bout de papier, Vol. 6, No. 2 (1988) — Summer 1988 // Été 1988, p. 29
It was the first working day of the New Year. For the Department of External Affairs it was just another ordinary death abroad. A young thin man who had been living in India for six months had died. Telexes were being sent back and forth to Ottawa detailing the logistics — money deposited in bank accounts, authorisation to expend funds, the wishes of the next of kin…. I stood on silent vigil watching the body of a “consular case” be cremated in Old Delhi. Someone who a few days earlier had been in the consular section collecting mail from his friends and relatives and who, over a period of the previous few months, had become rather well known to us.
But he had developed a fondness for the needle, nurtured it in his time in India and ultimately collapsed because of liver failure and died on the street in Paharganj — a dubious neighbourhood on the fringes of Old Delhi. The hotel where he had been staying hurriedly threw his belongings out the window of his room and onto the street. Some things were stolen by passersby and others were gathered up and taken to the High Commission. We had gone earlier and identified the body at the morgue. An autopsy had been performed. The drugs had ravaged his body and our Canadian was extremely thin and wane.
A police officer from Paharganj district had been assigned to work on the case with us. My experience with this and other deaths was that the police assigned to the case were cooperative and did all they could to help.
Once the major concern about who was going to get paid for the various details was resolved, they would perform their responsibilities well.
At the morgue and crematorium, people had to be paid “tips”. ’. The job of moving a corpse was not a popular one. At each stage people involved with the operation demanded payment of additional money. A few rupees here and a few rupees there discreetly paid managed to get each job done. The actual cost of the cremation in Delhi was only about three dollars, but the payoffs for the bearers and others pushed the final costs to nearer thirty dollars. The ceremony was as dignified as it could be under the circumstances. We went into Old Delhi to purchase a suitable urn in which to inter the ashes. The crematorium was quiet that day and we finished the job in the fading light of late afternoon. The ashes were poured into the urn and we returned to the High Commission.
Some paperwork still remained back in the office. We now had the job of sorting through our dead heroin addict’s soiled clothes and meager possessions. We took care of that and finally walked out of the office after dark. My first working day of the new year was over. Some people were heading over to the Australian High Commission for a party. Somehow I was not in the mood and just went home to bed.
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Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 6, No. 2 (1988) — Summer 1988 // Été 1988, p. 29. Read the rest of this issue →
