My Last Wish

This blog is inspired by the Lallantop programme Ghar Jaisi Baatein, particularly its final episode, where the panel discussed a question that is both profound and unsettling: What should a person leave behind as their last wish before death?

This question has been troubling me as well. In India, death remains a taboo subject—something we avoid discussing openly, even though it is the only certainty of life.

My Decision

I have decided to donate my organs—or my entire body, if possible—either to help someone in need or for medical education. Frankly, I do not know which part of my body will remain medically usable at that time, but the intent is clear.

The thought of body donation first occurred to me when my daughter secured admission to an MBBS course at a Government Medical College in the Vidarbha region of Maharashtra. In her second year, a doctor called her for a discussion because her daughter had also qualified for AIPMT, with an All India Rank close to my daughter’s. (My daughter’s AIR in 2005 was 1105.)

During their conversation, the doctor asked where her college sourced cadavers for anatomy classes. My daughter shared that one cadaver was provided for a batch of 20 students, which met medical education standards. The doctor was surprised, as during her own MBBS days in a reputed medical college in Uttar Pradesh, cadavers were not available at all.

This conversation stayed with me.

Cadavers—deceased human bodies used for hands-on learning—are essential for medical students to understand anatomy, muscles, nerves, organs, and spatial relationships that textbooks alone cannot teach. Yet, there is a chronic shortage of cadavers in medical colleges across India.
Medical colleges accept only legally donated bodies for Anatomy training.

I began to wonder: Why are people reluctant to donate their bodies?

The most common reason is religious belief—the fear that one may not attain moksha if traditional Hindu death rituals are not performed. But I believe that offering one’s body for medical education is a far greater punya (virtue) than burning it on a funeral pyre.

Resistance at Home

I started searching for organisations through which I could donate my body or organs. My family members strongly opposed the idea.

In September 2022, I attended an organ donation awareness programme in my Bengaluru housing society. It was organised by a Karnataka government–approved body. I was convinced and immediately registered myself.

Breaking this news to my wife and daughters was not easy. They were not in favour of my decision, but I remained firm.

Sometimes my daughter ( Doctor) would joke, you’re going to donate your organs to the younger generation, who have their whole life ahead of them! ( referring to my 73- years-old self) 😊
Fata note daan karne nikle hain🤭

One truth is undeniable: birth is certain, death is certain—but while our birth date and time are fixed, the date and time of death are unknown.

Life Expectancy and Uncertainty

In 1947, the average life expectancy in India was only 32 years. By 2025, it has increased to around 72 years. I have already crossed this national average.

So when will I die?

Years ago, when I was about 23, a palmist predicted my lifespan – 73.5 years. I met him during an official visit to Jamnagar, Gujarat. He stayed in the room next to mine at the hotel, and I often saw people waiting outside his door. Curious, I once remarked how effortless his profession seemed compared to our demanding jobs.

He offered to read my palm—free of charge. He asked me to wash my hands, take palm impressions on paper, and return the next day. When I did, he handed me a four-page written interpretation. He refused to accept any payment.

The very first line mentioned my lifespan- 73.5 years.

What followed was astonishing. His predictions about my parents’ deaths, my education, profession, number of children, house construction, vehicle purchase, income, and retirement—all came true. He even wrote that I would retire at 66. For the last seven years, I have indeed been “cooling my heels” in Bengaluru.

Relocation

It was a collective decision between my daughters and me that at our age, we shouldn’t live alone, considering potential medical emergencies. We agreed to move to a place with a good climate, better living conditions, and well-equipped medical facilities. Since my younger daughter was working in Bangalore’s IT sector, we decided to relocate there, opting for a secure gated community with better amenities.

I’m proud to say that the daughter I once taught to walk is now taking care of us in our old age 🙏. (Jis Beti ko ungli pakad kar chalna sikhaya, usne aaj aage badh kar ham dono ka haath thaam liya.) We’re grateful that within six months of our move, her marriage was settled with a highly qualified IITan from a good family background, with her choice and liking.

She’s now happily married and lives nearby, just a phone call away. She jokes that she has four kids to look after – both her parents and in-laws 😊. She’s always available for us, day and night. We feel blessed to have such a caring daughter and consider ourselves lucky.

My older daughter, who is a doctor married to an Air Force officer, stays in a different city as per her husband’s posting. We’re well-connected with her for all our day-to-day medical issues. We stay with her and the children for almost a month every year, whenever her husband is on outstation duty, enjoying the change of place.

This January, I completed 73 years of life.

Now what?

The Final Question

Should I believe that his last prediction will also come true?

Nevertheless, I still believe genetics is the most important factor in determining one’s lifespan. My father lived the longest, completing 80 years of age. All my older brothers and my mother passed away at between the ages of 71 and 75.

I am content with my life. I have no unfulfilled wishes, no regrets, no expectations. I have only one final hope—to die peacefully, without prolonged hospitalisation, and without pain.

And when that moment comes, I hope my body will continue to serve life—even after death.

Lesson from Life

Perhaps the true measure of a life well lived is not how long it lasts, but how gently it departs-and what it gives back in that departure. If my body, in death, can become a lesson for a student or a second chance for someone unknown to me, then my final act will not be an ending but continuation. In society hesitant to speak of death, choosing to give after death may be the most meaningful conversation one can leave behind.

Philosophical Ending

We arrive in this world empty-handed, and we leave it empty-handed too- unless we choose to give one last gift. If my death can ease another’s suffering or illuminate a student’s mind, then my life will not truly end; it will simply change its form.ˀ