The Last Missed Call

Early this week, I lost a friend to an untimely and unanticipated death. As was his wont, he left us a bit of priceless advice even as he took the final walk – of always taking the calls that matter.
Two weeks before the tragedy struck, he called twice, and I couldn’t take his calls. I may have probably been in the midst of some important work, I don’t remember. But I do remember I made a mental note almost every day thereafter to call him back and speak to him. Just that I couldn’t. Two weeks later, I got a call that told me I was too late to do anything about it.
In retrospect, the reasons that held me back for those two weeks don’t weigh well against the loss I feel now. But there is little I can do now, except for remembering in admiration the effort he always made to go an extra mile for his friends. I remember that unassuming smile, and a phone glued to his ears, as he trotted across the campus attending to his daily quota of small talk with friends. I remember not only his facility with good humour, but also his compassionate countenance. And I remember his frequent pats on his colleagues’ drooping shoulders as he asked: “Why are you so glum, chum?”
Ironically, he has a reason to ask all of us that question again. Only, he knows the answer this time. But the least I can do for him now is to retain that sense of humour and his effortless smile. As well as to spread across the message that he always exemplified – to pick up the calls that matter. The phone won’t ring forever.