Bhagwath Chandrasekhar over the decades.

Chandra's directions are a commentary on the state of the roads in Bangalore. "Turn left at the coffee shop," he tells me, and then, "drive on till you come to a huge pothole. Try not to fall in as you turn right. I'll be waiting for you." A few minutes later, he was waving me down outside the house he has lived in for 50 years. Chandra wears orthopaedic shoes, the legacy of a motor accident a quarter century ago that rendered him virtually immobile for months. He didn't need to come out; I am touched.

As we enter the house, I remember the many interesting places I have met Bhagwath Chandrasekhar over the decades. At a tailor's in Jayanagar, then a suburb (now definitely urb) in the late '60s. At a showing of the movie Jungle Book in Rex Theatre. At a civic reception following his triumphant return from the England tour of 1971 (I played the trombone in the welcoming brass band from my school). At the place I shared with a friend where he had dropped in to talk about his benefit match (he sat on a bed; my friend preserved a portion of the bed sheet!). And most startling of all, in a showcase at a Francis Bacon retrospective at Tate Britain in London. read more here