A Beautification of Thanatos

There is a graveyard right beside Chinchpokli station, on the way from my college to my home every day. I see it through the bars of my train window, and I am fascinated by its beauty. Full of white marble tombstones, a massive tree spreading its boughs around and a dome full of secrets in the center. Perhaps it is my design aesthetic that prompts this observation, but massive old trees and graveyards go hand in hand. There is something to be said about nature reaching out to those who are beyond human help....

Horace Miner in his anthropological satire, 'Body rituals among the Nacirema', indicates that the average white American is obsessed with trying to avoid inevitable death. Why then, are graves, the architectural poetry of death, romanticized in the name of respect? Kings have been the subject of their beauty since eons. Patriarchy embossed in beautiful carvings for the kings and simple graves for their multiple queens. Intricate carvings in white marble and sandstone, gems and precious materials all used to adorn and mark their deathplaces for generations to come. Breathtaking monuments, architecture and beauty beyond our wildest dreams to honor the deceased.

Look at one of the seven wonders of the world, majestic, royal, an architectural marvel..... yet an ode to death and destruction. Hands of the workers cut off, the queen honored in her death but forgotten while alive. Is it to send a message? You must know by now that I talk of the Taj Mahal, the pride of Agra and India alike. Was it a gesture of love by Shah Jahan or a statement of power by a fading Mughal king? The pyramids of Egypt, the tomb of Tutankhamen , the graves of celebrities whose values are long lost are all proofs littered in the pages of history. Proof of how the living are often much more beautiful in their death.

Why is it that we beautify death so? Do we try to conceal the ugliness, the sorrow, the grief in intricate trellises and artwork? Do we try to atone for the sins we have caused the people who have died because suddenly we have gained utmost respect for them? Is their honor more palpable in their death? Or is it all just to guard the innocence of viewers. To protect the truth and bend it as if to cajole a child's concepts of those beyond reach?

Have you ever heard of the conspiracy theory that Michael Jackson faked his own death? That Walt Disney experimented with cryogenics and to cover it up, came up with the film Frozen? Would the titanic ever have been this famous if it hadn't wrecked and would the sound of black death arouse equal parts fear and fascination if it didn't refer to the death of millions? In a series where most of my Greek mythology knowledge comes from, Percy Jackson, why is Thanatos considered more beautiful than Cupid, the Greek gods of death and love respectively? Questions and examples crop up like daisies everywhere, and I found it curious, till it started making sense. Every trip we make, every journey we set out on, every city or country we roam as tourists has cenotaphs in its itinerary. Human beings are fascinated with death, obsessed with the beauty of it and equally terrified by it's inevitability.

We delude ourselves with faith, the supernatural and the paranormal, as an explanation for what science cannot understand. Mummifying bodies, spreading ashes, burying in coffins, rituals and rites, sacrifices and prayers, all for the benefit of those whom we know little about anymore. We leave wreaths and flowers on tombstones in a sad attempt to make beautiful what is ugly in nature. We compose epitaphs, each more complex and philosophical than the other. We release pieces in newspapers to honor the identity of the deceased, lest they be forgotten too soon.

Long sermons and speeches are made on how wonderful and glorious the person was. How they left a mark on society. How they were kind, loyal, true, religious, benevolent, generous, and words may run out but their virtues do not. I sometimes believe it is for the benefit of those they left behind. Their loved ones, their family.

Death is hardest on those that keep living. Dumbledore once said, 'Do not pity the dead, Harry, pity the living, and beyond them, those who live without love.' For what do they have left but emptiness and the validation that the deceased mattered? What do they fill the ugly cavity of grief with.... other than honor, roses and elaborate monuments? How do they cope with the meaninglessness of further life without giving it tangible meaning through architecture, rituals and rites? If the burden of grief lightens even worth the weight of a feather by adorning death with flowers, candles and monumental beauty, then why not? Why not make death beautiful for the benefit of the living?

Love, Ri.

Do not stand at my Grave and weep

~ by Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond that glints on snow,

I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in

the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the soft starshine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry:

I am not there; I did not die.