Is getting od’ed on Heroin a valid suicide option? Is it maybe the best way to die? Quickest, painless, sure-shot method? A perfect way to bid farewell? The body that one leaves behind is not physically damaged. One just goes unconscious after a perfect lethal dose and doesn’t feel a thing, before the drug turns off the heart and the lungs. I was thinking. It seems really attractive. Why do most people not try this? Why do they choose ghastly methods like jumping from a great height, jumping in front of a train, drowning, hanging, cutting themselves up to kill themselves? Dying isn’t easy. Why make it worse? Overdosing on Heroin seems to be the most elegant, the most peaceful way. It might not be the most economical. At an average of Indian Rupees 700 (roughly $12) a gram on the streets, it is certainly much higher than prescription Barbiturates. But it is hard to acquire lethal dose of Barbs, and mostly they have been replaced by Benzodiazepins, which unfortunately do not cause fatal overdose in most cases. Besides Benzodiazepines have an antidote. Either way even at the slightly steeper price a lethal dose of Heroin is easy to accumulate and if we counterbalance the inferior quality of street Heroin with quantity, I suppose a 5 grammer would be lethal enough. So if the price of your death is about INR 3500 ($60), it’s not too much, eh?
But then again if one has to die it must be for a cause. Life is precious and it does not make sense to give it away for some trivial reason. Or whatever may the reason be it should be dedicated for a cause. So what should it be? Maybe it’s a good idea to die for the young girls getting raped and killed in the most inhuman ways in India. I think that is the need of the time. Lots of people on the street marching, lighting candles, protesting and shit, but do they really care? How much do they care? Do they feel ashamed? Maybe if a person kills himself in broad daylight it would force people to think. Or maybe it won’t. People in this country are already desensitized. It’s a sad situation. And after all I am no difference. I am a fucking misanthrope. Not a misogynist for sure, but a misanthrope, yes. Well then why die for humans? Let’s think of something else. Maybe Greenpeace? What? Damn, that’s a fucking joke, right? Greenpeace! That shit is only for humans not ‘Earth’. Earth will live for another 7.5 billion years before it gets absorbed by the Sun, which would by then, have turned into a Red Dwarf. So what can it be? What do I really, really care for, apart from Cinema? Think Raene, think. Animals. Yeah, that’s true. Which animal? Oh that’s easy. Tigers. The Royal Bengal Tigers. The true kings of jungle. Yes, tigers are a worthy cause. Less than 2500 are living in the wild. The poachers are killing them rampantly. Nobody cares. The numbers are decreasing rapidly. Especially in the Sunderban of Bengal. Less than 250 remain. It’s heartbreaking. The beautiful, majestic beast once this land loved, identified with, even worshiped is reduced to a marginalized existence. It’s time the west takes notice. And take action. Now this is a genuinely worthy cause I can die for. So let it be the tigers.
Save the Bengal Tigers
But will it really make any impact? Not in India. There are far too many people here. And the value of human life is close to nothing. People die in accidents and the dead bodies lie on the road amid traffic for hours. No one batters an eyelid, let alone stopping the vehicle. In here dying for tigers, man that would be the top subject for stand up comedians at prime-time. Such is this country. No, it can’t be in India. What about New York City? Manhattan? Nah, the people there are too cold and too busy. They are always running. Besides US have their own problems. Their gun laws. Their habit of poking their nose up everyone else’s ass. Yeah, there are many. Forget NYC. Europe? I think so. Prague. They will love the drama. Dark Asian bum killing himself at Staroměstské náměstí for Tigers Of Bengal. A gruesome death in a beautiful backdrop. Oh they gonna lap it up.
But it has to be spectacular. Heroin wont do. No way. Its too subdued. No one would notice. I need to chuck the idea of a comfortable death. People need spectacles. And nothing makes a spectacle like a burning man being swallowed in raging flames. Remember Thich Quang Duc, the Buddhist monk who burned himself to death in Saigon, Vietnam on 11 June 1963. That was heroic. The photos of self-immolation still raise hair. And that calm face of the monk awaiting death while in the flames. This is the stuff of legends.
Buddhist monk Thich Quang Duc in his dying moments. Saigon, 1963
It’s not the process of death that scares me. It involves suffering, and suffering is predictable. It’s the aftermath that’s shit-scary. It’s the unknown. Sometimes being a believer helps I guess. Sometimes having an average IQ is a gift. People are jealous of you when you belong to the top 1% of the smartest humans on earth, but they do not know the burden of intelligence. When you do not believe in God, afterlife, reincarnation and all those fancy stuffs, you realize it’s very lonely out there. It’s just yourself that’s all you got. And after the moment of death the ‘you’ does not exist anymore. That is frightening. Who are we? It’s funny that we know so much about the universe but so little about ourselves. We all have heard about parallel universes. Is it possible that ‘WE’ ourselves are those parallel universes? I mean, think about it. We know the universe from the point of Big Bang till now. We do not know about what happened before the Big Bang. And the observable universe is predicted to expand till a point, then contract and collapse back to a Big Crunch, which then gives birth to another Big Bang. This cycle is one possible scenario, not ultimate fact. But imagine ourselves as the observable universe. We do not know what we were before the event of insemination of the ovum that we came from. Am I that winning sperm? No. Am I that egg cell? No. We don’t know about their true nature (in a spiritual sense) prior to the fuse. I probably can say I am that diploid zygote which was made up of those two, which eventually expanded into me. I can see that zygote as the Big Bang (no pun intended). And I am eventually going to collapse in a death, which one may call Big Crunch. Anything outside this timeline is not observable and hence can only be speculated. I feel there are ample reasons to think that we are parallel universes, living inside a larger universe. And in each of us, other little parallel universes live and die, like blood cells in our veins, oblivious to the fact that they are a part of another universe in a yet another universe. That’s food for thought. Or maybe just ramblings.
Let’s come back to the self immolation plan. It would hurt. Sure. Maybe I should take a shot of Heroin before I set the fire. Hmm. Makes sense…will see. Maybe I should sell the satellite rights to make some money for my dog? He can have a good life, the remaining 6 or 8 years he has. And sell exclusive rights to photographers. Yes this will become front page material. Maybe I should invite Ayra. I am sure she would enjoy the live show. Let’s think about it. Let’s give it a serious thought. And all those pansies who would think I was a coward, damn you cunts, you have never been there. It takes mega balls to kill yourself, going against your primal instincts of self preservation. Respect, Mr. Cobain.
Disclaimer: It is a thought process recorded in words. The author is not suicidal and not in any immediate danger. The author does not promote or oppose suicide, and takes a neutral stand on the issue.