The Niranjan I knew was
sore for the most part.
He bitched about me
endlessly for the most part.
He was mean, petty and vicious
for the most part.
However, he was insanely
talented and bewilderingly intelligent. He commanded my attention and respect
for that alone.
The maverick, emotionally broken
but intellectually too far evolved for today’s snowflake dynamic, would roll
his eyes and hit me with a snarky come back as I would try to argue some global
socio-political dynamic, or question a deeply Marathi tradition.
Niranjan Prakash, I will miss
you. As will my wife and kids.
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