Almost every month someone I know (directly or indirectly) has to go on the journey from which no one returns. Last month there were three such deaths. 

The first was a Memon (perhaps 65 years of age) who spent his whole adult life enjoying the pleasures of the flesh. He was absolutely corrupt and illiterate. I must confess that I didn't like him, because I knew he had made his illicit millions in his uncle's firm (where he was employed as a purchaser). I always felt uneasy when I found myself seated near him. 

The other was also a Memon whom I had met only a couple of times. His name was Ismail Tara and he at least was better off (he died at the age of 73). He was a stage and TV actor who had made millions laugh and for this at least (whatever his faults) he should be granted a good place in heaven. He was related to two nephews of mine and I only regret that I never made an effort to get more acquainted with him.

The third was a prominent business tycoon (S. M. Muneer) who had been a partner in one of the companies run by my late maternal Uncle Ahmed (who also played a major role in helping me set up my own business). Like my uncle, Muneer also lived up to the age of 77. He was an active social worker right to the day he died and for a few days newspapers carried obituary notices from many firms to praise him and wish him well in the hereafter.

I've said before and I'll say it again: not a day goes by without me thinking of how long I have before I die. I wonder if it's the same for all humans over the age of seventy.