There's no such thing as an untimely death. I'm not an expert on death but i know a thing or two about being alive. And trust me, it's tough. Particularly when you're not the person you could have been. More so, when you've become the person you once so famously dreaded. As you turn older, you acknowledge the growing hollowness in you and the sheer amount of fakeness that goes in to it just to cover it up. It doesn't and can't heal itself on its own. That's sad, undoubtedly. What's sadder is some young Bollywood actress going ahead (climbing upward, to be precise) and killing herself just because she wasn't finding enough work and her relationship status sucked. But are these reasons valid enough to die? Nope. When a farmer from Vidarbha dies, your heart slows down for him because a part of you knows that he couldn't make the clouds rain or farm with his tears. So, you need to come up with stronger excuses. If someone from a privileged background won't deal with failures, then what's the point of luxury? Or maybe we're missing the point here. On a daily basis, 170,000 of our species die on this planet. If five of them committed suicide, one of them is of Indian origin. At least that's what the statistics dictate. Of course, death has nothing to do with one's racial or regional identity but it is a matter of great concern to see youth being so disoriented and callous to jump to such fatal conclusions in the face of dire situations. Furthermore, suicide is something that Indian culture has remained alien to for the major part. Even our mythology is rife with stories where suicide is not an option. Even a brave soul like Bhishma delayed his suicide. Coming back to the present, becoming the person of your choice might be arduous but it requires one to be breathing—not hanging onto a dupatta from the ceiling fan.