How Different Is It? - Praveen Putrevu


Photo: Atharva Kenkre


When I was ironing for my school,

A loud noise I heard– it was a glass

Dropped by a shivering hand

Resting the receiver back,

Mom told me– it's grandpa.


It was peaceful and serene, I was told

How can death be peace– I shrugged.


When I was traveling for a wedding,

My phone buzzed, such an odd time

All I could hear was my cousin sobbing

After a deadly pause,

He cleared his throat– it was my uncle.


An untimely demise, I was told

Can death be timely? I pondered.


This time I felt it close, close enough

The noise of life supporting machines,

The smell of reek hospital spirit

And the hopeless mien in all the eyes

Your friend is no more, said the nurse.


Gone too soon, cancer took away,

How can it be preponed– I cried.


A sunny morning, I woke up to the news

That the rapists were shot at sight.

Everyone celebrated their death.

For a better future, said the media


A justifiable punishment, explained all,

Yes, they deserve it– I made myself clear.


Be it a peaceful bliss,

Or an untimely mess.

Be it a fatal sense,

Or a comeuppance,

Death is sure inevitable.


All that matters is

How they grace it

while you face it.


- Praveen Putrevu

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