Kirti Menon
Satish Dhupelia the leader of our trio and family is no more. Our hearts are broken. You held us all together knitting constantly so that we would be a family that fitted like a jersey: warm, safe and cuddly. I wish that death was not so permanent. I wish that I could see you in the skies, stars or the wind. What I see is that there is so much grief across your beloved Durban, your friends, comrades and family. There is also a celebration of your life. You would have had a quizzical expression on your face if you could see the obituaries, FB posts, trending on twitter and personal messages on radio and TV. You touched so many lives by your so natural art of living, loving and giving. Your personal suffering was so intensely private and well disguised that you were so annoyed on the day you went to hospital that you couldn't complete your FB post. Your magic tricks made us laugh during lockdown. You urged Misha and I to answer calls for you when you couldn't speak in case someone needed help or just a chat. Such immense bravery. I am left with zillions of crazy, zany and warm memories of you. Walks on the beach. Breakfasts. Your conversations with everyone. Strangers who became your friends. Your love for all things fried. Karaoke. Flying trips to JHB. Our trip to India where you documented everything with fascination. Long chats at night. Your early morning messages. And your deep, caring love. We were all special. I was the special JHB sister. Mum and dad said hold my hands. I will feel you always holding my hand. How do I count the ways in which we will miss you? How will we continue to keep those memories safely filed? Our nutty family group will be strong as you would want us to be. I wish we could stop the clock Captain oh my Captain.

Misha Dhupelia
It is near impossible to describe the loss in our life. For my dad was such a deep and meaningful joy to us and many others that words fall short of explaining. His kind of love had to be experienced to know it’s limitless and compassionate span. I have struggled to write this because he deserves more than I can say in a Facebook post. His is a life to fill the most captivating book. Each chapter a colourful story, peppered with nuanced characters; almost unbelievable experiences and a life lived so selflessly, that the Oxford dictionary should surely have his name next to it when one looks up the meaning. Growing up in Durban, there was no escaping being Satish Dhupelia’s daughter. A name that meant so much to so many. For you it may have been the jokes he shared, the good morning messages, the points to ponder, the deliveries of hampers, a karaoke night out, hot bhajias and chai, or someone you could call on no matter your need. He was everyone’s best friend. For us, he was everything good in our life. Number 1 on my speed dial. Leader of the Nutty Nuclears. A Sunday walk on the beach. Fried mealies at the amphimarket. A hearty laugh. A mildly out of key song being sung at high volume in the car. Complicated pizza orders. A nap almost anywhere. He was unparalleled as our dad. He gave us a life more magical than Harry Potter could dream. More comedic than Mr Bean. More cultured than any religion. More thrilling than a John Grisham novel. More love than a million Valentine’s Day. I’m glad I got to spend this last month with you dad. In your service as you were to others. Your life was your message, and while I can’t fill your shoes, I’m going to follow your footsteps. Rest easy Satty. You’ll be in every moment. With love from your favourite number 1 daughter.

Shashika Dhupelia
My dad has always seemed invincible. Which speaks directly to his super hero like qualities - he’d rush to the rescue of any human or animal in need, without a second thought. It’s impossible to encapsulate 33 years of memories with him into one post, but I’m so grateful for the bond we shared ♥️ I promise we’ll feed the birds every day for you, Dad.

Kabir Dhupelia
Before my dad was sick, he was a daily visitor of the beach. He absolutely loved it, and believed that it’s magic could cure anything. A bad mood? Walk on the beach. Gout? Walk on the beach. A staple with my dad’s visit to the beach was a picture like this (mine does not do justice), showing off the sunrise, always accompanied by a motivational quote, a funny joke or just a simple “good morning”. He would always snap a few extra photos, to stash for the rainy days where he’d swap the beach walk for a walk in a shopping mall, but still accompanied by a photo with a good morning wish. This kind of behaviour exemplified my dad. Even in his days in hospital, he would make sure to post a message on Facebook, and send us a voice note to our family group, assuring us that he was okay. He was a man who had room for everyone in his life, especially those less fortunate than him. On a typical day, when we spoke after work, my dads account of his day included something like, “I went to give out hampers today” or “there’s an animal shelter who didn’t have a Facebook page so I went to take photos of their animals and create one”. One of the aspects of his life that always puzzled me was the number of committees he was a part of. There were the standard ones like the 1860 heritage foundation, the Phoenix settlement trust and the Sherwood CPF. But then there were the ones that seemingly came out of the blue like the Crematorium, the Amphimarket and the South African traders association. Regardless of whether I thought they were random, he put all of his time and effort into these, because he could see the impact it had on people. He was larger than life, and the sheer number of messages, posts, articles and phone calls is a testament to the number of lives he touched. He’ll live on forever through the impact he had on the world, but I’ll still always miss him. Rest in peace dad. Love, your son your son.

Sapna Mesthrie
Satish Mama was our leader and anchor and spectacular uncle, father and brother. Losing him has left a large, visible gap in our small family unit. He made the world a kinder and more joyful place to be. He taught us to choose to be kind and to love each other. He always took a genuine interest in other people’s lives - their struggles and accomplishments - and was always there to cheer me on or to provide support when needed. Everyone says their uncle was the best, but mine truly was. We will carry a bit of you in each of us and if we try to emulate just one of your attributes, it will make the world a kinder place.

Asha Ramgobin

Satishbhai was my Mum’s first nephew, our cousin and Nikhil and Mira’s uncle. He was the eldest boy among us grandchildren. The eldest boy but he was no patriarch. Instead he was the brother who was always beside us. The uncle who we could watch Paddington with. The nephew who fell into a food coma on my mother’s couch after a meal. He had a set place at our family table and since his passing, we keep that space free for him.

Satishbhai and Kathy were at the top of the list at our family birthday celebrations. He was there during times of distress, at our Dad’s funeral, there to pick us up or drop us off at the airport, there to encourage us to wake up early and join him on his morning meditations at the beach. To just sit and share life’s joys and sorrows. Always there.

Two memories stand out for me: After we (My Mum, my sister Arti, nephew Nikhil, niece Mira, Satishbhai and I) watched Paddington at the movies in Musgrave Centre, we went down to the Spur and ordered toast with marmalade and tea. They didn’t get this. Satishbhai explained how important it was and in the end, after a little wait - we were enjoying marmalade sandwiches and sharing our favourite scenes from the movie.

I had been in Durban for some time and longed for a toasted cheese and sweetcorn sandwich. All of the usual places stopped making them. I called Satishbhai for his suggestion. He made a few calls and then phoned to say it’s sorted.... Mum and I drove to him, picked him up, went to pick up the sandwiches and drove to Umdloti beach. We sat together and chatted while I ate the sandwich. Mum and Satishbhai were not hungry and did all this just for me.

I only hope and pray that we were there for him when he needed us. God knows that in these last months we did not see him and could not be there physically, but he was in our hearts. And in our prayers.

I am so glad I got to visit him on his birthday this year. I could never imagine that that would be the last time I would see him or hear him.

It was not easy for him to speak without coughing but towards the end of our visit he was able to share a story. At the end of which his message to me was: “Its crazy - one minute you’re walking around like normal and next minute it’s a struggle to get to the bathroom to brush your teeth.”

These were his last few words to me. They reminded me not to take anything or anyone for granted. That everything could change in a heartbeat. That every moment and every person is precious. That being present, attentive and compassionate is the most important. I cherish this memory. I cherish my cousin and know that he will always always be with us.

During that visit his precious doggy friend, Bella, bonded with us so deeply. Almost like she asked us to sort out this situation with her human friend.

Yesterday (the first day of Advent, 29 November 2020) Bella jumped into our car and we took her for a little excursion to the beach. My Mum said it was as though she expected us to take her to Satishbhai and was sad when she realised that that was not going to happen. We played a Leonard Cohen CD and her ears pricked up at first but then again she was subdued. If only we could help her in her distress.

We cannot take away anyone’s pain - not for Bella or for anyone else. But to the extent that we can be there, sitting beside you and with you, we will. Even if it is to just sit together in silence or to watch TV together. These were my last words to Satishbhai. Now we meet him in Bella, at the beach, but also each time we sit down to eat.... his place at our table is reserved.