Santhosh's ramblings

It was early 70s. A batch of young boys grew up together over 6 years. A complex group of young boys who soon are together to be young men. People from various religion, life backgrounds, thought processes and desires and plan. Differences aside we grew together agreeing to disagree but agreeably. Moving away from each other in 1976, to pursue their dreams for life. The batch of 76.  47 years down the line, the batch still the remains the batch of 76. We have grown in girth and BMIs. More knowledgeable and probably wise too. Many have made it well in life. Some may not feel that about themselves but have contributed much to the society.  We remain the batch of 76, with many differences between us. Some frantically political, some apolitical, some deeply religious, others agnostic, some retired and enjoying retired like others still busy in their business of life. Some need spirits to keep the machines running, others prefer a spiritless life. Some with BP’s (Literally) others sweet in

In my home state, there is a morning ritual in every house. Open the obituary page and see who has passed on the previous day. This page is specific for each region of the state and updated each day. During my younger days, this covered only half a page. Now it goes over into almost two pages. I am not sure if this is an indication of increasing morality rates since this state has the highest life expectancy or that more people are using these services. A friend reminded me - this whole state is an old age home. I was talking to a 98 year old uncle who is physically and mentally very stable. His only regret is that he can’t read this page due to decreasing eye sight.   This brought a realisation. In such connected communities reminders of death and mortality are always there if you open up news papers.  I was reminded of a book written by L S Dugdale published during covid season on “the lost art of dying”. She talks about how our culture has overly medicalized death and how dying is o