Chapter 1: A Cold Winter Evening

If you haven't yet explored the works of Izhar-ul-Haq Sahib, begin with "My Death."

On a frigid winter evening, I found myself facing death. The rain had been relentless since morning, and my wife had taken me to see the doctor. He changed my prescription but remained silent, his expression vacant as he looked at both of us.

By the afternoon, my condition had deteriorated. My son was overseas for training, while both my younger daughter and her husband were engaged in a UNICEF survey in Karachi. I couldn’t even reach my daughter in Lahore, as her husband was too busy with their children. My two sons were also abroad, and I saw no reason to trouble them. Thus, it was just my wife and me, along with a helper who would leave in the evening.

As dusk approached, I found it increasingly challenging to speak. I took out my old diary to recount the debts owed to me and the payments I needed to make. My wife protested, reminding me that I always resorted to my diary in critical moments. However, there was a lack of urgency in her voice this time. As night fell, the cold deepened. My wife went to the kitchen to prepare soup, and in her absence, I took a few deep breaths before losing consciousness.

In that moment, I felt myself gradually separating from my body. As I floated toward the ceiling, I observed my wife entering with the soup. Her expression shifted from confusion to sorrow, and I struggled to speak, bewildered that I was unable to communicate.

Late that night, my daughter from Lahore arrived, followed by my younger daughter and son-in-law from Karachi on the first morning flight. The three sons, still abroad, would take at least two days to return. My burial took place after Asr prayers on the second day. Friends, poets, writers, and civil servants attended, including relatives from my village.

The soil that was laid over me in the grave pressed down on my arthritic toe, causing discomfort. A strange exchange began in that state of existence, where it felt like only moments had passed, yet the angels informed me that five years had gone by. They offered me a chance for a normal life again or to return to where I had been.

I accepted this offer as a gift, although my fate had seemingly already been decided. Then, a state of unconsciousness enveloped me. When I regained consciousness, I found myself back in my neighborhood.

I took tentative steps toward my home and encountered Colonel Sahib, who appeared older than I remembered. I was startled to find my nameplate missing from the gate and my car absent from the porch, even though I had purchased a new model weeks before my passing. It was baffling—where could it have gone? My wife, now a widow, was left without a vehicle?

The door was ajar, and I ascended the stairs to my library. To my shock, there were no books or shelves. My writing desk, the chair, my awards, and cherished memorabilia from my career were all gone. I remembered the valuable Persian books from Iran and my grandfather's rare manuscripts, but they too were missing. The room resembled a storage area, with the walls tarnished and peeling.

I exited the library, only to find the spacious lounge filled with an eerie silence. I suddenly recalled the four colorful beds I had commissioned, which were now nowhere to be found.

Descending to the ground floor, I saw my wife in the kitchen, deeply engrossed in her tasks. She had aged significantly over the past five years, and tears welled in my eyes at the sight of her. How could I inquire about her knee pain or whether she had received her medicine? I used to bring her fruit regularly; I wondered how the children were managing. Yet, I could not speak, and she was unaware of my presence.

In the midst of this, the phone rang, and my wife engaged in a lengthy conversation. From what I gathered, the children were considering selling the house. She recalled my advice about the importance of maintaining our home.

In this live performance, David Bowie delivers a haunting rendition of "My Death," capturing the essence of life, loss, and the profound reflections that accompany them.

Chapter 2: The Struggles of Life After Death

This remastered live version of "My Death" from 2023 showcases Bowie’s evocative storytelling through music, illustrating the complexities of existence and the inevitability of mortality.