I never even knew you. I did not know your name or what you looked like. Through the moving mists of memory and the fading fog of forgetfulness, I do not now remember your exact words. But you were the Voice from Lunkaransar; something I looked forward to reading, young as I was. Your despatches stood out so vividly against the fluff, yes even in the newspaper that published you.
There was a twinge when they stopped but I assumed you must have moved on to other things. Much later I found others on the web that had some of the same song. One reminded me enough of you that I decided to look you up. I looked forward to finding you. You would, surely, be a sixty-something uncle beaming not unkindly over your glasses. Maybe you blogged. Maybe I would get in touch with you.
Even halfway through the Outlook piece that first turned up, I did not, stupidly, comprehend the enormity of the tragedy they talked about. The wallop was surprisingly intense.
There is nothing I can say that others have not conveyed and a lot better. A point of light brutally extinguished. It must be escapism of the worst kind, but I want to believe you are still around. Be well Sanjoy.
