Remembering My Friend, Satish Sehgal

I have come to believe that death doesn't come alone, or by itself. It comes quietly, tiptoeing, as silent as cold creeping into your bones. Death does its work and departs in silence, but the silence that should follow is now shattered by notifications. The grief, which once sought solitude, is now dragged into the crowd.

Death itself becomes a witness to this; the living capture their feelings and express them on social media. 

For me, such memories aren't to show off. They live inside, without expecting likes, without comments, without proof, and as memories that stay silent. The nature of pain is grave. Perhaps for me, memories are not placards. They don’t need to be proven. They live within without applause, without confirmation. I am scared of this 'illness of having to prove things'. I am afraid that the moment I let them out, I will lose them. Every photograph, every memory, every letter of a departed friend or loved one becomes a ‘memento mori’ for me, reminding me that like them, I too will die one day; that I too must one day depart, and that only death is true.

Everything goes on, but inside me, a picture held in a glass frame shatters every moment. With great difficulty, I hold the living together, cherish them, and save another memory from breaking. That is why I want to remain silent, for in my silence lies safe the soul of the departed. 

In this age where every feeling must be immediately rushed out into the world, if I draw a veil or remain silent, it is not because of my indifference. It is my own grief. It is the final safeguard of my memory, and of that relationship I wish to protect from the world's spectacle. In this age of spectacle, silence is perhaps the greatest form of respect. The sound of pain can be heard even in silence, and that sound will always be with me. 

चल बुल्लेया, चल ओथे चलिए जिथे सारे अन्ने, ना कोई साडी जात पछाने, ना कोई सानू मनै
Bulle Shah, come, let's go to that place where all are blind and no one knows our caste.

Humming Baba Bulley Shah's kafi, my friend Satish departed on January 28, 2026. He had long since scorned worldly caste and religion, which is why he stopped using his last name 'Sehgal’. Among his friends, comrades and theatre fraternity he was known simply as Satish.

Satish was a compassionate human being, a close friend, a kindred spirit, a fellow traveller and like minded. He was a part of Indian People's Theatre Association (IPTA) and closely associated with new wave cinema. Satish did unparalleled work in the world of theatre and drama with visually impaired and deaf-mute children. In his lifetime, Satish wanted to see the people of India and Pakistan living together in peace and harmony. He had brought back many heart-touching stories from his visits to Pakistan, which he would share often. Satish would often cry when recalling his childhood home and neighbourhood in Rawalpindi.

Satish knew and spoke many languages. He had a firm command of Urdu, Punjabi, Saraiki, Multani, Jhangi, Sindhi and a little Pashto, in addition to English. As he moved about, Satish would twirl the fingers of his right hand in the air as if he were counting beads of a tasbih or practising a musical instrument. I only realised much later that Satish was also an expert in sign language. This was why his fingers were always gesturing in the air. Satish had learnt sign language to fully integrate mute and deaf children into the theatre. For these children, he would stand on the stage and interpret the play's dialogue in sign language. What a passion Satish had.

His commitment to theatre brought him in close touch with such luminaries as film director, stage designer and art director M.S. Sathyu, Shama Zaidi, Bisham Sahni, and Girish Karnad. Whenever Sathyu Sahib's play was staged in Delhi, the entire responsibility would fall on Satish. He would handle the stage, props, lights, backstage arrangements, and even the team's lodging and boarding. He was an expert in singing Punjabi folk songs and Sufi poetry. He would recite the kafis of Baba Bulle Shah, poetry of Shah Latif and Waris Shah with all his heart. He must have been deeply saddened by the vandalism and attack on a Sufi shrine in Uttarakhand three days ago. Perhaps the shock of that incident dealt Satish a severe blow.

It would have been nice, Satish, to meet you once before you left, to share some memories and stories and have one last drink together. Ah well. So long, friend. May God grant us patience and give that peace to the memory of our friend, which is found not in noise, but in silence. 

Rajinder Arora is a mountaineer, trekker, photographer and a memorabilia collector but a graphic designer by profession. His adventure travelogues have been published in Indian Mountaineer and many online journals. He is the author of several books in Hindi and English.

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