Next week, it will be a year to the most beloved film critic Rashid Irani’s demise. What perturbed me was that the papers reported he “most likely” passed away on July 30, at home! Rashid lived alone among his 5,000 books and movies for much of his adult life—and died alone. A Parsi, he was a partner of Brabourne Restaurant, an Irani restaurant across the street in Dhobi Talao, South Mumbai—and was usually found at its cash counter by day. Cinema and books were his passion, and he wrote some of the finest film reviews by an Indian critic. He was a regular at the Press Club, and when he didn’t turn up for some days, his friends got worried. The police broke down his door and found his body, thus the “most likely” date of his demise was an estimate.

The other day, a lovely college friend, Deepa Soman, invited me to catch up with Father Terence Quadros, who was the life and soul of college, at our alma mater, St Xavier’s College. Walking through Dhobi Talao to college, I remembered Rashid and our many addabazi sessions over languid beers at Brabourne Restaurant, with which his family had been associated since 1934. I walked up and down the street a few times, desperately looking for the restaurant, but couldn’t find it. There was Tahir Arms Stores, TG Sports, Vinayak Digital Print, but no Brabourne. Yahan ek Irani hotel tha, kidhar hai? Rashid Irani, ek Parsi chalata tha, I asked frantically. Nahin hai, madam, naam kabhi nahin suna. Hum dus saal se hain. (Nobody I asked had even heard of him or the restaurant). I left heartbroken. (Later Rashid’s friend Rafeeq Ellias told me the Brabourne building was demolished). Sure, Rashid was a loner, but gosh, how quickly one can be erased from public memory—in your own neighbourhood.