I was 36 when I first met him.
He made me feel like the most important person in the world. And then again the second time we met. Within a year, he was a part of every aspect of my life. My problems had become his problems. My projects had become his.
He stayed up nights to read drafts of my manuscript, waiting for every new page in that Google Doc, “it feels like I am writing it”, he said. He was there by my side when my daughter was born, “it feels like my daughter”. He hosted both launch events (hardback and paperback) of my book, and stunned me with how he got a copy on the desks of major global investors in the world, from Japan to China to India to Middle East to Europe to America; “This is my book yaar”, he said proudly. He wrote the first check in to HyperTrack and curated half a dozen angels to invest along; “Bhai, this is my company”. He made my family his own, and added me to his.
When I visited him, he gave me his bedroom and slept in another. At that big game, he gave me his hotel room where the India and Australia teams were staying. When my son wanted to watch a live match, he gave us his box tickets. When Shruti hosted my 40th birthday across the oceans, he cleared his life calendar to show up that weekend. There are too many generosities to count.
My deepest connect with him was humor. We laughed a lot together. He would start imitating characters in our lives, and start enacting scenes, caricaturing nuances of their personalities, and could go on as long as I would humor him. There was a time when I laughed so bad, rolling on the floor, that Shruti had to intervene and ask him to pause so I could catch my breath. He showed me how one could die laughing.
He became my first call in my ups and the downs (sorry Papa, it was Rohan who stole your spot). If I wanted to smile, all I had to do was think of him. If I wanted to feel better, all I had to do was go to him or beckon him to come to me. Blink, and he was there. No matter where he was in the world. Our meetings would never actually end. Space and time warped when we were together. There was always a plan to continue later. Being with him meant making plans. Fulfilling those plans meant making more plans.
It was probably a few years after he had become an integral part of my life that it hit me. I was one of many people who had this experience with Rohan. It wasn’t me who was special, like he made me believe, it was he. A few more years, and I learnt that list was probably over a hundred people.
As I sit here at his desk, in his home office, in Dubai, writing this letter the day after his cremation, it is precipitating that he was this way with every person he met in his life. When I first got the terrible news from Zishaan and broke down in Shruti’s arms, I said “we had decades worth of plans together”. When I first met Joey after he was gone, he said “we made so many plans”. When I first called Sunny to break the terrible news, he said “we met last week and made all these plans”. My kids had plans with him. His family, college friends, colleagues, entrepreneurs, investors, they all had plans with him.
As I heard everyone’s stories today, it is now hitting me that he was this way for everyone in his life. He lived a full life with all of us. This is a surreal moment of magic realism for me. How can one person be there for everyone all the time. How can one person carry the joys and sorrows, problems and plans, of everyone, and it is them who need to keep up not him. And even for those who tried to keep up, Rohan did to us what he always did, left us wanting more.
How can such a big heart fail? That is not the question. How can such a big spirit be contained in a life form? That is the miracle I wonder about.
Why him, why did someone so good leave so soon? That is not the question. How was I so lucky to witness this miracle so closely? That is my wonder.
How will I live my life without him, what about our plans? That is not the question. What has witnessing this miracle taught me about living my life? That is my introspection.
Aunty said today, “I have promised Rohan I will stop crying now. Come on, sit by me and tell me his stories.”
Uncle said today, “I do not want to celebrate the life of Rohan, that is cliched. I want to honor the Spirit of Rohan”.
The hardest thing in life is to lose a child. I am grateful to them for bringing this miracle into our world for a fleeting glimpse. The Spirit of Rohan is back where it belongs, in the miracle of the universe.
He had become intentional about his health, winning golf trophies, swimming every day, tracking his vitals on Whoop. He got off the video call with his cousin, at this desk, sharing his joy about hitting his personal best resting heart rate and HRV. He quit at the top. He spared no time to suffer. Minutes later, he left.
He was 36 when he left me.
Hey Sunshine! Was his opening line for every conversation & love you Mals the close of every chat. Bear hugs & pulsating positivity made every time we hung out just so special & like you said, it was just such a deep bond that time spent away never felt “out of touch” coz we always had each other. We have him now too! So much of him he has left behind in all of us. Experiences shared. Precious moments. And so much joy. I love you my bhai & we will meet soon again. Xx
I wish I knew him! Hug and support to you Kashyap.