An Obituary

The evening stands clear in my mind. I was studying when I had a phone call from a friend. After the routine formalities she gently broke the news. "M passed away this afternoon. His neighbours found his body dangling from the ceiling fan, attached by a rope which he had apparently bought the day before for this exact purpose."

M taught maths at the coaching centre. He was young, brilliant and was already earning a handsome salary. He was a great favourite with his class of students. He was a part- time student at one of the country's leading B- schools. I still remember him wearing his stylishly torn denims and a Lee Cooper t- shirt, leaning against the board, one foot against the wall, fiddling with a marker. One would wonder what reason such a person might have that compelled him to end his life in such a drastic manner.

I had last seen M a couple of weeks before. He had resigned from the coaching, joining another one nearby. I was walking home and I saw him getting a smoke by the roadside. I stopped to say 'hi' and chatted for a while. We exchanged numbers and he asked me to call him up regarding any doubts that I had, though technically I was no more a student of his.

I couldn't bring myself to believe what I had just heard. I dialled his number once.. twice.. . It was switched off. Next day I went to the coaching. The counsellor confirmed the news.

Ever since I have asked myself plenty of times, what could have been the reasons forcing him to take his life. Surely his problems must have been of an extremely grave nature. I couldn't see an intelligent person like him rushing into something of this magnitude. He must have thought it out carefully. Had the pros of being alive been so outnumbered by the cons? Did any of his friends see it coming? Had he talked of his problems to anyone? Why was nobody able to help him, console him? Had I been more observant, would I have noticed something different in him that day at the roadside? When he shared his number with him, should I have called him up? Could it have made any difference? Would he be alive today, teaching and guiding more students on the road to success? A teacher as good as him can make a great difference to so many students. How did his death fit into the larger scheme of things?

These are the questions that will never be answered. Maybe I am not supposed to know the answers. You would think how could the death of a guy who taught me maths for a couple of hours each week over a period of eight months affect me so much. But I guess that is life for you, or maybe that was M.