My Heartbeat Simbu, I scribble in this diary from a place where death enjoys a life of its own. Where it isn’t feared or despised and no attempt whatsoever is made to deceive it. At times it’s even welcomed here, albeit with tired smiles and resigned shrugs. But let me not waste time and words. I’m not sure if I will ever put pen to paper again. For all we know, this could be the last time I turn the lens inwards, as it were, rendering myself in sharp focus for you. Now wait! Did I write that yesterday too? Or was it today morning? Must be those sedatives they give me. Pain management, it’s called. Ha! As if the pain of watching my only child lose me, day by excruciating day, organ by faltering organ, can ever be managed. If you’re old enough to read this, my child, I’m…