Sunday 16 / August / 2026
It happened yet again when I was attending a burial of a VIP last week in a cemetery and I was among those who have been segregated by our social classes.
The coffin was carried by the working class and I was one of them. It was laid down next to the open grave and nothing happened in the next 15 minutes. We were all wondering why. It was hot and the summer heat in the middle of the day did not make the wait comfortable at all.
We were all sweating profusely and one kind soul started distributing cold bottles of water to cool our dry throats. People started to ask why but no one had an answer. Then, after we sweated buckets, we got the answer.
We heard a faint commotion on the left and we all turned towards the direction where it came from. About a dozen people walked slowly into the graveyard in one straight line and they were escorted in by two young men to chairs under the shade of trees.
Minutes later, the two young men pushed over two electric cooling fans to make sure they were comfortable. Needless to say that the rest of us were standing out in the open. A man next to me whispered that they were all VIPs but it was obvious to all of us who they were.
It was tempting for me to ask the two boys to roll out the red carpet for them. But I refrained from doing so and waited. After they seated comfortably, the coffin was lowered into the grave and the ritual started.
I looked at my mobile phone clock. We were waiting under the sun for nearly 20 minutes for the burial to start, thanks to the ceremonious arrangement of the VIPs. But that was not all. After the burial was completed, the VIP group were allowed first to leave to avoid the rush to the exit of the graveyard. No one said anything because the rest of us respected the feelings of the family of the deceased.
As I was walking to my car, someone asked me a question that was already in my head.
“Why don’t they build a VIP lounge somewhere in the corner of each graveyard in the country?”
I patted him on the back but my silence was enough for him to understand that was exactly what was in my mind. There was no need for me to put it into words. It was outrageous for them to segregate mourners in terms of their bank balance or professional positions. So I decided to leave the place without quarrelling with anybody.
But I could not hold in me for too long. At a coffee shop a week later, I shared that burial experience with someone. He is not a person who would like to hold any grievances close to his heart. He let it straight out and say,” so the VIPs would not be eaten by worms when they are dead?”
We both laughed in agreement but decided not to pursue the subject further. Instead, we sipped our coffee silently and watched the crowd of people walking around us. As they walked past, we could not tell which were VIPs and which were normal people. They were all there mingling in a social life regardless the size of their bank balance.
