I am dead. Please don't be shocked, but I'll perfectly understand if you are because that was my reaction as well when I saw myself in the mirror after dying for the first time. As time passed, this feeling faded away and I am now comfortably coming back to life and dying every single day (and on days when Im lucky every single second). I now feel Im a reincarnation of Prometheus condemned by the Gods to have his liver pecked everyday and for it regrow again.The trouble with living a dead life is that you only think you are invisible. But you are actually invisible in the worst possible way. While you are always noticed to pick the garbage, you become transparent when you offer any kind of advise or try to display any strands of creativity that may have been left on your otherwise barren skull. What is worse is that you actually start feeling a sense of pity towards people who are alive and this is the only reason why I'm writing this to keep you well informed about whats in store.
Contrary to popular belief death does not relieve you of any of the miseries in the living world. If only there are more. See God has it in his plan that the human's miseries can only multiply and take off exponentially and not subtract, for God deals only with superior math and is unconcerned with the trivial. Every morning I have to wake up and wash my skin which I have to wear later on and up here among the dead they are real high on fashion consciousness(right now tanned skin is in). So I have to make sure that my skin is super glossed before I actually put it on. This is the less tedious part. The real toughie comes in when I have to fit in my eyes, and I by mistake fit them upside down in the sockets(Can you believe it, they actually notice eyes upsaide down). On such occasions tongs are the only tool which can help me pluck them out. And don't go out believing those people who say you can't feel or get hurt when your hurt. Ask them to pluck the eyes of a person in a comma and see if he returns to consciousness or not. As the day progresses into night we have to finish all the chores out here before we document what we've done for the day, and then as a compulsory measure we have to share our learnings with our fellow dead people. The last activity is the worst because 99/100 times I would have learnt nothing, and so I have to recook up old things which also I didnt happen to learn, "Teamwork", "Communication", "Documenting with care"(not that Ive know anyone who has learnt that he should document with care), "Listening to problems of your fellow dead people even if it was about their dead dog and even if that should have been a part of celebration under the present circumstances" and many more things which require your brain to be stretched far beyond imagination. Believe me its a real lot of stretching since we dead people have the abilty to stretch our brains across the length of the Milky Way.
God is otherwise quite a nice guy and is taking care of me well. He gives me all his toilet chores to do, clean up his porsche, and also let me pick the lice in his kid's hair. Most importantly he pays me real handsome for this and that is why I have these musicians and courtiers being jealous of me. I keep hearing complaints of how I'm unfairly treated. They say that I even get to be alive every other day, but they don't understand that this actually is a double edged sword when I have to return amonst them towards the end of the day. i just ignore such comments and know better than to answer back to people who don't even exist.
Life and death was continuing in its usual business-like fashion when all of a sudden, today I heard someone(couldnt see him without his skin...Ive not yet been given those powers)saying "Lucifer sure gets his guy". I was wondering what he was talking about till today evening, when God personally came to my cave. Oh I forgot to tell you earlier we all live in caves which are lit by own own skins left burning through the night. This serves the dual purpose of enhancing the skin gloss and also keeps us warm and lit up in the night. Coming back to the point God comes up and congratulates me on completing 5 years of dead existence(believe me its not an oxymoron). I was all smiles when he told me that today was graduation day and as part of the ceremony I would have accompany him on a month long vacation to "Paathaal". Now the funny thing for those of you who don't know is that this place is where all outsourced business from Hell. Im terrified and Im kind of getting the gist of what I heard in the morning. Its night and I have to leave tommorrow. I know an experience in Hell wouldn't make much of a difference to my existence or non-existence, but its just that like all of you out there I hate change and I would rather live here for some more time.

Mission RK

Just read RK Narayan's autobiography. Earlier I thought he was great, but now I think he is the greatest. The man doesn't have different dimensions, nor does he have a persona you woill stand in awe of. But to me he is what a human being should most importantly be....honest. I could very well picture myself(like him), falling in love with every second girl that passes by and think a smile would be her flirting with him(if you are reading this I'm sure you would have remembered something real funny). Anyways Narayan didn't write because he thought he had alot to offer to society(which I do think in my wildest dreams), nor did he write because it was his ultimate passion. I think he would have rather continued dreaming all his life and smoked on a joint of cigarettes. But he wrote siply because that was the only way he knew how to earn a living. He was a failure as a govt. official, and a failure as a student. He failed in English for God's sake in the BA entrance.
Anyway this is sounding more like a biography(something I'm not authorised to do). My purpose of writing this is to just declare that I do have a new dream added to my evergrowing collection. To research Narayan's life, to meet his daughter(learn more about the man). Not because I want to write something but because I definitely feel I am missing out on something with his death and that I could only try and fill this void if I get into his skin.
My mind goes to "The English Teacher", a semi-autobiographical account....I shared Narayan's sorrow...and now I feel indebted to him. Just to evoke self pity, I have to have more and I have to find a new source.