When My Writer-Friend Departed Silently

By Shevlin Sebastian

The other day, my friend Rudolph Vance called from Kolkata. During the course of the conversation, I asked him about our mutual friend Vernon Thomas. “Didn't you know?” he said. “He died sometime in January.” That sentence sent a jolt to me and a spreading feeling of pain through my body. 

“How did it happen?” I said.

“Nobody knows,” said Rudolph. “He was living with his adopted son Paresh at a village near Kolkata, and died suddenly.”

Vernon was a dear friend of mine. He was a bachelor who had published 140 books for children. They were mostly detective novels about theft and murder which were published by the Mumbai-based Pauline Publications. Since he was not published by mainstream publishers, the writing fraternity was not aware of him. But he was a stalwart of the Anglo-Indian community.

For 12 years, on every Thursday, at 6 p.m., I would go his house and have a two-hour long conversation about writing, literature, politics, spirituality, music and so on. It was fun-filled, exhilarating and unforgettable. However, in the late 1990s, I quit Kolkata for Kochi. But I remained in touch with Vernon by phone.

In his house, apart from Paresh, there was a man called Ranen, along with his wife and son. Around 25 years ago, Ranen, who used to work near Vernon's house, befriended the author. Later, Ranen asked Vernon whether he could stay at his home, because he was having financial difficulties. Vernon said yes. And it was not surprising why. All his relatives had migrated abroad, to the UK, USA and Australia. 

In 2014, Vernon's health began to fail. And his mind had also begun to fade away. When I called him at that time, he told me that his mother had died a week before. Vernon was 80 then.

Last year, a builder came and offered money so that he could demolish the house and make a multi-storeyed building. Vernon lived in a spacious Victorian-style house, with four bedrooms, a living room and a dining hall, which led out to a spacious courtyard, with a large mango tree. But he had resisted the temptation for decades. But this time, Ranen handled the discussions, made the feeble Vernon sign an agreement, and allegedly grabbed 90 per cent of the money.

Hence, Paresh had no option but to take Vernon to his ancestral home.

And now he has passed away. It was all so sad. What was sadder to know was that no obituary appeared in the newspapers. This was an undeserving fate for such a brilliant, good-hearted and kind individual.

Nevertheless, I am sure Vernon has found happiness in Heaven. And I am also sure, he will heal the heartache that I feel that I did not know of his death for so many months.

I miss you, my dear friend! 

(Published as a middle in The New Indian Express, South Indian editions)