I met Anagha in August 2018 at NID Vijayawada.

She was in second year then, part of the group that always showed up way before time, present in all ways and eager to return to the studio the next day. This was my first time teaching and I couldn’t have asked for a better set of students to start that journey with.

In the four (and then another four) weeks that followed, I would get to know her brilliance and undying need for perfection well enough. She was reserved but not quiet. She was relentless in her pursuit to excellent work yet thoroughly grounded when it was done to her own high standards. She disagreed respectfully and was always up for conversations about the disagreements.

The image I remembered in full-resolution when I heard the news is of her—eyes framed in squarish black acrylic spectacles—and SJ standing in the corridor with ScotchBrite pads, taking a break from drawing large calligraphic letters on the floor to take stock of the fading strokes. She chose letters on wrought iron gates in Mangalagiri as a staring point to one of her type design exercises and had an absolute blast of a trip through the many small decisions to making a whole set of letters. For her movie poster for Ulidavaru Kandanthe, she tirelessly pasted together moire-patterned eyes from many newspaper-people to leave a gun-shaped hole at the centre. It was something that could have been short-cut to half the time if done wholly digitally but she chose the route that meant the most. This would become a running theme in her work.

Anagha passed away on 2nd of May in an accident somewhere between Bengaluru and Mysuru. I saw SS’s text the next day and could not respond for a while. R remembered Anagha as the person who had really nice work to show her GP jury (R was the external examiner for her final jury at AP). When you faced with a loss like this—unexpected, of someone much younger and so full of the stuff that puts the balance in ‘life-work,’ there is not much that rationalising and positive-thinking can do to help.

Then R and I met Anagha’s mother and younger brother two days later at their home in a quiet lane in the South of Bengaluru. It was near-impossible not to tear up in the presence of her mom. She did the humanly impossible job of keeping her composure, with the aged grace of someone who is worldly and wise. She spoke of a daughter who wanted to do the best with everything she wanted to. And she wanted to make and write a lot of things. She’d set her room up surrounding herself with work and books. They had been going to concerts and dance programs in Bengaluru since she quit her job three months ago. She was writing an article on her grandmother for Luru. She spoke of a daughter who was an ‘old soul’ and I couldn’t agree more.

She was an exemplary student. The kind that made better teachers out of rookies who were fuelled mostly by enthusiasm and a bit of anxiety. I believe she was—later—a great colleague and a great addition to the teams she worked with.

‘Rest’ is the thing that she hated the most, perhaps. We hope she finds peace.