A come back from heaven :)

 

Waking up from the dead and watching how life unfolded without you…

Who is doing what after you?

Who is happy and who is sad while you are no more?

It sounds weird—and at the same time strangely adventurous—to imagine what happens after my death. How will people behave? People and their behaviour have always fascinated me. Still, it feels a little nasty to think about studying them from my own deathbed.

Well… maybe I *am* weird.

Because somewhere deep inside, I strongly believe that people come and go, but life—life always goes on.

As they say, *“The show must go on.”*

Sitting among a bunch of unfamiliar souls, I broke the silence and said,

“Guys, I died just a day ago. Isn’t that sad?”

Yes, it is sad—but not for me. It’s sad for the people who loved me. Surprisingly, it isn’t making me remorseful. Maybe I left my emotions back on Earth. What about you?”

 

The souls around me were of all shapes, sizes, and ages. There was a round-faced obese man—probably expired due to obesity—still looking around as if hoping to grab something to eat. There was a calm, sober old lady who must have passed away peacefully with age. A few young people too—my age—confused, curious, unfinished.

 

At a little distance stood a group of ladies and gentlemen chanting continuously. Curious, I walked up to them and discovered they were **Indibloggers**, discussing a new contest on the site. For a moment, it felt like home. Even death couldn’t take blogging away from us.

I suggested something outrageous—that we should get an extension to go back to Earth and see how life had unfolded for our loved ones without us.

 

Everyone agreed instantly.

We protested with candles in the huge garden in front of **Yamraj’s palace**. Someone even suggested doing *Amaran Anshan*—fast unto death—until my intelligence sparked and reminded us that we were already dead. 😉

We laughed, sat in the garden, and continued our peaceful protest for three days.

On the fourth morning, King Yama himself appeared. Stern, majestic, and visibly annoyed. After listening to our demand, he finally granted us **seven days**.

 

Seven days back on Earth.

We were sent to our old places, excitement bubbling inside us—like a first date, the first day of college, or the first day at a new job.

And then… I stood outside the gate of my beautiful home.

The home I had decorated with my own hands.

A small lawn greeted me—roses of every color, chrysanthemums, lavender, lilies, and neatly trimmed English grass. For a moment, I felt they were looking at me. But they weren’t. *I* was looking at them. They were busy responding to the breeze, swaying gently, perfectly fine in my absence.

 

That’s when it hit me.

 

Life hadn’t paused.

Inside the living room—once mine, now just a room—everything was in its place. Clean. Quiet. Untouched. As if I had never existed… or as if my absence wasn’t loud enough to disturb order.

I moved through the house like a shadow.

In the kitchen, my mother stood making tea. Her eyes looked tired, but her hands moved with the same rhythm. She paused for a second, stared into nothingness, then continued. I realized—she missed me, but she hadn’t stopped living.

In my room, my cupboard was still locked. My books lay exactly the way I left them. My phone was gone.

Later, I saw my friends laughing over coffee, cracking jokes. My name came up for a moment—followed by silence—then another joke, another laugh. Someone smiled sadly. Someone changed the topic.

 

Some people cried.

Some people pretended to be strong.

Some people moved on faster than I expected.

And some surprised me by holding on longer than I deserved.

 

No one was wrong.

 

That’s when I finally understood something profound and strangely comforting.

 

My absence created a void—but not a collapse.

My memories lived—but they didn’t imprison anyone.

I was loved—but I wasn’t required for the world to function.

 

And that was okay.

 

As the seventh day ended, I felt lighter. Not forgotten—but free. Free of expectations, free of attachments, free of the illusion that my presence was holding everything together.

 

Life didn’t betray me by going on.

It honored me by doing so.

When I returned, King Yama asked nothing. He didn’t need to.

I had seen enough.

 

And somewhere between life and death, I finally learned how to live.