I have only ever had words and a way of stringing them together to explore, remind, re-build and sometimes critique. They have held me in good stead in building a career and staying afloat in life.
They have helped me build memories. Overcome challenges. And re-build from losses. In times of deep despair, I have written my way out of a deep, sometimes very dark hole.
But with growing age and mounting losses, the rope I build with words does not have the same strength I could bind into them. The words flow like water over skin - they provide some temporary respite but can't become the shield that protects it.
Close on the heels of Jindal's loss (who passed away on March 4th), came the news of another friend, Shailesh Iyer's passing. Its a bit like a 1-2 in the boxing ring. The first punch knocks the wind out of your sails and the second one may not be as lethal but just lands harder, because you are already half way to the mat after the first punch.
A lot will be written about Shailesh's stellar professional achievements, all of which are true. He was a sparkling planner with intellect that few could match. He had the effervescence that brought teams together and he had an honesty about his work that would make most marketers hanker for his time and advice.
But the Shailesh I know was a loving, giving friend. I didn't know him or of him before I moved to Indonesia. I heard of him from a common friend and reached out to meet for a drink. Similarly, he didn't know me or of me. But he showed up, that evening and over more than a few drinks, we bonded.
Over the next couple of years, we met often, drinking, eating, shooting the wind. He had a much larger social circle in Jakarta than I did but he'd always make the time to meet/catch up. Its easy to characterize this as "we hit it off" but in truth, this term demeans the effort two individuals put behind nurturing a friendship.
Friendship is a bond made by choice. And it requires effort to make it something of meaning and consequence. Shailesh put that effort into an adult friendship that was nurtured in our late 30s. I have never quite said this to him but the time he spared was invaluable to the time I spent in Jakarta.
Over the years, we met a fair few times, as we moved cities from Jakarta to Singapore. Admittedly, the last 3-4 years came with more turbulence, professionally than what Shailesh would have wished for. And certainly with many more medical issues than he would have ever imagined.
But he dealt with all of them with fight I can only admire but not replicate and a calming smile that was just that - calming. If I need to ever know what smiling in the face of tough odds looks like, I will just imagine Shailesh's face starting back at me across the dinner table at Podi & Poriyal a few days before his first cancer treatment. Telling me - its fine. Its just fine.
Regret and nostalgia are both retrospectively amplified. There are some regrets about not staying in touch enough that I will carry but they are for me to process. The nostalgia though, is a happy place, because Shailesh's memories are a lightbulb of happiness and a reminder of a friend who knew how to be there. While I can only speak for myself, I reckon a whole lot of people whose life he has touched will feel the same way.
Go well, my friend.
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