THE WAILERS

It was a cold evening that day.
The mourners had gathered in their pristine crisp whites.
An air conditioned hall was booked for the event, Everything was arranged well. The liveried butlers with their aluminium trays of water glasses. The brown china clay mugs with the steaming flavoured tea and coffee for the high class mourners.
A stage was adorned with a mike and a few musical instruments, Soon the wailers came and assembled themselves on the stage.
A few obituaries were read about the deceased person whose garlanded frame was placed on a table atop the stage. A few incense sticks were slowly fuming, giving out a floral fragrance.
The wailers soon started playing sad songs which accentuated the glum mood of the hall. A few tears from the front seated row brought out more despair from the lead singer. The lead was empathising with them and probably sharing their grief,a stray tear drop welling in her kohl lined eyes. A sombre mood could not stop the mourners, seated in the back rows from stealthily conversing amongst themselves.
After an hour or so, the sad songs stopped playing and the wailers started packing their bags.
A few concerned condolences with the near ones brought the proceedings to an end.
As I was walking down the stairs away from the hall, I eaves dropped casually on the wailer group. They were hastily counting the notes and looked in a hurry to reach else where.
They were about to perform at a pre nuptial henna function. They would sing songs of joy and dance with the crowd of revellers. All the sadness would be left behind.
The mourners would also follow the same patterned behaviour.
We all really live in a make believe artificial world.
When I die, I do not want any ceremonisation of my death.
Don't call a band of wailers to falsely empathise with my near and dear ones.
Let me die in a dignified manner.
Let me rest silently in contented peace.