You know, how some places leave a lasting impression etched somewhere in your person, and gives you a whole different perspective to life when you least expect it. A visit to the Judicial Medical Officer’s (JMO) office in Colombo recently gave rise to this intense need to want to place somewhere, the images that emerged, before they fade away into just vague memories. It is almost as if I want to have a tight grip on everything that I saw,heard,felt and smelt, because it was sacred, but at the same time to dissect everything in postmortem. It was for me,the ultimate truth about being human.
In case you are wondering, I was at the JMO’s office on official work, but I was also very curious to explore the mortuary located at the same premises. There was a feeling of despair in the air, as I walked into the morgue along with two colleagues only to be greeted by a weird mixture of humidity and eerie coolness. The strong stench of disinfectant mixed with rotting organs in waste-bins was an assault on the senses, as we walked in to the room where they conduct postmortem’s. There were cold,steel workstations with dried blood stains on the floor underneath them.Remnants and reminders of bodies unceremoniously emptied. Each stain would have a history behind it.
The postmortem room led to the area where the refrigerators were, and I was engulfed at once by the torrid stench of decadence, this time the handkerchief I had over my nose was not enough to ward any of it off. It was present, and it followed me around, lurking in the backdrop, creeping up on me like an elusive chilly breeze, on a hot day. The kind that gives you goose-flesh. My colleague described it as being stuck in her throat. It would not go away.
One of the refrigerators was opened, casually, almost like you and I do when we want respite in a glass of iced water, after a hot, tiring day. There was a pair of feet visible, with all its toes intact, and trays containing intestines and other spare parts (pardon the pun) stacked on top. It felt like a store-room, but with just human filth in it. It is a very vivid image, that has rooted itself somewhere in the depths of my brain, and it had to come out like this. What kind of lives did these people lead? Who did that pair of feet belong to? What paths have those feet walked? Were they weary?. I was grappling with these questions, but it was also time for me to get out, as curiosity was replaced by queasiness.
On the way out, near the exit, there was a lone body, wrapped in a white sheet, on a gurney, waiting to be either preserved or taken apart. Waiting, just lying there, resonating with the deafening stillness pervading the morgue. This brought about a stark realization of how fragile and temporary human life is. I was confronted by my own mortality and that was a revelation. Human bodies that were once whole, become mere inhabitants of a wasteland store-room, with nowhere to belong to. You become a memory in the annals of history, and everything else is a facade. Nothingness.
The dead teach the living.