His eyes were deep red. or maybe a colour that cannot be translated into words. His appearance was ample testimony that life had been rather cruel to him. Unkempt clothes, disheveled locks and a grey beard. He wore a look that was absolutely blank, emotionless, as if he were staring into the void. He affected an uncharacteristic indifference to his surroundings. as if sitting next to a still-burning pyre was nothing but usual. He gulped down an already half-emptied quarter of country liquor and lit a bidi using a burning piece of wood from the pyre. It was quite early in the day, but this man seemed unperturbed by the sun's trajectory.I noticed him while I was collecting the ashes of one of my relatives at the crematorium. Despite still being numb due to the loss of a loved one, I must confess, his demeanor evoked some anxiety in me.It was a little while later that a large group of mourners carrying a body for performing the last rites arrived. A faint and sardonic smile appeared on his imperturbable face. He moved away and sat under another pyre-shed. Shedding my initial inhibitions, I too sat a little distance from him, without uttering a word. As the customary preparations were underway for the new pyre, he mumbled a few words to himself. I tried to make some sense but failed. They were surely directed at those mourners. He shrugged his head and spat.The number of mourners swelled. possibly it was some big name and perhaps a respected person. I use the word `perhaps' deliberately. For, this man made a comparatively audible remark: Not all of them are genuine. most of them shed crocodile tears. make a guest appearance. sab jhoothe ansoo baha rahe hain, zaroor koi mota adami hoga.I sought logic behind his statement; instead, surprised as I was, I received a contemptuous look and a scornful reply. Surprised for two reasons. One, I never expected myself to initiate a conversation and, now that I had, I did not expect an answer. I tried to view the proceedings with more objectivity. He was right. Some were chatting, others looking at their watches and there were still some at the back exchanging pleasantries. Yes, there were some who apparently looked pained but then they could have been part of the deceased's family."I have been witness to a number of last rites over the past 15 years since my wife and only son died in an accident. I was reduced to a pauper from a small-time trader and since then I have seen people changing colour so fast that it would even put chameleons to shame. None of those whom I helped, with whatever little resources in their times of need, came forward to return the favour. I was crestfallen, call me a wreck, not that I'm not one right now,'' he laughed, trying to establish that he was still up to a spot of sarcasm.``Half of these people will go to the tea-stall near the crematorium, exchange a laugh or two over a puff of cigarette. You call them mourners? Mourning has become a farce. Relationships are momentary as are the pleasures in life. but don't forget death is indispensable, and that's what they do. As it is they are dead. They all live in a dead world,'' he continued. ``The irony is, they have come here to perform the last rites of someone who has already been mortalised. I call them dead because they are no longer humane. Relationships have lost their meaning and are camouflaged with many pretensions. Humanity is flooded with such pretentious lot.''His eyes were growing even more red and the face was still bereft of any emotion. As he said this, he got up and began to leave, still looking at the people gathered around the funeral.
