Steve's eulogy to Mo
Munjula Kumari Sharma - Munju to her family, Mo to her friends and colleagues from university onwards, and to me - died on Friday 22nd January, exactly one month after her 46th birthday. In what must be one of death's cruellest tricks, Mo - the youngest of four children - leaves behind her mother, Vimla, as well as her sister, Veena and her family, and her brothers, Sushil and Anil, and their families.
She also leaves behind her longest-standing and most constant friend, Claire, who was on holiday in India when she heard the sad news and who came back to join us today.
In the last few years Mo was increasingly dependent on a succession of 24-hour and hourly carers. Some of these, including those represented here today, cared far more than required by the job description, and we are grateful to them.
In addition to family and carers, and despite Mo having all but withdrawn from the world four years ago, the fact that there are people here today from university and from work, shows the affection she inspired and the high regard in which she was held.
If any of you are wondering about the tiger, Mo loved tigers. They are beautiful, strong, fiercely independent and self-willed - just like she was. Of course, they also eat meat but she was willing to overlook that, as she did with me.
I met Mo when she was 24 so what I know of her earlier life comes from what she, and friends and family, told me over the years.
She told me that, when she was first at secondary school, she was unhappy, unpopular and bullied. Being a young Indian girl in 70s Britain wasn't easy. Like many other things later in her life - whether work, family or leisure - she decided to tackle this head-on and developed a project plan to change things. By the time she left school she was deputy head girl, voted into the position by a legion of admirers.
Mo was never happier than when she was drinking and dancing. At college she claimed that it was the dancing that kept her from ballooning on a diet of lager and crisps. She loved - and repeatedly watched - Dirty Dancing, the movie. She obviously had a thing for Patrick Swayze, but it was the dancing that kept Dirty Dancing at number one on her playlist long after she had lost interest in other previously favoured films. Being prevented from dancing by MS was a far harsher blow than being prevented from walking, which she didn't much enjoy anyway.
Mo also loved travelling and she loved the sun and its heat. Together, we visited over 20 different countries, including Australia three times, living in the Netherlands for three years and a four-month 'World' Tour that included safaris in Tanzania, diving in The Maldives, tiger-spotting across central India, touring New Zealand and basking on a beach in Fiji. Things weren't easy as Mo was frequently in a wheelchair during the tour but she loved everything we did.
In the first tiger reserve we went to in India, Mo missed seeing the tigers because the guides in the reserve couldn't get her onto an elephant fast enough. When we moved to a different reserve there was a mistake in the booking and, without knowing it, we stayed at the wrong campsite. That evening we sat around the campfire with a BBC crew that was filming in the reserve and Mo told them what had happened. The next day, when the crew heard that Mo still hadn't seen a tiger, they took her back to the reserve after hours, and bribed the guards to let them take her in for a private audience with the tigress they had been filming. When Mo came back she was ecstatic. As well as being one of a number of fortuitous mistakes on our various trips, this was just one of many kindnesses shown to her when she was ill and I'd like to thank all the anonymous people who made things just that little bit easier for her along the way.
But it wasn't one way traffic: Mo was kind at heart and liked to help people in any way she could, most especially her mother and sister but many others too. She was something of an agony aunt to many people, and it was no accident that she was a first aider, so she could legitimately help other people, both at work and, on a couple of occasions, on the roads or in the streets. And if helping out meant that she could also take control of a situation, and project manage it, well all the better.
When it came to houseplants, Mo had the greenest of green fingers. She took a single stem of an umbrella plant and, with patience and encouragement, while the cuttings that others took failed to thrive or simply died, grew it into the monster that, decades-on, still dominated her living room. She did much the same with many other plants and a special requirement of the international removers that took us to the Netherlands and, three years later, brought us back to the UK was that they took extra special care of her plants or faced her wrath. Despite the plants' size and the difficulty of even getting some of them through doorways intact, the removers knew what was good for them and the plants thrived despite their international travels.
Mo also knew a thing or two about arts and crafts, and she had an eye for quality. She surrounded herself with beautiful objects made of wood, stone, pottery and glass, and with Monet pictures. We visited Monet's garden at Giverney, the cathedral at Rouen and galleries all over the world that contained Monets. But she also had less mainstream tastes. At a craft fair once, she fell in love with, and bought - for a not inconsiderable price - a ceramic pot from a relatively little known artist. Most people who saw it - me included - didn't see what was so special about it - especially when they heard the price. But that artist has since gone on to create major installations all over the world and his pieces sell for far more than the apparently high price she paid.
She was a keen photographer - in fact it's been difficult to find good pictures of her because she was so much happier behind the lens than she was in front of it. And she made her own art and crafts too: some jewellery for herself and people close to her, and some embroidery but most proudly the stained glass piece that you see at the end of the coffin.
But, frankly, all these leisure pursuits were just sidelines. While she was still up to it, Mo lived for her work. She took it seriously, worked hard, was smart, determined and assertive - and, as a result, was successful in a number of fields, including stock control, purchasing and - her personal favourite - bossing other people about ... sorry, I mean project management. Even when her MS meant that she had difficulty walking, she went into work and tottered about the office behind a rollator. And when things got worse she worked from home, wielding emails and phone calls with the same persuasive effect as meeting people face-to-face. She knew what she wanted and she usually knew how to get it.
And this clarity and determination continued outside of work as she became more disabled and had to rely on family and carers. Even when she was barely able to speak, she left people in absolutely no doubt as to what she did not like, did not want and would not accept, with a determined shake of the head or fiercely raised eyebrows!
But if this all sounds like a serious, single-minded, hard-working, sometimes stroppy individual, well partly that's true but Mo was also great fun. She loved a laugh and mostly chose to spend her time with people who could provide one.
It is customary on these occasions to say that the deceased battled valiantly against their illness, or triumphed over the obstacles put in their way, or achieved great things despite the limitations placed upon them. And some of this is true of Mo, especially in the early days of the disease. But it would be untrue to her memory not to be absolutely honest and also say she hated her condition. Mo liked to be in control and she liked to have a plan. MS took away that control and she often said it simply didn't fit the project plan for her life. As a result she found it almost impossible to come to any sort of terms with the disease. But you have to wonder how she could - or why she should - have come to terms with something that slowly but remorselessly robbed her of the ability to do all the things she loved ... with the obvious exception of watching TV of course.
Mo loved watching telly. She could vicariously satisfy her interests in cooking, antiques, bargain hunting, DIY, house restoration, Formula One racing ... or just kick back on a Sunday afternoon and wallow in a black and white film or a musical older than her. Cary Grant, Doris Day, James Stewart, Cary Grant, Frank Sinatra, Cary Grant ... you get the idea. Although she was a thoroughly modern woman, thrusting her way through a spiky modern world, part of her always belonged in a different, gentler time.
These have, necessarily, been personal reflections, highly selective and biased according to my experiences with and memories of Mo. I'm sure you all see her in your own way, based on your own experiences and memories and I'd like to ask you now to spend a minute in silence just thinking about your Mo or Munjula or Munju or Mausi.
...
Thank you.
I'd like to end by saying that Mo wouldn't have been at all happy if she thought that her funeral was an entirely melancholy and maudlin affair. What she would want to see is people drinking too much and dancing until they drop - and that's what I hope to do tonight. We'll also have photos of Mo and some of her favourite music. You'll hear from other members of her family and there will be an opportunity for anyone else who wants to speak about her. I hope you will feel able to join me and her family afterwards in really celebrating her life.