I'm Saying it Now! Because Later never comes...

I attended a prayer meeting recently. Not of someone who had lived a long, life and left peacefully—but of someone just 45 who left suddenly.

There was a strange stillness in the room. Not just grief—but disbelief.

And somewhere between the prayers, the quiet conversations, and the sight of a family trying to hold themselves together, something shifted inside me.

It wasn’t just the loss that shook me.
It was the suddenness of it all.

Because when something like this happens, there is no time to think, to decide, to ask—What would he/she have wanted?
Decisions are made in a rush. By others. With love, of course—but also with uncertainty. And that thought stayed with me long after I left. 

In life, we make choices about everything. 

What we wear. What we eat. Where we travel. How we celebrate.

But when it comes to the one moment we won’t be around to decide… we leave it completely unspoken. 

That day, I came home with an unusual thought:

What would I want, if I didn’t get the chance to say it?

And so, I’m writing it down. Not out of fear—but out of clarity.
Not because I expect anything—but because I don’t want my loved ones to ever sit in confusion, wondering. Trying their best to bid a befitting farewell!

My Last Wishes

I would want my last rites to be done the traditional Hindu way. A slow, manual cremation.
I would want my husband and my father to light the pyre together. And if my children are older than 21, they may do so too—but only if they wish. There should never be any force in something so deeply emotional.

I don’t want to leave this world dressed in white. I would want to be wrapped in something colourful—maybe pink or red. Something that reflects life, not just departure.

Afterwards, I would want my ashes to be collected and immersed in the Ganga at Rishikesh—not Haridwar. I don’t know why, but Rishikesh feels more peaceful to me. More like a goodbye I would want.

For my prayer meeting, I don’t want something quiet and heavy. I want it to be warm. Full. With food arranged for as many people as possible. I would want people to love the food I loved to eat. I think Dal Makhani, Bullets(From Ludhiana), flavours of the East and Spaghetti should def make it to the buffet. And the dessert table should put a wedding menu to shame!

It should be a space where people can come, sit, talk, remember… and maybe even smile.

I would love white flowers—especially rajnigandha. There is something about their fragrance that feels calm, almost comforting. 

I don’t want silence filled with only sorrow.

Play Achyutam Keshavam… and other traditional bhajans. Let there be a sense of peace, not just loss. And if they decide to celebrate me later , don’t forget to play ‘Saturday, Saturday’.

If anyone wishes to speak about me, they should be allowed to.
And if someone is too overwhelmed to say anything, that’s perfectly okay too. No one should be forced into words when their heart is heavy.

I don’t want loud crying or scenes that make it harder for my family. Grief will be there, I know. But I would want it to be held gently, not expressed in a way that deepens the pain for those closest to me.

If my children are still young when I go, I don’t want them to witness the last rites or the burning. Let them remember me with warmth, not with that image. If they are older than 21, then the choice can be theirs. To attend and to conduct the rites. 

And above everything else…
I want to be remembered as someone who was happy, easy-going, and always trying to help.
Someone who meant well. Who loved deeply.

To My People

Don’t forget me. But don’t hold on to me in sadness either. Remember me with love.  Remember me as I was—someone who tried, who cared, who wanted to do everything she could for you. If you think of me, let it be with a small smile… not just tears.

We plan holidays. We plan careers. We plan birthdays and anniversaries.
Maybe it’s time we also think about the one moment we won’t be there to plan.

Not because we are afraid of it.
But because the people we leave behind who have the onus of responsibility to do the last rites deserve clarity, even in our absence.

Maybe this isn’t about death at all.

Maybe this is about bidding farewell gracefully!

Maybe this is just another way of living consciously.