It’s strange, isn’t it, how much I talk about death... maybe not so strange if you knew a bit more. I feel that perhaps I’ve seen more than my fair share of it. More than I was ready to deal with. I went to a funeral last week. I lost a very dear friend of mine. In the last six years, three of my friends have died. Two of them in the same year. They were young, healthy, not a thing wrong with any of them. Just tragic accidents that noone could have foreseen, noone could have done anything about.

The thing about death is that it’s a part of life. We’re all subconsciously prepared for it, we understand the inevitability of it. But there’s a time for it.

One of my friends is a Delhi boy. I'll call him AJ. He's moved base now, which is how we became friends, but he grew up there, and still has a lot of friends there.

A couple of weeks ago, AJ was telling me about a party he attended in Delhi. Besides being someone's birthday, it was also a reunion of sorts; old school friends who hadn't seen each other in a while. They had a blast that night, drinking, talking, reliving old escapades till the wee hours of the morning. The party finally came to an end; they said goodbyes, and headed home.