Three

A whole life, stuffed into a tiny plastic bag. That's what your whole life amounts to in the end. A transparent, zip locked, plastic bag that smells like antiseptics. A nurse jiggles the bag in front of his face and calls him again, “Please sign here,” and she thrusts a clipboard under his nose. He signs blindly, takes the bag from her and sees through unseeing eyes, the paan stained walls, the attendants who milled around the nurses' station hungry for gossip, the cries of pain all around him and then, the feel of cold plastic in his hand. He wanted to shout and ask them, “Why are you looking at me?”, “Have you not seen death before?” Open the zip lock, put your hand inside and pull out what was left of your wife's whole life. Open, reach, take. Three simple steps. It seemed like trying to pry open an iron lock with your bare hands. His fingers felt like he was going into rigor mortis. He gives up and lets the bag sit on his lap. It's time to take the body home. The ambulance comes and they ask him to sit with her for the last ride. He sits inside obediently and his father accompanies him. He hears murmurs of, how young she was, how unfortunate this is and how grief stricken he looks. He hasn't seen himself in two days; he wonders just how grief stricken he looks. He feels the urge to ask for a mirror. They reach the burial ground. She was clear in her instructions. There will be no show of the body. Hospital, morgue, burial ground. Three simple instructions. Three difficult moments. Simplify life. Eat right. Exercise. Simplify your existence. Simplify your death. They bury her. They say a prayer. They go home. He flexes his fingers, opens the zip lock, reaches in and pulls out her life. One wedding ring, one gold chain and a watch he has never seen before. 'A mistake maybe', he thinks, he turns over the watch and sees the inscription inside, 'All my love.Always.Forever.' - D It came in threes. The anger, the betrayal, and the tears.