The visual evidence · part one
Prem, the man himself.
Beaches, mountains, murals, tractors, a winning hand of 3 Patti, and at least one attempt to lift the entire Indian economy by hand.
Fifty years on this planet. Roughly forty-nine of them spent three steps ahead of everyone else.
Independently verified by the Chai Pe Charcha research department. Mostly.
There were honestly fifty. We clubbed them so we could get to the roasting faster.
Ask him about any of these and clear your afternoon.
Loud on the outside, perfectly organised on the inside. He thinks so fast that the rest of us are still loading while he's already three conclusions ahead. They say he runs on 1 TB plus 2 TB of RAM. We believe them.
Everything else we know to be true, on the record, with witnesses.
He loves linen and light-coloured shorts. We love him in a banyan underneath, because the man is gloriously well-tanned and the shorts deserve to show their real colour. He hates this advice. We give it anyway, every single time.
Kashmira is the one and only. The other seven are his IT heads across Mumbai, Pune and Delhi, whom he calls every evening, after their office hours, to take updates and talk shop. We have decided these count as relationships.
Before you can place a face, Prem has handed you the person's full Kundali: where they live, who they're related to, what they do and how you're connected. The man is a walking, talking census of Mulund.
Lunch happens at 4. Sometimes 4:30. Occasionally 5. Always because he was on a call. We remain deeply, lovingly furious about this.
A little cricket, a long drive, or one hectic week, and the next morning Prem walks like he's nine months along. The back has strong opinions and shares them freely.
Always on a call. While on that call, three more come in. When he is not on a call, he is reading the news. The phone never gets to cool down.
Big voice, bigger volume. You will hear Prem long before you see him. Built-in horn, no off switch, batteries never included because they're never needed.
Didn't ask? Doesn't matter. The unsolicited advice department is open 24/7, the queue is always short, and the consultations are completely free.
Loves numbers the way other people love music. Reads a balance sheet for fun and remembers the exact figure you were hoping he'd forget. Put him at a 3 Patti table and he's counting the deck and the odds while you're still arranging your hand.
Always dreamed of farming. The day he got the chance, he pulled the whole Chai Pe Charcha gang in with him. Classic Prem: he never does the good stuff alone.
Loves Garba with his whole heart. The back has quietly retired him from the dandiya floor, so now he runs it from the edge, fully invested, calling the moves, somehow more out of breath than the people actually dancing.
Soft as anything about his parents and fiercely proud of his roots. Patriot to the core, ready to defend the country in any debate, any group chat, any time. Don't start unless you have an afternoon free.
Sleeps late, wakes late, and still somehow out-produces every early riser in the room. Runs entirely on stress, which he keeps topped up just in case.
Forever hunting for the specs that are sitting on his head. Found reclined to a near-horizontal 90 degrees, still thinking faster than everyone sitting upright.
Beaches, mountains, murals, tractors, a winning hand of 3 Patti, and at least one attempt to lift the entire Indian economy by hand.
The cricket squad, the Garba floor, the office, the festivals, the family, and the friends who put all of this together.
A man who shows up. Who remembers your story. Who helps before you've asked, celebrates your wins louder than his own, and has quietly made every one of our lives bigger. Fifty years in, Prem, you're still the most irreplaceable person in the room. We checked. There's no backup.