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| Sunday, 27 June 2004 |
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Features |  |
| News Business Features Editorial
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Salt & Spice by Rohan Jayetilleke The fascination, though strange, for obituaries is with those, who have had a large circle of friends. My late father had such a fascination, and his only interest in the Evening Observer many decades ago was the obituaries column. My mother who with tons of North Indian humour, courtesy her educational career at Lucknow University, would pose an oblique question. 'Are you not there'. Drawing the response someday, one day, my mother used to tell us our father was indeed in spirit related to Noel Coward, the famous dramatist who said, "The first thing I do in the morning is read obituaries in the Times, and if I am not in them, I get up and shave". Another man of philosophical bent once said, "I have never killed a man but, read many obituaries with lots of pleasure and passion. It is an obsession with me." The world is a strange place and people are much more stranger. Some people who never gave a helpful hand or word while living, except their own brothers and sisters to make either a written or a verbal lastwill to hand over their bodies to medical faculties of universities. It serves them well, though they wish to project a good image after death and be known as a philanthropist. It serves them well, that they are thus finally denied six feet of earth to rest in peace or their remains be reduced to ashes. Mother Earth and God of Fire refuses to take them to their fold. Some are concerned with the number of people they would muster to their own funeral. Once a young lady seeing the large collection of cars at the funeral of her father remarked that her father would have been elated to know that so many cars were in his cortege. United States President Abraham Lincoln, with his overflowing fountain of humour had this to say about a vainglorious general whose funeral was attended by a large crowd." If the general had known how big a funeral he would have had, he would have died years ago". Some people have a need to be at the centre of attraction always and every time, be it a marriage or their own death. This is what a son of Theodore Roosevelt, US President had to say of his father. "Father always had to be the centre of attention. When he attended a wedding he wanted to be the bridegroom and when he went to a funeral he wanted to be the corpse". Once a newspaper editor had to write an obituary for the highly respected wife of a leading politician. He concluded his remarks with the sentence, She was distinguished for charity above all other ladies in this town". When the proof reached his hands, he found the compositor had made a mistake in his rendition. She was distinguished for chastity above all the other ladies in this town". The editor by putting a large question mark on the margin underlining the word 'chastity', wishing to draw the attention of the compositor. The paper rolled out the following morning and to the great horror of the editor the statement read, "She was distinguished for chastity (?) above all other ladies in town". India has no 'cheque-book' journalists (those who write on payment to project images of politicians and other forces). The wife of one of such ilk, received a message of condolence from a parliamentarian the passing away of the editor. The editor, who was skilled both at writing and also wit and humour wrote back to the politician. "Inadvertently going through a letter addressed to my wife. I was somewhat dismayed at reading my own obituary. Having checked I discerned the one who authorised my premature obituary, the culprit is you my friend. Nevertheless thanks for the fine sentiments. Your letter will be buried in my archives most ceremoniously to be exhumed and used when I actually kick the bucket. Again the ways of Lord Shiva are inscrutable, with my present state of health, my friend, I may still have the last laugh. This particular Indian later catapulted into the seat of the Prime Minister. Fortunately he was dethroned fast enough before further calamity and a requiem for the Indian nation was needed. The lovely ancient round-towered flint church of St. Andrew's at Colney, near Norwich England is where the following memorial is found, reminding the viewer of the honest toil of a man, humble though. Sacred, to the memory of John Fox, who on the 20 of December 1806 in the 79th year of his age was unfortunately killed near this spot having been thrust down and trampled on by the Horses of a Waggon. Though his life was humble, yet it is deserving of imitation. He was worthy and useful. |
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