Homi shouldn146;t have died

I met Homi by chance, some time around July 1980. I8217;d bunk Herr Francis D8217;Mello8217;s early morning German tuition class and sit on the weathered Dastur School wall, hour upon hour, day after day, weeks on end, simply watching the world go by. Time would stop for the glint of spokes, and the whirr of wheels of sleek bicycles zipping up and around Moledina Road. Among the riders were Homi and Ashok Captain, training for the Independence Day lap race. Watching me watch them, Homi and Ashok stopped to chat one day. That was the beginning. From seeing them suck on condensed milk stuffed in toothpaste tubes, to sitting for chai at Cafeacute; Diamond Queen, I learned more than I would in any German class.

If Ashok was philosophical, Homi was comical. Quick with a quip, generous and caring, rarely without a smile, Homi made his life count. Ashok Captain won the lap race, but Homi went on to win others and became a cycling champion. I bought the Peugeot he raced on when he got a new bike, but I never managed to hold on to his wheel.

Days went by. I moved abroad. We didn8217;t keep in touch, but whenever I was back in Pune and met Homi, he was always his gregarious self. Through the years, he pursued his dreams with passion. From winning races to starting his own restaurant, from marrying not a Parsi to bringing and keeping his love of jazz alive, Homi touched many lives.

The Homi I knew made it a point to make his life count. That is where you and I come in. We can lament his loss, but for Homi that wouldn8217;t count. For his death story is a story told daily on hundreds of roads across India. Homi Bhathena could be your father, your brother, your son, your daughter, your mother, your friend. So let us end this road madness, write, make authorities accountable, vote, make your voice count.