Don't Cry When I Die...

Chapter 1: DEATH 

I died last night. The post mortem report states that I died on 21 December, 2008 at 11:11 p.m.

In my spirit form, I rose out of my body and looked down with a bird’s-eye view for the first time in my life. Or after-life. 

As I looked down, I saw people gathering around my dead body. After all, I had died in the middle of a crowded street in Mumbai; a city I had been staying in since last week on business. I had lived in Dubai for most of my life and before that in Mumbai – so this was my second home in a way.

I had just stepped out after a lovely dinner with an old flame, whom I had met after almost fifteen years. He had seemed better looking in my memories for all these years than in person. But looks aside, he was a better human being now; life’s challenges had helped him evolve. ‘So let’s agree you cannot have it all at the same time. When the looks are there, intellect and charisma elude you and when wisdom finally dawns; the hair is gone and the tummy cannot be held in after the first two minutes, no matter how hard one tries to, just because an ex-flame has appeared out of the blue,’ I joked over dinner. It’s great when an ex-boyfriend ceases to have any hold over you.

Smiling sheepishly, he admitted he had let himself go when his wife passed away three years ago. Now he was coping quite well. ‘I’ve finally stopped grieving for her,’ he said softly. I hadn’t met him ever since our bitter break-up long back. We met today, after he saw an article in the newspaper about my big business tie-up in Mumbai, and had this sudden strong impulse to meet me and make amends for his earlier nastiness. He called me at my hotel room and we spoke as if nothing had ever gone wrong.

Dinner done, I thanked him but could not resist teasing him how this was the first time that he had actually pulled out his wallet to pay. Yes, he was quite a miser during the days we were going around, many years ago.  

Soon, we were at the entrance of the hotel waiting for our respective cars to arrive. And then, with a wave, he turned around and left, as the valet brought in his car before mine.

As I waited for my car, I looked around and marvelled at how little this fancy suburban hotel had changed over the years. Everything still looked the same.

Suddenly, I felt a chill run down my spine, as if the hand of death had just brushed past me. The next thing I knew, I was looking down at my own body lying on the pavement with blood splattered around me. A crowd was gathering quickly around my body now and I saw an ambulance pulling in shortly thereafter.

I had been hit by a passing bullet – a bullet that was meant for another person, who was standing next to me waiting for his car. He was the person someone wanted dead. He instinctively understood that because as soon as he saw me fall down, he rushed back into the hotel lobby.

Meanwhile, I could see the marksman running into a bylane. But all human eyes were on my body, and no one even thought of looking out for the culprit. So I followed him and saw where he hid, changed into different clothes and put on a wig, all previously hidden in a trash can. He then wiped the gun with his old clothes, threw the clothes in the trash can and hid the gun in the wall, after pulling out a loose brick just behind the trash can.