Mooli’s sudden, terribly premature, and dramatic departure from our midst (when we all expected him to come out of hospital) has left his legion of friends, amongst which I count myself blessed to be an early one, forlorn and devastated. The poet expressed our thought when he said, ‘April is the cruellest month’. Little did he know that it would come so harshly true for us in the spring of 2020 when we lost our dear friend in the thick of a world-wide pandemic and nation-wide lockdown. Though we could not personally bid him adieu on his final journey because of that, I take this opportunity to extend the deepest condolences of my family, Nengcha, Maya and Mihir, my brothers John and Ciccu, and myself, to Nanz, Naintara and Naira on their profound bereavement. May God give them the strength and resilience to bear the loss after Naira’s heroic act of love and devotion
Much has been said (as Ahlu and Gautu have already done eloquently) and will be said his irrepressible sense of humour and spirit, his energy and ingenuity, his passions and his achievements, his personal charm, concern for those around him and mentorship of younger colleagues, his extraordinary wife and daughters, his love of travel (together with Nanz) and for photography, his commitment to the North East, and the lightness with which he both discharged his responsibilities and took himself. All these qualities mark him out from the ordinary.
I have been fortunate enough to witness all these since my earliest days in The Doon School when he first presented to himself to me with his slender frame, big kajal eyes, his luxuriant head of hair, and his playful, piquant sense of mischief, to be christened ‘Mooli”. Ever since then, I remember Mooli as a person bubbling with ideas. My first partnership with him was to edit the ‘History Times’ in School (with the cheerful Arthur Hughes). The ‘Times’ did not last, and Mooli moved on to other ‘start ups’ as we would call it now, but as a shy boy from a provincial town, it was a huge boost to my confidence in those early days that he sought me as a partner in the venture.
Though we must have been barely 12 or 13, he was already in a way to becoming the mentor to many that he grew to be. He carried this restlessness, ideas and mentorship through his sterling career in the Indian Administrative Service, where his contributions to Meghalaya, Assam, the National Bamboo Mission and Higher Education in India will remain etched in the annals of Administration and where he has left a trail of juniors who looked up to him for guidance and inspiration, bereft. (Not many may know that we ranked one after another in the 1979 IAS examinations, he being the last in the open category to qualify for the IAS, and I, the first that year in the IPS. Lucky IPS, I didn’t join!). I think his best years were still to come. One of the cruellest aspects of his abrupt departure was that he was not able to see the final production of his book on the Monpahs of Tawang (and one on Majuli?). Much like his PJs, for which he was justly famous, who has not occasionally groaned at being woken up with photographs from his trips to the North East while always actually relishing them! No doubt, Nanz, the family and friends will see to it that his tribute to the Himalayas and the North East sees the light of day. We already have a foretaste of it in the lovely exhibition that he held at the IIC. On the professional side, his association with the much anticipated Jio University may well be a major contribution to the country.
At a personal level, vicissitudes of career and service took us a little away from the close touch that we kept through School and College, but the affection and regard always remained. Mooli and Nanz’s hospitality has been legendary. In more recent years, we have had the pleasure of seeing their lovely daughters grow into womanhood and take their own trajectories. Nengcha and our daughter, Maya Antara (don’t miss the similar ring in the names of Maya and Naintara!) enjoyed a few days with them in their ‘open’ house in Paris. But what we will treasure most was that they were able to join us for Maya’s wedding in Sri Lanka. That, and a trip to Tawang in October 2018, were probably the last times we were able to spend time together, and all the more memorable for that. With that happy thought, I bid a tearful farewell (adieu) to a true ‘langotiya yaar’. Mooli! There were so many times I wanted to spend more time with you on so many things that brought us together. I leave you now with a searing sense of regret at the opportunities to nurse that bottle of Mandalay rum left over from the wedding, unconsummated. May it accompany you to your after life! Long live, Mooli! There is something heroic in you that lives on in your family and your legacy. A parting toast to you! Lots of love and strength to Nanz, Naintara and Naira. Mukho