Theatrical Death: This is how I died, in a cinema theater. My girlfriend started watching Aamir Khan's 'Sitare Jamin Par' as my birthday gift this year. I hiccupped three times when the interval ended/didn't end. For me, a good cinema is one that makes you cry.

I cried all the time . In the last scene, Aamir Khan's 'Specially Able' team loses the volleyball match. Coach Aamir becomes frustrated . However, his losing team laughs and happily lifts the winning team on the stage to receive the winner's trophy . The winning and losing teams start celebrating together . The situation of winning and losing is gone! How can a person be happy even after losing? That lesson is given by 'specially abled' boys and girls to us normally abled . By then I would have been withered .

Girlfriend shakes me, feeds me water . But, I will not move. The post-mortem test report came - 'cardiac arrest'.

This 'near to death' impression happened many years ago when I was working in the press . After the night shift, when the car that was going to take me home overturned three poles, I almost fell asleep in the lap of death. But, I saved myself . After walking three kilometers at 2 o'clock in the night, I reached the village bleeding with a broken arm and a cracked head, I survived .

The second time in the covid quarantine is trying to experience death even when one night of a strong fever and almost passed out.

In this universe, just like an insect dies without any pre-announcement, just like a single bird dies without any announcement . I died like that, the same death, normal . Die the death of all .

Hitler Taboo

This is why I hate fascism so much. But, I like Hitler's death . He was able to choose euthanasia. That too with your beloved dog . A person takes birth, but the greatest pain against his will is his inevitable death. If there is no death, then his life will be a boring endless line, which line itself is his prison-line .

But, he is dying - dying dying . Just as birth is not in his hand, death is not in his hand . If he can die according to his will, then the pain of death of a person will get a degree of comfort . Dying with confidence - at your own pace, at your own risk, in your own preparation.

  To be a

, desire-death can be known only in myths. In reality, euthanasia is suicide. Which activity is abominable, trivial and despised . Thus, euthanasia is inadmissible, invalid and unacceptable. That is, taboo .

I have been a victim of depression twice in my life . The first depression was a very new experience for me. Sure - I was ignorant of this experience . A state of uncertain darkness . In that confusion, a strong desire to euthanize or commit suicide has awakened in me.

suicide is said to be cowardice. When you think about it, you get goosebumps - not being able to commit suicide is another big cowardice. I couldn't . I wanted to live. My parents, sisters, family, friends, roots, my dearest things pulled me very hard with mercury that I didn't know . My depression was slowly becoming suppressed. When I look back at my life after dying today, among the knots visible from afar on my life-line, the knot of depression will be visible bright .

memory lane

This and I died an accidental death, not by suicide . Not even with a deadly disease . Not even by accident . At a point of contingency like the 'regular contingency' of Balakrishna Sama .

Let my name be glorified after death . Drums should be played in Malami. Let the road be named after me. Name the organization. Keep the prize . A statue should be erected in the square. Such thoughts, honestly, never came.

This is when my poet-filmmaker brother Pallabi jokingly says, 'Brother, after you die, we will place your pout statue made by sculptor Amir Sundas in Sukuna Chowk.' If there is a place to eat drugs at night in front of that statue! Or if it becomes a land for wood smugglers!

is especially the age of collective memory or collective memory that the society needs to remember an event or a person . Ayu  is the period of time in which the shared experiences, events and knowledge of a society can be actively remembered and passed on together. This collective memory lives on through oral traditions, texts, rituals, monuments or other cultural media.

The lifespan of social memory is spread from 3 to 5 generations. That timeline is roughly 75 to 150 years. A memory of an event or person is kept alive by oral memory, family stories, and lived experiences.

Partition pain

Just as the memory of those who crossed the Nepal-India border, the memory of mutual cooperation is growing more. As the collective memory of the Bengalis, who were still thrown into two countries due to the pain of the partition of East Bengal and West Bengal. As the Jewish community is actively remembered today in the collective memory of the world - the Holocaust. The same is still in the collective memory of India - the partition of India in 1947.

Like this, the burning memory is also burning my family . A victim of the partition of 1947 is my family and my family too . Before Partition, Undivided Punjab extended to Rawalpindi, Peshawar in Pakistan .

The Puniyani are a branch of the Punjabi community living in Sindh province. My Sindhi ancestors from Raithane of Rawalpindi, which is now in Pakistan according to the political border, entered the newly formed India by traveling overnight in caravans. They became refugees overnight. The same refugee ancestors are scattered all over India. A branch of the same ancestor — my father Kakaram Puniani — came here to Darjeeling . My father Deepak Puniani was born here.

The big industries established by the British based on plants - tea and cinchona, Latpuncher cinchona plantation. My father fell in love with my Subbeni mother Geeta, who was born there, in Siliguri where there was a majority of Nepalis at that time. And I was born. The story of my existence will be kept alive for many more years after my death by future generations - it is doubtful .

History and people

The digital age has now challenged the collective memory. The average human attention span – attention span – has decreased significantly. The minimum memory capacity of Goldfish is 8 seconds. 140 characters of social media text and watching a 60 second reel doesn't a primitive human memory reach the memory capacity of a goldfish ?

How did I have the audacity to be remembered in such a memory challenge alive?

is also a memory chosen by the collective memory society. The key to what a society remembers and what to forget is often tied to current needs, attitudes and identities. Some memories fade with time. Some memories are erased knowingly . Some are deleted. As the education system of India is expanding, there is a campaign to erase non-Hindu history . Fukiyama's view of the end of history is further expanded. If history is killed, what is man? In order to break the story, some memories have been revived or revived. Excavation of suppressed history of tribals by the rulers is also being done . Attempts to rewrite the story of the oppressed and the oppressed are being made by the rewriters of history. The campaign of the story of Indians reclaiming the colonial past is also running parallel to the government's history .

Nathe I

wrote some poetry . Take out two books. Received an award for poetry – Bhaichand Award. By marrying poetry with cinema, I started 'Multimedia Poetry' . Edited some magazines . Did some translation . Organized a literature festival . Run a portal . I studied math in higher education with little desire and more vision. I gravitated towards psychology until I realized that I could have been a humanities student. But, it was not completed . Studied management in between . I often did art . Acted a bit .

Two companies opened and sunk . Running one . Taught in three private colleges. After teaching for two years in a government basic school, I resigned. Did student politics in college . There was no Nepali honors course, I fought to get it. Participated in some social issue campaigns.

I've had some failed loves . In some cases I got ditched . In some I ditched . Did someone a favor . Obliged by someone . Bought a double scooter in the property . Went to visit some places . Hate someone . I was disgusted by someone . Is a list of such common activities enough to write an obituary? What kind of achievement, gift, and contribution was there for me, and let the society preserve my memory forever and ever according to its needs!

Grief till I live

That's why the question of who will remember me and cry for me after I die is also very disturbing. But, I used to grieve as long as I lived - after I die, who will scold me, Saraplan ?

When I die, the people I hurt, hurt, and hate will remember me and insult me more than when I was alive. They are doing it now . The man who insulted me the most, whom I stabbed in his chest with his own knowledge, killed him .

Mama's dream

The biggest attack I made on the dream of my elder uncle, who, when I was little, used to show the helicopter flying from the Salugadha army camp in the sky and say, "Vanij, you should be a pilot like that when you grow up!"

After growing up, I read books on astronomy and astronomy. I thought, why is the pilot? Instead of being an astronomer. I used to read cheap, but very attractive illustrated astronomy books from Mir Prakashan, Raduga Prakashan from socialist Russia. I started following popular science engineer Professor Yash Pal on television . Jupiter was also seen from the roof of Physics Department of North Bengal University. That year was the year of the brightest meteor of the century. A great interest in astronomy was developing . However, later on, the development of high-level astronomy was becoming more and more difficult for me. Thus the pilot's deception was killed . There are no

mamas . Mama also scolded him to death. My mother and father loved me and scolded me as a son who never succeeded.

Bad memories

After I die, the friends, brothers, and sisters who hate me will stop hating me for a few days or a few months. Because even to hate, the hated must live in the memory of the one who hates.

Most of all, I will forget myself - because in the vault of my own memory I have piled up the memory of the hatred, the bullying, the insults and the scorns.