In honour of a dear friend, Neel Shah

It’s been 15 years since I finished school and left my hometown Ahmedabad. So about half my life was spent in that city, and I’ve lived in four cities since then. Despite the deep attachment I feel to my home there and how strongly experiences in Ahmedabad shaped me, today I give remarkable little thought to events from that time of my life. And if yesterday’s news hadn’t brought me to a screeching halt, I’d have continued busily with my self-involved routine.

Neel and I were in school together. We became good friends when we were teenagers. I actually have no recollection of how and when we began to interact. It seems like such an unlikely friendship - he was frequently in trouble with the teachers and I was an annoying “good student”. It’s strange how little, seemingly insignificant details stand out in memory, even if major details are fuzzy. I remember how much of a mess his school uniform used to be after volleyball games. His trousers were also usually ill-fitting and his tie was never in order. His distinct hoarse voice used to fray in a strange way when he was nervous. When asking a question, his sentence often ended in “aisa?” He had no shortage of one-liners and mean, funny remarks about people. My memory of this is like a semi-silent movie. I can remember the tone in which he’d deliver the line. I remember that I’d be laughing like an idiot, but I can’t remember what we were saying.

He was very passionate about music and he used to hound me for tickets to IIM’s annual festival ‘Chaos’. We ended up attending several concerts together. We both really liked the group Indian Ocean. His musical skills and knowledge were far more advanced than mine. He was a tabla player. He once performed with my dad’s students at a musical evening in our home. He tried (in vain) to really expand my musical tastes by gifting and lending me cassette tapes. Bon Jovi, Norah Jones and the album “Shine” from the string quartet called Bond were the only ones that have stuck in my non-absorbent brain.

I was looking through my email yesterday and found so many chat conversations that started with him saying “dungika”. It was a nickname I hated. I tried to insult him with weird variations of his name, but it was futile. He was much better at mean humour than I can ever hope to be. Ironically, his mean humour only made him more likeable. I doubt anyone in our class full of diverse personalities held a grudge against him. Whereas I, miss-goody-two-shoes, was not exactly miss congeniality growing up.

He was a creative, artistic person and studied and worked in the field of design. When we were still in school (if my memory serves me correctly), he showed me a design of a visiting card he’d made for his family’s business. I remember being very impressed. I don’t think I’d ever done anything so out-of-the-box, especially then, when I was single-mindedly buried with my nose in my homework. I think the card he made had a vivid yellow background, so different from the boring white ones we’d always see back then.

A rather unusual feature of my friendship with Neel was that he took responsibility of keeping in touch, for all these 15 years since we left for college. Typically, I’m the one who keeps track of my friends and family. He made sure to keep track of me and meet me every year when I was in Ahmedabad.

All of us who knew him are in shock that he suddenly died of a cardiac arrest at 32. It makes no sense. It is horribly unfair. No words or tears are enough to convey how we all feel, or what his wife and family must be going through.

I don’t know the best way to honour your memory. All I can say is that we think of you with love, Neel. You were absolutely wonderful.