When Death Knocks

I am overwhelmed with sadness over the loss of my friend. Writing is the only way I know how to cope with grief, the only way I’ve ever dealt with this weight and the only way I can now. So here's an Eulogy, a remembrance, whatever you may call it, with a mix of a rant because that's how I deal with sadness! RIP J3! You will be missed, alot! 🕊️

We often throw the word "death" around so casually, don’t we? We say things like, “I’d die for this,” or “Oh, I’d rather be dead than do that.” The concept of dying, of ceasing to exist, is said in the form of jokes, metaphors, even love songs. It becomes almost ordinary, almost distant, a thing that happens, but never here, you know what I mean. Never to us.

Until it finally does.

This morning, I woke up to the harsh reality of loss. A loss of a friend, one I had laughed with just the day before, one whose voice still echoed in my mind from our stupid talks and jokes, he was gone. Just like that. Gone. The person who was so alive yesterday, cracking jokes, saying his one liners and playing Counter-Strike with us, no longer existed in this world. And let me tell you, there is no preparing for this kind of emptiness.

Today, I was reminded of something I’ve always known but only truly understood when I saw it today, up close: when someone you love dies, the world doesn’t pause. That’s the first brutal truth. Time moves on, relentless and uncaring, even as your world crumbles into fragments. The sun still rises, birds still sing, and people carry on with their lives, chattering, laughing, and gossiping. But for you, everything feels out of place. The air seems heavier, and the spaces they once filled now feel impossibly vast, unbearably empty.

We talk about death like it’s poetic. Like it’s profound and philosophical. In truth, death is brutal. It’s raw. It’s the kind of pain that claws at your chest and leaves you gasping for air. It’s the phone call you wish you never answered, the silence that deafens you when you sit in a room they once filled. It’s the cruel finality of it all, the absolute knowledge that they are never coming back.

Today, I found myself searching for him in strange ways. While his lifeless body lay in front of me, I caught myself looking over my shoulder, hoping to see some sign, some flicker of his spirit. I wanted to feel him, even if it'd be just a whisper of presence in the corner of a room. But there was nothing. Just this overwhelming, suffocating nothingness.

And that’s the thing about death, isn’t it? It reduces everything to nothing. A human life, so full of laughter, anger, love, dreams, it all crumbles so easily, so quickly. One moment we’re here, claiming we’re too important, too busy, too alive. And the next, we’re not.

I keep thinking about how fragile we all are, how insignificant we are in the grand scheme of things. We live as though the world revolves around us, as though we are the center of some great, meaningful narrative. But death reminds us that we are not. We are temporary. In the vastness of time, even the brightest stars fade into nothingness.

Today, after returning home, I sat by my window with a heavy heart, watching the quiet sun sink into the horizon and I wondered, when my time comes, when I die, what will I leave behind? My words? My stories? This blog? I hope someone stumbles upon my ramblings, my rants one day, long after I’m gone. I hope they wonder who I was, what my life was like. But does it really matter? After a few months, years, decades, No one would ever know who Manisha was! Haven't we witnessed it already, in a century, even the most prominent lives are reduced to nothing really. Names etched on tombstones fade. Memories vanish. And what remains is… nothing, just nothing!

But here’s the paradox: in this nothingness, we find the reason to hold on to everything. Maybe because, It’s because life is fragile, because it’s so momentary, that it becomes so precious. The jokes we shared, the games we played, the way our loved ones laughter filled the room, these moments matter because they’re all we get.

Death reminds us to live. Not in the dramatic sense of chasing big dreams or ticking off bucket lists, but in the small, quiet ways. In showing up for the people we care about. In making someone laugh. In saying, “I love you” without hesitation. In respecting, appreciating the things we love and the people we love.

My friend is gone, and nothing can change that, I know that and I will carry this ache with me, this gaping hole where his presence used to be. But I will also carry his memories. I will carry the way he made me laugh, his one liners, the way he cursed, his unique way of cursing by emphasising on the first syllable and many more things that were unique to him. I will carry the way he made life feel a little less lonely, a little more bearable.

Death is cruel. It is unrelenting. But it is also a reminder. A reminder that we are here, however briefly, and that we should not waste this time we have.

To my friend, wherever you are: I hope you’re at peace. I hope you know how much you were loved, how much you meant to all of us. And I hope, in some small, inexplicable way, you’re still here. In our laughter. In our memories. In the spaces you once filled.

For the rest of us still breathing: let’s not wait to lose someone to realize how much they mean to us. Life is fragile, yes. But that fragility is what makes it beautiful. Let’s not waste it. Let’s live it.