Force and Grace

“ABHI KHAKE thokar sambhalne na paye
ki phir khayi thokar sambhalte sambhalte.
(We barely pick ourselves up from one blow, only to be struck down by another.)”

I was in Bhubaneswar when the call came. My sister, in Delhi, her voice heavier than I’ve ever heard it: “Pankaj has passed away.” I froze. “Who?” I asked, unwilling to understand. “Pankaj Sahni,” she said.

And my world dimmed.

Because how do you fathom the loss of someone so full of life? So vital, so kind, so fit, so gracious, so present? Barely in his 50s, yet already a giant in spirit—and just like that, gone.

He was my elder—my brother’s classmate, my brother’s best friend, my quiet protector in ways words can’t capture.

We went back decades, to Modern School, Vasant Vihar. Same bus, same mornings, same chatter. My brother was sports captain; Pankaj was his teammate, his classmate, his comrade. He was naughty, playful, popular—and he was kind.

That blessing stayed with me through life. Pankaj always treated me like a younger brother—with broad smiles, welcoming arms, warm words. Never too busy to check in, never too proud to help, never too distant to care.

And care he did—for so many of us.

In the art world, Pankaj was indispensable. Omnipresent yet understated. The man behind the masters, the force behind the scenes. When artists faltered, he held their hands. When collectors hesitated, he eased their doubts. When shows floundered, he picked them up and made them shine.

He was about to step into the light himself— this November at Art Mumbai, Pankaj was finally going to have his own booth under the banner of Artoholics, his passion project. His debut as the face of his own formidable reputation. But life, cruel and capricious, stole that joy from him— and from us.

Yet, anyone who knew Pankaj knew this: he never needed a spotlight to shine. He illuminated others. Like at Krishen Khanna’s centenary, where he ensured the great master’s work, health, and dignity stayed at the forefront of the celebration.

That was Pankaj. A sportsman’s strength, a patron’s vision, a brother’s heart.

At his son’s wedding in Goa, the entire Taj property seemed to glow—not from the chandeliers, but from his warmth. Everyone felt like family. Everyone belonged. Tall in height, taller still in character. Handsome outside, humble inside. Naughty in school, noble in life.

And now he’s gone.

Why is it always the good ones who leave too soon? Yet here’s what comforts me: Pankaj didn’t just live. He left a legacy. He leaves behind a loving wife, two wonderful children, a brotherhood of friends, a grateful circle of artists, collectors, patrons—all richer for having known him. He leaves behind not just paintings on walls but imprints on hearts.

We are left now with question marks. Shattered by the suddenness of his absence. But also, quietly, deeply, humbly—grateful.

Grateful that he was my brother’s classmate and best friend. Grateful that he let me, his junior, ride along in his world—from the back of the school bus to the frontlines of the art world. Grateful that he never stopped treating me like family.

Pankaj Sahni was the kind of man who makes you believe that kindness still wins. That grace still matters. That loyalty still lasts.

And so even though his hands are no longer here to hold us steady, his spirit is. His laughter still echoes on that school bus. His quiet confidence still steadies the galleries he helped build. We’ve lost him too soon. But legends like Pankaj never really leave.

They stay—in art. In hearts. Forever Farewell, my brother. You were loved. You are missed. You remain.

artistArtoholicskindnessModern SchoolPankaj SahniVasant Vihar