Remembering Hemanshu

"Death loves life"

(Trigger Warning: Mentions of depression, death and suicide)

After lockdown began in 2020, like many others, I wanted to make something out of my time by doing something creative. I was making art and recording videos of my art on late nights, we only had three hours of classes per day. I was sleepy throughout them. This was a daily routine. And then I started talking to Hemanshu. He had been in my classes and tuition for a long while. I first met him in front of the principal’s office, he had injured his head in 2017. For some reason, we never got along or became friends until school ended. We started talking back again, he wanted to make a youtube channel. He always saw himself as someone different than others, he was proud of that. He would stutter while speaking in class, but his motive was to always do his best to hide it. His youtube channel was also something like “The Different Guy HJ”. We were kids. At that time I aspired to be an artist like Gawx and Vexx. He aspired to be a funny youtuber, along the lines of CarryMinati. We advised each other on how to go down those paths. So when he made his first youtube channel alongside a satirical, critical commentary on Nepotism in Bollywood (this was around the time of SSR’s passing), I subscribed to his channel from all six of my gmail accounts. He soon told me that he wanted to step away from that form of content, which breeds hatred rather than kindness and change.

As tenth grade exams approached, we shared educational resources with each other. Him and I watched the same youtuber for preparing for board exams. We often discussed future plans, he wanted to make a startup, and for a long time, he stuck with that goal. Even though we both were from families that were good economically, he always wanted to find his way through. For a couple of weeks, he even started an Instagram account that sold clothing. He kept his identity anonymous through that account, but reached out to many people over personal messages, encouraging them to buy something from his digital store. The distributor was someone else, Hemanshu was just promoting it.

The best part about being in 9th and 10th grade is that you feel like the world is endless, and many people use this time to explore everything, and he was one of those. After lockdown and 10th grade, we remained in touch constantly. Our hour-long calls revolved around internet culture, youtubers, and future plans. We both mocked the rat race of JEE and NEET, we felt like we were destined for something different, something more unique, and with determination, we could get there. I had started earning by selling my art internationally, and wanted to go for NID or UCEED exams.

Somehow, I ended up in coaching for JEE - against my choice. And he ended up in Kota. But his rationale was that most entrepreneurs were IITians, and IIT would be a good place to begin his preparation. The entrepreneur path in India wasn’t linear and often went through engineering colleges or familial connections.

At Kota, Hemanshu grew quite isolated; he would skip classes. But his conversations always remained big and aspirational. He was one of the two people I remained in constant touch with even after high school. Something that brought us together was the fact that we thought differently, we both felt like we somehow didn’t fit into the echo chambers of high school. Hemanshu again decided to change his career paths to going abroad - he wanted to go to Germany, where education was almost free. What he needed was to learn German. So alongside a friend, he decided to study German, he got multiple courses to support his preparation. However, without coaching classes, the goal seemed to grow farther away from him.

25 ‎October ‎2022

I stayed back in Buldhana, by now I had spent around 16-17 years in the town and had grown to hate it. I went to my coaching classes in the morning, and typically journaled throughout the day to write about how I was feeling. I grew distant from not only my hobbies of art and videography but myself. In twelfth grade, I started coming back from classes and sleeping in. Contact with Hemanshu grew less frequent, but whenever I would call him, he had a new idea. He once mentioned that he wanted to start a startup for career counselling around that time.

In many conversations, he would jokingly say “once I make my company, I’ll give you equity in it”. Eleventh and Twelfth grade seemed to be the most confusing and directionless period of my life. I was unable to study, and I tried my best - but all my heart wanted was to do art again. Earn money from freelancing and study art. I wanted to do it for the rest of my life.

Hemanshu frequently lost motivation to work or study forward when he didn’t see enough results. We continued keeping in touch and barely met in person, but in the cold and in the heat, in the dread of an exam countdown, our small conversations and calls about this and that, embedding memes and funny audios seamlessly in our conversations gave a little relief. I told him to keep believing in himself, and he often had bursts of motivation from watching or reading self help.

12th grade board exams came and went by, we had somehow gotten through the exams. I got terrible grades in 12th grade, I cleared JEE Mains but was going to get no college. Hemanshu got good grades in 12th grade and his situation was the same as me when it came to college. By now we had both gotten through depths of sadness, isolation and self-loathe.

In April 2023, we attempted the entrance exam for VIT in Aurangabad. We went to the exam center with my father by car. But even in the depths of confusion, our aim here was not just to attempt the VIT exam.

While heading to the exam

A couple of days before, I had found out that Suzume by Makoto Shinkai was going to be screened at the Prozone mall of Aurangabad. The screening was going to start right after the exam. Me and Hemanshu meticulously calculated the fastest ways to make it out of the exam hall to catch the film.

The exam hall was terrible, the heat was terrible. The fans didn’t seem to do well at all. We sat together for the exam and finished it half an hour before. Hemanshu cried for 10 to 15 minutes throughout the film. The film had touched him. He hated being vulnerable like that as I would find out through our later conversations.

In July, I finally got into Ashoka. Hemanshu was the first to hear about it after my mother and father. After we confirmed my admission, he put my acceptance letter on his story to celebrate it. He was happy for me even before I had gotten financial aid and confirmed on Ashoka. Hemanshu had decided to take a drop year in Pune.

I changed quite a lot after getting into college. I couldn’t manage my time at all, which affected our friendship. He felt I was taking him for granted. He confronted me about it with calmness and told me where I was behaving wrong. I apologized and remembered I shouldn’t forget who I came up with - it was a matter of ego and priorities. We solved what was going wrong.

Both him and I struggled with trying to fit into pre-defined definitions of masculinity in our personal lives. Much of his beliefs about masculinity were ever-changing, I witnessed his change from hypermasculine thinking to a form of masculinity that is accepting, sensitive and empowering. One summer, when he said he’s feeling bored at home, we decided to go to the hills outside the town. While coming back we had a thick shake at the main square of the town, which had now grown saffronized, adorned with statues and flags. That day he said something about wanting to go out by himself, and preferring to hang out with different people. I understood his thoughts, even though it felt as if he was pushing me away.

He later told me in a text message that he didn’t want to be around me because I seemed quite feminine as a person. That struck me quite a bit. After getting into Ashoka, I had grown to accept my queerness and be open about it.

Months later, on one night he apologized for saying that, and said that his views on queerness were powered by insecurity brought by masculinity. He mentioned feeling as if he was ungrateful towards me. I told him that’s not the case and that I was glad to have him as a friend. Even after all the changes and waves of life, we still resonated with each other in some way or other. In short, he had grown accepting of me. After I went on my first ever date with my (now) partner, he was the first to hear about all of it.

He came up with an infinite number of plans and wanted to pursue new hobbies. He gave the SATs as well, if I remember correctly. He applied to Ashoka and made it till the interview round. Being rejected from Ashoka affected his self esteem. It was a big bummer, I wanted him to be at Ashoka as well. He once sarcastically said that he didn’t want to be my “junior”.

Hemanshu joined Sydenham College in Mumbai for B. Com. There he started writing for the alumni journal for a while and developed an interest in creative writing which he continued for a longer while than rest of his hobbies. He wanted to learn video editing but always said that his laptop’s capacity will not suffice, so soon he also got a new laptop. He didn’t like Mumbai as much as Pune, he struggled to make friends as well. Moreover, he said he couldn’t study in Sydenham as he wanted to. He failed subjects and struggled to keep up. Always interested in creating something of his own or leading people, Hemanshu now wanted to study for UPSC.

In our free time he sent me cringe reels of UPSC mentors on the internet and we joked about the fact that he was getting “backs” in exams. On the outside, he always joked about his struggles, but his struggles were proof of how much he took his thoughts seriously. Our calls were filled with laughter and mockery of something or the other. Hemanshu was always at crossroads, having to choose one over the other. He felt quite hopeless at times, and I told him to give himself time and be patient. He was sad about not being able to make friends or fit in, oftentimes he said “other people are not the problem, it’s me”. His health added to his problems many times, not being able to read or use screens for long durations, along with Hyperacusis dampened his spirits.

He finally took a leap of faith, he decided to join Symbiosis Pune. Between Psychology and Economics, he chose economics. In his additional subjects, he chose some foreign language that I can’t recall right now. In Pune, he would often go to Arai hills and developed the habit of walking.

He wanted to intern and work somewhere. I suggested that if he kept writing on different topics, he would develop the skill more and more, potentially making him more employable and creative. So he made a Substack under the same alias as his instagram, where he planned to post film edits. Davincicurator.

In the past few months, he had decided to intern for being a content writer, he prepared resumes, portfolio and applied to a few places as well. Regardless of his struggles with hyperacusis, social anxiety and depression, he somehow always had a plan. Never once did he say, “I don’t have any plans anymore”. Even though he felt behind in life, I never thought that he lacked potential.

In our conversations, he often criticized savarna-baniya dominance in the business industry. He criticized social circles that are tightly knit because of caste and “taste”. He criticized un-authentic people. But he was always persistent in trying. I believed he had a vision, which is why our friendship lasted for so long.

Over the past couple of years he had developed a deep interest in philosophy as well - he would send me a lot of videos about the same. From Osho, Nietzsche, Kafka to David Goggins - his taste in books and films was very selective. He loved Ranbir Kapoor as an actor. He watched sitcoms like How I Met Your Mother and finished it in the second-last week of December. He told me to watch Meet Joe Black or he’ll end our friendship (he didn’t!) He loved that film. Through all of this media consumption, he sometimes felt like he wanted to be in a relationship. I would discourage this thought, telling him that the way to true happiness is through self-fulfillment, and a relationship won’t fill that gap. My advice to him was to keep himself occupied through some constructive activity to not fall prey to bad habits.

At the end of November, he asked me for recommendations for getting into sociology. Other than the usual classic sociologists, I recommended to him a paper titled, “Seeing like a state : how certain schemes to improve the human condition have failed” by James Scott.

In the past couple of months, I felt like the way he talked had changed, it’s like he had a monologue that only he himself understood. At times he would say things so philosophical or complex that I would lose track and fail to understand. If he had called, he definitely had something to say, like a mirror to bounce off ideas and concepts - I also listened regardless of my inability to understand many times. His Nihilism remained consistent, and due to my personal struggles around that time, I didn’t have many new things to say.

Last month he went to Seedhe Maut’s concert in Pune, they are his favorite rap artists. He called me after the concert and said that he felt very empty and numb. He said he was sitting on a sidewalk watching the vehicles pass by. I told him to get home properly and to get something to eat.

When we didn’t talk, we communicated via reel forwards. I would send him something absurd, he would send something funny. He sent me multiple youtube video links almost on the daily.

On 21st December he said, “fake it till you make it works”, telling me that he had gotten through multiple social interactions by just faking it. I was glad to hear it. It seemed like he was in the cyclone of his thoughts, but somehow pushing through as always, so I trusted he would be well. Because after every low, he would come back saying something like “the earth ain’t getting rid of me this easy”. Like a plant in spring, he would shed away his past failures and aim to try something new.

However, a couple of my conversations with him had me worried at the start of this year. When he mentioned his suicidal tendencies, I told him about its irrationality. I told him that all his difficult thoughts are temporary. Finally out of desperation, I told him “I don’t want to lose another friend bhay”. Being the funny man he is, he wrote, “Arey for plot purposes”, followed by a “jk”. When I told him to get therapy, he said it’s expensive.

On the fourth of Jan, he told me that he was having troubles with his roommates, who kept taunting him for not doing the chores. I suggested that he should change the room, he agreed and said that he will look for a PG.

That day I wrote my small essay on Starbucks Coffee Trend and Caste-pride. Me and him often shared countless reels from the topic. It was humorous.

That night I wrote in my journal that I was worried about his wellbeing and felt helpless due to the distance between us. I had told him on call that if he’s really not feeling well, he should come home back to Buldhana, and I’ll be here for a bit anyway, so we can chill together.

Yesterday night, at around 8 PM, I was at the birthday party of one of my father’s friends. A celebratory event, where people lovingly called uncle a 28-year-old, an inverse of his actual age of 82. I went a bit later to the event because I was trying to fill the form for a conference, but couldn’t think of what to write at all. My phone rang and I noticed that an old classmate had called me on Instagram. I ignored it because most Instagram calls are dialed by mistake. But turns out he had texted too. “about Hemanshu”, followed by “is it true ?”. I called Hemanshu, but he didn’t pick up. I called another friend and the news hit me.

Hemanshu had ended his life yesterday at 11 AM in the morning.

I went to his funeral today morning. The crematorium was at the end of a Dalit vasti. Every house had a blue flag on it. There were two other cremations happening already. On the other side, the cremation beds beside Hemanshu’s had ashes and bones in them. That’s what happens to all of us. Ashes and bones. A ball and socket joint, and a spine laid in a metallic cremation bed without its human. And a few minutes later my friend rose to flames. He burned angrily. Black smoke flew in the air. People walked back to where they came from.

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar.

“…The central theme of the death of the soul closely matches my experience with seeing my favorite creatives go through the same transition explained in the movie. They seemed to lose their artistic soul for commercial success. A dilemma/choice every artist has to go through in their creative journey. I have rather optimistic views on this, as I am yet to come to that stage. But irrespective of the outcome of this fight with free will, I will always be proud that I fought.” — Davincicurator

“Even when I explicitly asked why you asked, “Where is Dan?” you just kept uttering my name. I guess I didn’t need an answer, though. I already had it. The day you left us, I had a vision of you outside my door. I woke up to find 3 missed calls from your house. I rushed to see you, and there you were—at least your body. Initially I thought that it was unfair. After all these months, we’ve fought together, only for you to leave us.

It’s been some time since you left Shiuli, and I’m not mad at you anymore. I am grateful that you were. The fragility of your existence taught me the value of my own. I found myself in you.” — Davincicurator

3 January 2025 (Whatsapp)

Hemanshu (2:47 pm) : Kya kiya jaye

Atharva (2:48 pm) : Jiyaa jaye brotha

Hemanshu (2:48 pm) : I be like fuck u god

Atharva (2:49 pm) : When u die u cant curse god

Hemanshu (2:49 pm) : Nah I be like fuck u god I don’t like your game I quit

Atharva (2:49 pm) : Nah that means god won

Hemanshu (2:49 pm) : No it doesn’t

@davincicurator

Hemanshu on Instagram: "Death loves life

#bradpitt #meetjoebla…