Expiry date.

"People ought to be born with expiry dates," I told a friend yesterday at the Chandanwadi Electric Crematorium. I was only half joking. Of course, we're all born with expiry dates. Only we don't come stamped with the information on a bar code. We got to go when we got to go. Knowing the exact time is not a part of the human condition. We can't even plan the details of our exit. Like do we want someone reading to us The Tibetan Book of the Dead in the final moments as Aldous Huxley did for his first wife Maria whe she was dying? As in life so in death, pure chance and random happening hold sway. Maybe, that's the only way to go.