15 years ago, I spoke the words that follow at my brother’s funeral. Now, more than ever, words are all we have.

“Anyone who knew both, Butch and me, would tell you we were as unlike each other as siblings can be. Chalk and cheese doesn’t quite capture the contrast. Fire and ice would be more accurate.

Though no one would ever accuse me of being sugar and spice and all things nice, Butch was definitely made up of frogs and snails and puppy-dogs tails, quite literally sometimes.

He was ever the swashbuckling, risk-taking, thrill-seeking, adventurous explorer in direct contrast to my cautious timidity. The lively, extroverted, sociable, warm, generous, friendly prankster who was the life of every party. I, his geeky, reclusive opposite.

His every arrival, from birth to his surprise visit to Mumbai a few weeks ago, was a whirlwind, a thunderstorm, a roller-coaster ride. In childhood our neighbours nicknamed him ‘The Earthquake’.

For Butch no mountain was ever too high, no river too wide, no gorge too deep, no animal too fierce, no challenge too great to plunge headlong into. Rules, for him, existed to be broken. If he could, he’d invent rules so that he could break them.

In Ruth, he found his true soul-mate and their marriage, the loss of their twins, Aidan and Julia, and the unbounded joy of Sarah, their daughter, utterly transformed him. The altogether too few years they had together were, without any doubt, his happiest ever.

He died, as he had lived - in the moment. A comet blazing through our lives. As late as the night of April 03rd, when he had a long conversation with Ruth and Sarah and met a friend for dinner there was no sign of the impending tragedy of April 04th, when he was, out of the blue, felled by a heart attack.

Although it’s been almost a week since he died and even looking at him lying here, it’s still hard to believe he’s gone. Hard to believe that so much energy, so much spirit could be extinguished so instantly, so prematurely, so completely. Can it be true that he will never again tease, torment, annoy, amuse, scare or surprise us?

Can it be true that we will never again see his eyes and smile and voice light up at the mere mention of his daughter Sarah? Never again have those interminable, vociferous arguments? Never see his crazy Daddy Longlegs dancing again? Never again join him in a raucous singalong?

Despite the grief and sorrow at his untimely passing, I for one, hope I can take some lessons from his life. To seize every moment. To always follow one’s heart and impulses. To give oneself totally to every relationship. To never despair or give up, even when the odds are daunting. To harbour no grudges or bitterness. And to keep one’s sense of humour and relentless optimism through it all.

Butch was never one for long goodbyes or sentimentality. That perhaps, is one of the few things we had in common. In fact if he saw me standing here trying to eulogise him he’d be doubled over in incredulous laughter. Nonetheless, I must, on behalf of Butch himself, his wife, Ruth, their daughter, Sarah, my mother, Mildred, my sister, Rhea, who because of her newborn baby could not make the long trip to be here today, the Rodrigues and Fernandes families and myself – thank each of you for being here today to celebrate his life and spirit.

To the many friends and family members, here and all over the world, who have provided support, comfort and help in such large measure this past week, and all through our lives – our deepest thanks. We could not have survived this without you.

To Father John, Msgr. Stanny, Fr. Joe and Felix Fleur and the choir - thank you for being here today to honour Butch’s life through this service.

But above all, and most especially, to his friend, John Mani, his wife Daksha, their colleagues in Dubai, and Ram, in particular, we will forever owe a debt of gratitude for taking complete responsibility for all the complex legal and logistical processes in Dubai this past week.

So long, Butch.

Thank you for lighting up all our lives.

You will be missed.

More than you could possibly imagine or words can say.

Except that now, more than ever, words are all we have.”