Replaceable Mortality

There is a road near our place that we have to cross daily. It’s where the school bus drops my daughter. It can get chaotic, especially in the evenings. There are vehicles, motorists, people, carts selling stuff, like a cauldron of confusion. I look left and right multiple times before crossing, but you can never be sure where or how a vehicle or motorcycle might appear. I often find myself thinking I should not get caught in between cars.

Everyone is in a hurry; no one wants to wait or slow down. A car cannot peacefully take a turn when another comes barreling its way through. When I’m traveling by autorickshaw (a three-wheeler cab), I often think, we better not get hit or bump another vehicle. A small collision and the rickshaw could go careening. The drivers are reckless, careless, and act like they’re on an F1 circuit – and that’s not an exaggeration. The way they speed can raise anyone’s blood pressure.

I watch people hanging from trains and think, that’s how death happens. Train accidents, though lately reduced, still occur.

Lately, my thoughts have been drifting to our mortality. Nothing new there, but this time, it feels more persistent. I wonder if the people we leave behind would miss us. When it comes to family, just because one is family does not mean they’d miss you, especially when there’s no real relationship or interaction.

A bigger question lingers, would people even notice the absence? When communication fades, even the initial void gets filled or replaced with other things in life. We forget quickly. Our memories create new memories. We find that we are not irreplaceable after all.

Our photos stay, chats remain unread, our profiles linger, but presence is not something one can archive.

As difficult and painful as it is to accept, we like to think we matter more than we do. Perhaps importance is situational, relevant in a moment and forgotten in the next. The messages stop, someone else fills the space, conversations resume, and routines continue. Life does not stop rotating; it doesn’t pause for long. It remains consistent in its indifference.

Perhaps we are not remembered for our presence but for the moments we leave behind – the shared laughter, the kindness shown, the dreams we dared to speak of, the safety we once offered. Maybe it’s not people who are irreplaceable, but what they awaken in others.

And maybe the only way to survive, is to forget just enough.

I know this is quite a depressing thought to start off the week, but it’s also a thought that could keep us going – towards being replaceable. 😋