Not everyone who passes through our lives leaves a mark.
But you, PD? You didn’t just leave one - you named one.
It started back in the mid-90s in Park Sheraton, Chennai. The chaos of youth, the laughter of friendship, the unmistakable thump of a Royal Enfield Bullet - and your voice, cutting through it all with a half-sung, half-shouted:
“Adrrrrrun... Adrrrrrrun...”
Every time we rode out, there it was - that signature call as you fired up your Bullet. What started as a silly sound between friends slowly became Drun. And somehow, Drun became me.
A nickname so sticky, so natural, it outgrew the original.
A name my closest friends call me.
A name my family knows.
A name even I respond to more than my own.
Some names are chosen. Some are earned.
But the best ones? They’re gifted - wrapped in laughter, memory, and time.
Drun wasn’t just a sound.
It was a moment. A bond. A spark.
Maybe it was something you saw in me.
Or maybe it was just something that made you laugh.
Either way, you let it live - and in doing so, gave me an identity that’s stayed with me through decades, jobs, travels, and friendships.
Now, as you leave this world too soon, I find myself clinging to that name more than ever.
Because it holds more than just a memory - it holds the thought of you.
You may be gone soon, PD, but Drun lives on.
Loud. Silly. Full of life.
Just like you.
And every time someone asks me, “Why Drun?”, I’ll smile.
With pride. With love.
With a heart full of joy and just a little bit of ache.
Thank you for the name, PD.
Thank you for the good times.
For the wild rides.
For the countless laughs.
Until we meet again… ride free.
Rest in peace, my friend.
