“You know Bob,” my wife told me the other day, “It’s time we changed our furniture!”

 “Why?” I asked, “Our furniture is fine!”

 “It’s old!”

Filled with horror I read about the twenty-seven ONGC employees who died and fifty-three missing, when their barge sank during Cyclone Tauktae’s tryst with the west coast of India. The barge, as you know, is the sleeping dormitory for the employees of the rig, ana has no engine. It’s only purpose, to accommodate those who are not working on the oil rig next door.

The cyclone has just passed and as I looked down, I saw the broken branch, “Oh that’s so sad!” I shouted, “It must have happened with winds over 120 kms an hour!”

 “The winds were terrible!” agreed the broken branch, “and that’s when I made my decision!”

 “What decision?” I asked intrigued.

 “To break away from the tree and lie down here in safety!”

It’s generally after an event, a wedding or some other occasion like a lavish holiday when I realize I’m nearly broke and my driver comes back from the bank with my passbook. I open it with fear and trembling and rightly so, because it is not what I expected it to be. Somehow my mental calculations of what I’d spent don’t balance the one that the banker, his teller or his clerk so conscientiously have written in my statement.

Maybe it’s the fact that in the middle of the cyclone today, my wife a doctor, had to rush to the hospital to save a life that makes me write about ‘Death rage’ today

We have all seen or experienced this feeling at some time or another.

Death rage: When the need to release and vent out an anger at the unquestionable authority and absoluteness of death makes people raise their fists at those who stand vulnerably, close by.