Five days ago, a good friend of both of us called to chat. With my wife, first, for a good half hour or more, then he asked her to pass the phone on to me, and the two of us chatted for close to an hour. About life here, about how his wife and kids were coping ++

He spoke of movies he had seen. And of the one he was planning to make. He narrated the story in detail. At one point, in the midst of the narration, he interrupted himself to say, on a laugh: "You and Raji won't like this bit, but remember you are not my audience" +

He was called, by his wife I think, for dinner. "I wanted to ask you both something," he said. "I'll call you on Sunday." Whenever you have time, I said; I'm around anyway. "The only thing I have now is time, no?", he said, ending on that characteristic gurgle of a laugh. +

Today is Friday. I wake to the knowledge that the only thing he did not have was time. That he will not call us on Sunday. That he passed, in his prime, of a heart attack. That the industry lost a brilliant cinematographer and a director who knew how to make the box office sing.

"I will call you on Sunday" -- the first, and the only, promise he has ever broken.

Go well, KV Anand. Raji and I mourn your passing, and honour the memories, the friendship.

I am off this for the day, and maybe beyond, but before I go, my wife asked me to tell you this story -- which, for both of us, epitomises KV.

It was the early 2000s. Director Shankar had organised a music launch of an upcoming film at a big do in Bombay. +

Neither Raji nor I were covering films by then, so neither of us were invited. That morning, we got a call from KV. "You both have to come for this," he insisted. "I'll be bored stiff -- if you guys are there I'll have some company."

So we went.

KV was Shankar's cinematographer on the film, but he did not go up on stage. "It is a music launch, yaar, why me?", he said when I asked.

We found seats in the back, and while the speechifying was going on, we chatted among ourselves. KV is -- was, dammit I still can't... +

+ was a superb mimic, taking off actors and actresses, all in fun, with no malice. He had us laughing -- inappropriately, given what was happening on stage -- with his stories.

Shah Rukh Khan was to do the official launch. He was shooting for some film at the time. +

+ He came -- late, and still in costume, and did his thing. He had to rush back to his set, so he hopped down from the stage and headed for the door. On his way out, he spotted KV, sitting at the back. He stopped, and edged his way through the row of seats towards us +

+ He shook hands with "KV sir" while KV stammered (he had this stammer that would become pronounced when he was embarrassed) something in response.

That is the KV I love. Extraordinarily talented cinematographer, winner of a national award for his very first film +

+ But that is not *who* he was.

Who he was, was a decent, grounded human who never put on airs, who never took himself seriously; a man who worse his brilliance with an easy, unassuming grace.



(Out of here)