Adieu, Sir “Sanjoo...” Will you call me that again? Weeping kin carrying your lifeless frame pass by me to the waiting funeral pyre. Tears brewing behind my eyelids, I stand watching you who, once upon a time, would have run up to me with a smile on your face and open hands. Vijayan Sir, Chennai, with you, had been joy for us – me and the many friends who saw in you the quintessential friend, philosopher and guide. Remember, Sunday mornings at my little den in Triplicane used to reverberate with activity and you were at the presiding slot. We discussed Marx and Mohanlal in the same vein. We sang, and listened to, songs that stirred in you nostalgia of the emotional kind. You made merry with us when we sang; You were with your daughter, mother and wife when you listened to the songs by the masters. Salimbhai's chicken curry, Joe's maverick sportiness, Sunesh's unique toddy-tapioca tales, Unni's measured, shy smile and Jimmy's stuttered utterances in Mallappally Malay
