Dying Moments
I was walking down a steep and heavily winding road. One has to be extremely cautious to avoid any misfortune. Unfortunately, I was not, and a vehicle was speeding down from behind at around 60 miles per hour. I realized it was too late to identify and move to a secure spot. So, I jumped out of the road only to land on the edge. Unfortunately, I slipped, but I could cling to the rocky edge. I didn’t know how long I could hold before my fingers, arm, or willpower gave up. I started wondering if there was a road at some depth below me and gave a quick glance downward. Yes, it was one of the worst ideas, and no, the road was not below me; instead, it continued in the opposite direction. So, if I would stop clinging, the most likely outcome would be death. The next thought was to try and push myself up, but I couldn’t achieve that. I started screaming at the top of my voice. Several cars passed, but no one stopped; I believe no one heard.
Suddenly, I could hear footsteps coming towards me. Did someone listen to me? I am not going to lie; my mood and hopes were elevated. I believed I was at the end of my strength and could no longer hold. I looked up with utmost faith and didn’t see anyone. Maybe they are close, but not near the edge. Hence, I again screamed at my top voice to guide them towards my location. It could be any minute now that someone peeks down and sees me. However, that was not the case. I heard the footsteps going away. Oh, they might have realized that it was a person clinging to the edge, and since I’m not visible directly from the road, I might need a rope to climb back. I used my last bit of hope, which fueled my strength to keep holding on. No one arrived, and in a few seconds, I saw someone jog to the top of the hill with earphones.
I was out of strength, and my fingers started loosening. I lost my grip and fell at a speed I had never experienced before. I firmly believed I would crash on the rocks.
Three weeks ago, I promised my friend I’d visit his place. Soon after my arrival, I accepted his invitation to come over but never followed through. Every workday, I’d convince myself there was some urgent matter I needed to handle the next day. Then, when the weekend rolled around, I’d either take off somewhere remote or hole up in my apartment, following the most chaotic schedule I’ve ever lived by - chores and tasks all tangled together in ways I never thought possible. I’d tell myself I was making progress, but nothing meaningful got done. This week, though, felt a little different. I promised myself I’d get things back on track by listing all my tasks in order of priority, something I hadn’t done in months.
Three months ago, I promised my parents I would return home and visit them the following month. The last time I saw them was a year ago. But one thing led to another, and I kept postponing the trip. I’d find reasons and excuses — work commitments, events I wanted to attend, or something I needed to prepare for the near future. In hindsight, I knew I could have rearranged my schedule to take time off and head home. This month, though, felt a little different. I sat down, booked my flights, and informed the people with whom I work that I’d be unavailable in person next month. I would finally attend Durga Puja, a festival I hadn’t been home for in years since moving out.
Three years ago, I moved to the city of my dreams, filled with high hopes and big ambitions. At first, everything seemed within reach—I was disciplined, stuck to my routines, cooked well, stayed in touch with people back home, and was constantly motivated to work. But slowly, things fell apart. What started as steady progress turned into a cycle: I'd make some headway, feel good about it, and then lose momentum as I enjoyed the small victories. Why does escaping feel easier than confronting reality and working toward the things we truly want? I had promised myself that I’d write a story each week, start a podcast to accompany it, focus on getting healthier, and take up chess again. These weren’t monumental tasks, but they required a level of consistency I couldn’t maintain. Eventually, I crumbled under the weight of my expectations, realizing for the first time that I couldn’t keep up. It was unsettling.
I realized I had been piling up tasks on my imaginary to-do list, not truly appreciating the value of time or life. Whether it was something as small as pushing laundry to tomorrow or leaving an important presentation for the weekend, I always convinced myself there would be time—after all, tomorrow and the weekend were bound to come. But when facing your final moments, everything comes into focus. You see how much you undervalued your time, relationships, parents, and life. Regrets become painfully clear, and everything you delayed feels like wasted chances. In that moment, it hits you—none of it matters now. The things left undone, the time spent waiting. My friends, my parents, no one will know I’m gone.
Siba Smarak Panigrahi
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