I telephoned him in his office around 4.30 in the afternoon. "You didn't show up on Saturday," I complained. "Unni and I kept waiting for you. Bonnie Thomas had come too. I kept trying earlier but your cellphone was switched off."
It was like an old friend gone. But I had met Irfan Hussain just six months earlier through a chance encounter. We struck an instant rapport.
I telephoned him in his office around 4.30 in the afternoon. "You didn't show up on Saturday," I complained. "Unni and I kept waiting for you. Bonnie Thomas had come too. I kept trying earlier but your cellphone was switched off."
"I was unwell, chief. I was running temperature. I'm still weak. Next Saturday I'll definitely make it. Tell Unni. I have a phone in the house now. Take down the number, 91-621624."
"Okay, till Saturday then," I said and put the phone down. Six hours later he disappeared. He was never seen alive again.
It was like an old friend gone. But I had met Irfan Hussain just six months earlier through a chance encounter. I had long been familiar with his work of course. We struck an instant rapport. He, Unni, the cartoonist for The Indian Express, and I tried to meet every fortnight for coffee and a chat. We got on famously.
Irfan had enormous talent. He was not only a good caricaturist and draughtsman. He was a good ideas man too. Unknown to many, he was also a trained animator. That made him one of the hottest prospects among the younger political cartoonists. The real platform for political cartoons remains the daily newspaper. I always entertained the vague hope that one day, for the sake of political cartooning in India, he would return to a daily. Now he is gone in circumstances most tragic and mysterious.
His family and friends lost a warm human being. Society lost a gentleman. The profession lost a rare talent.