There are many stories of adventure that Kishie initiated, but let one suffice.

Living in the US I brought some friends to visit India. Being summer, Kishie suggested and made arrangements to take us up through the Rohtang 13,000 ft. Pass into the Spiti Valley. What is amazing, he took us in a 9 seater giant Army vehicle, left over from WW2. There the Spiti valley road had to be blasted with dynamite, as we were first into the pass. While there, a few days later we met the Dalai Llama’s entourage going to Leh!

A lover of adventure, a risk taker; a world traveler; a distinguished handsome man; a great lover of everything on wheels; a wonderful raconteur; a man of inimitable wit and charm, with an unmatchable sense of humor, we will miss Kishie.

Here is a poem by Auden, to express my feelings:

Funeral Blues
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message ‘He is Dead’.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Kishie’s spirit will not rest; it will soar in the Cosmos with the Guru’s Hawk.

Inderjit (I.J.) Singh – Lefroy (1948-1956)