Till death do us part

There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy. All the rest — whether or not the world has three dimensions, whether the mind has nine or twelve categories — comes afterwards.

—Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus

I am angry. Very angry. As the news of a young TV actor Pratyusha Banerjee’s suicide boils all over the news channels it is not sadness that washes over me. Nor is it despair. It is extreme anger.

These increasing relationship and break-up-led suicides among young couples could be indicative of many psychological and sociological impairments and I am no expert to either pass judgment or comment from any high seat of authority. But, having experienced the shock of two such incidents first hand, I can speak from the heart.

It was 1997. A 19-year-old Bangalore girl Nafisa Joseph was crowned Miss India. I was editing Bangalore Times, the glamorous Page 3 City supplement of The Times of India. Nafisa went on to become a finalist in the Miss Universe 1997 pageant in Miami, a successful television host, which included hosting the show Houseful for the MTV India channel, and Style, a show on fashion. A dedicated opponent against cruelty to animals, she fought diligently for animal rights. I met her as the ambassador for People For Animals and convinced her to write a weekly column on animal rights for us. Nafisa was beautiful, vibrant and intelligent. Though she had shifted base to Mumbai, she was frequently in Bangalore where her family lived. She often made time to call me up and sometimes catch up over coffee or lunch to discuss her column, which she took very seriously and wrote herself, and some lighthearted general gossip.

On July 29, 2004, when the news broke that 25-year-old Nafisa Joseph has hung herself in her Mumbai flat, I was not angry. I was shocked, stunned, sad and confused. 

We read reports that Nafisa was to get married to her businessman boyfriend in a few weeks’ time. But this was called off after she learnt that he was very much married and had lied to her about his divorce. According to Nafisa’s parents, she ended her life as she was thoroughly depressed.

A beautiful, glamorous and successful girl…why would she not get angry and throw a cheating, lying man out of her life? Or worse come, why would she not get angry and make his life hell for messing up hers. Nafisa was no simpering bimbette. She was an empowered woman. She left behind questions, confusion and sadness. Are women the weaker sex? Can they not see themselves complete without a man? While Nafisa was doing well career wise, her personal life was sadly always in the doldrums. So was that the ‘be all and end all’ of her existence?

Here’s the thing. You never know or realise how much emotional currency you have locked up in any relationship until it comes to an abrupt end. The fear of detachment, being alone and starting over is probably dreadful. That this desperation could drive a young and successful girl to hang herself was beyond comprehension for me.

Many years passed before it came back to haunt me again. It was November 2011. I was on my way back from Ajmer with a friend. We were trying to find some excitement in the boring dinner pack dumped in front of us by the Shatabdi train attendant, when the phone rang. I had moved to Delhi by then and was working as Editor of a travel magazine. “Have you heard, Smitha Rao is no more,” a shaky voice echoed across the faint line. 

Smitha was a 32-year-old journalist. Brilliant writer, smart and sassy. An ex- colleague from my Bangalore TOI days, she had married a software engineer with Google, moved to the US and stayed regularly in touch, occasionally sending across a beautifully written travelogue for me to print in my travel magazine. Lately, the couple had moved back to Bangalore and Smitha had joined IT firm Infosys handling content. I had barely taken in the news when the voice at the other end said Smitha had been found hanging in her flat.

No, it was not anger that swept over me at that moment. It was despair. In the days that followed, the mystery regarding her death gained momentum; there were reports suggesting she was being harassed by her husband who was ultimately arrested on charges of abetting the suicide on the basis of a harassment complaint filed against him by Smitha’s parents.

Years passed and so did many breaking news flashes: Popular model and television actress Kuljeet Randhawa who appeared in several serials like Special Squad, Hip Hip Hurray and CATS found hanging at her Juhu apartment. Suicide note stated that she couldn’t cope with pressures of life. Fashion model Viveka Babajee too was found hanging from the ceiling fan in the hall. Reason stated was breakdown in professional career, failed love relationship, financial losses. Bollywood actor Jiah Khan, who worked in films like Nishabd, Ghajini and Housefull, was found hanging at her residence. Reason stated was boyfriend problems. Balika Vadhu actress Pratyusha Banerjee, who was born in Jamshedpur, committed suicide at her home in Mumbai’s Kandivli. No suicide note. Friends accuse her boyfriend of cheating, abusing and lying.

I am watching the chaos unfold over Pratyusha’s death even as I sit and write this. Her friends are baying for her boyfriend’s blood. Everyone from her ex driver, to the building guard, to her parents and the boyfriend’s father are giving interviews to bloodhounds from news channels. 

Everyone knows the truth, yet no one knows the truth.

And today, I find myself angry. 

In November 2005, the trial against Nafisa’s boyfriend was stayed by the Bombay High Court. The man claimed that there was no evidence to prove that breaking off the engagement had led to Joseph’s suicide.

Smitha’s husband was arrested. But when I tried to find out what happened to the case, a friend’s trite response was “it was dropped because her parents did not have money to fight it.” 

But we will never know what is the real truth. 

I am angry because today I realise that suicide is not about who went away. It is so much more about those who are left behind. When an individual takes his or her own life, the people they leave behind are often referred to as “survivors of suicide”. Guilt, confusion and a powerful sense of turmoil follows. There are accusations, allegations and angry hurt that go on to ruin many more lives.

So in the end those left behind need more courage to live than the person dead required to kill herself. 

The author is a travel editor and lifestyle writer at www.inspiredtraveller.in