Manjunath Gurpur Prabhu

Konkanya is no more. He died Sunday, August 30, 2009, at Manipal Hospital. The man that helped cremate countless souls finally found others doing the honors. Did he die? No. He was liberated. The last couple of years had seen a gradual decline in his health to the point that I, who considered himself a friend, prayed that he be spared the suffering. So when the inevitable finally happened, why am I not sad? Strange! Not so. Even a week after his death, I speak of him in the present; that dynamism, that vibrancy, that ability to hold people in thrall, yes, sometimes even complete strangers - like the time this gentleman suddenly rushes out of my readymade garment shop, Lancer, onto the road where 2 laborers were carrying a heavy cupboard and pointing in the direction of his house says, ahh! Amar Apartment le jaao. Even they could not hold there smiles. Or, a fortnight into his marriage, he makes a statement in my shop, "arre mera Biwi kya chappati banati hai (long meaningful pause) - mai balcony mein kata hu." Now, the incongruity of it hits us all until one of us, don't remember who, quizzically asks, "matlab." He retorts, "chappati bahut kadak banati hai - bahar phekne ke liye!" Imagine the uproar that followed. For him, I was "last piece" (his version of my style of selling my clothes) or "hanger" (his version of drooping shoulders). Incidently, I quite sacrilegiously must add, he was the "thediya" as all photographs (where he deliberately used to stand on the outskirts so his full profile could be accomodated) would certify. That a huge chunk of my life is intertwined with this gentleman is in absolutely no doubt. He used to sell my shirts (which he was the finest ambassador of) in the bank where he worked and always paid my promptly, but what always worried me was, was he recovering the money himself. When asked, he would politely ask me to shut up, but till today I still retain that modicum of doubt regarding this.

Then, there was always this air of vulnerability about him. Believe me, it would shock him were he to know I harbored such thoughts, but yes it always was present, especially after his diabetes or rather, after his marriage (both were closely intertwined). The vulnerability followed a rather extreme lack of understanding of what his medical situation could cause him. Whether, from his point of view, it was fait accompli or plain bravado, or worse, tilting against life's windmill, I still haven't been able to decipher, but this certainly led to us friends being overprotective, which he hated very much. There was this time when he asked that I present myself in Bombay as he felt he was kicking the bucket. I rushed into the ICU, and one his his first statements through all that rigmarole of tubes running through his body was, shhhe, bhelpuri khaneko milta tha tho kitna aacha hota. Part bewilderment part anger made me ask 2 passing nurses that the patient requests bhelpuri; they gave him a stern shut up and he in turn gave me the devils eye. Very apologetically, I told him I was just relaying his request. Then, still in the ICU, still with tubes running all around, this worthy asks me if the small window on the ICU door showed his bed. When I replied yes and asked why, he said, so I can wave to someone outside. Now, what should be known is that he was completely blind in his left eye and about 30% vision in his right! He wanted me to inform so if somebody peeped, he could wave. These anecdotes could go on and on, what they certainly cannot do is fill in the spirit that was Manju; sorry, is Manju. Even in the worst of times, like when on the hills of the western ghats when he berated me acutely for having made fun of his God, my apologies having no effect on him, I have never felt hurt or angered. There was this bond built over the years that seemingly effortlessly transended all such human frailities. He accepted me, warts and all for what I was, when in good mood pulled my leg to all possible extremes, but could never anger me as I understood his situation completely. Yes, there were times I was spiteful and did not call him even though he was always in my thoughts, then saner minds would prevail and I would speak with him. He was a very complex personality. Maybe some day in leisure, I'll be able to read my friend completely but not now. Now, I'm glad for having known this guy. He lived life to the brim and in his own way taught me valuable lessons about life. Do I adios him. No way. He is still very present with me, and I'll always be on first person terms with him. I cannot think of a finer obituary for my friend, the man who could make me laugh, Manjunath Gurpur Prabhu.