The Sunflower field near Donetsk


The Sunflower field near Donetsk

 Like many of my fellow countrymen and I am sure many thousands around the world, I have elected to give parts of my body, upon my death, for transplants or medical research or any other purpose that these parts may be deemed fit for. It occurred to me to contemplate what value such a wish might have had if I were a passenger on Malaysian Airlines Flight 17.

Even if some brave volunteer or two managed to recover my body from a picturesque field of sunflowers in Eastern Ukraine, chances are my body would be shoved into a body bag and left by the highway, under the orders of some equally brave militia commander.  Under such conditions, my fond final wish to help fellow humans with my dead body would dissolve in putrefaction as fast as my body.

Still, I persist in hoping that my imagined death in the skies might have helped someone, somewhere, in some tortuous way. I wonder, what might there be left of me to help others?

Maybe something in my wallet; I usually carry two or three hundred US dollars in cash to tide me over immediate needs at the destination. The credit cards in my wallet might prove of some use, provided someone was smart enough to try using them as soon as possible after the crash.

I usually carry my passport in my trouser pocket; maybe it would still be there in the sunflower field. Now that could be real find for someone. In expert hands, my passport could be recycled for use by drug-traffickers, human traffickers, you name it. However dubious, such a final service might merit some recognition in some quarters.

If my computer bag were to be found, no doubt the computer would be wrecked for good. Still, I fear the electronics-savvy Russian-backed Eastern Ukrainians might be smart enough to recover the hard-drive and send it where they send the plane’s black-boxes. Maybe my bank account might get hacked; that could prove a real disappointment to hackers, considering my eternal overdraft. But I always carry an unfinished manuscript, handwritten, in my computer bag. If the diary is found, maybe the unfinished story might give some fleeting moments of pleasure to some. But that too seems unlikely.


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  1. Subir Sen Reply

    Somehow I had missed this blog earlier and read it only yesterday that is on August 12 2014. I must confess that I found it deeply moving. In fact I read it twice.–the second time very slowly–so that I could absorb its gentle pathos.

    In this imagined death scenario Ashis has wondered, if any of his remains or personal effects would help someone even in some tortuous way. He has ruled out his dead body. Wallet including the cash and credit card yes, provided the retrievers are smart enough to use them quickly. Passport, yes–recycled by drug and human traffickers. Hacking the computer for his bank account would prove a real disappointment to the hackers, considering his eternal overdraft.

    But of one thing I am sure. If his unfinished handwritten manuscript is written in the same vein as this blog, it will certainly raise a lump in the throat of those Russian backed militia men however hard they may try to conceal or deny it.

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