He wondered if his father would want the English track or the Hindi. Both, probably. The same story told twice. Life and death speaking over each other like two languages in the same heart.
On screen, Joe Black—Death in a borrowed body—wandered through a billionaire’s mansion, amazed by the taste of peanut butter. Arjun had forgotten how strange the film was. A romance with a skeleton under the bed. Death falling in love with life.
His father, who had taught him Shakespeare in English but whispered lullabies in Hindi. His father, who now lay in a hospital bed three kilometers away, his lungs filling with fluid instead of air. The doctors had used the word time a lot that afternoon. "How much time?" Arjun had asked. They shrugged. The same way Death shrugs in the movie when asked for a schedule.