Every time Sankar rang me to discuss a translation, he would identify himself as Mani Shankar, conduct the conversation briskly, and disconnect the call as soon as the discussion had ended. Not for him the slow winding down of an exchange once the business at had had been dealt with.

On Friday, February 20, his death in Kolkata at the age of 92 followed the same rule. Arguably the most popular writer ever in the Bengali language – his 1962 novel Chowringhee gets a new edition regularly even today, more than 60 years later – Sankar had left word that he should be cremated without fuss or delays. Everyone was to be told, there was to be no waiting for anyone.

During most of those 92 years, though, Sankar loved telling long-drawn-out stories. And despite writing a string of hugely popular novels that have gone on to gain critical acclaim as well, he never made up any of them. Deprived of the chance of a formal, sheltered education by the early death of his father, and compelled to earn a living as a teenager to support his family, Sankar pounded the pavements of Calcutta in search of work, met, spoke to, and observed countless individuals,...

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