Om

There was a moment in the room where someone said, “Any final words to say? You can each just say one word that comes to mind.” Silence filled the room until someone finally piped up: “Well, he was always the man with the words.” 

After a long pause, all I could add was, “Thank you, Om.”

Thank you, Om.

Thank you for being my closest friend. Thank you for letting me see the other side of you, the unfiltered version unseen in your public or online expression. 

Thanks for the early morning coffees, the late night conversations, the photos, the travels, the “Bro, I say-it-like-it-is.” Thank you for elevating my sense of style and taste. After all, life is short, so why settle for anything less than the best?

Someone asked me this week: How did Om and I even become friends all those years ago? Sometimes, I think he saw something in me that I didn’t see in myself. Perhaps it was because we both went through tough times simultaneously. Or, perhaps we were just two misfits who recognized some shared restlessness in one another. But, probably, it was that we were the only two who always opted for an espresso and a photo walk at six in the morning.

You knew him as the man at the center of Silicon Valley. He lived and breathed tech, and he wrote the “big words”: the one-to-many broadcast that defined an industry. He came across, in all the right ways, as the curmudgeon. He was the rare person in the Valley speaking truth to power, reminding everyone that those big-shot founders were just people like us, friends with whom we’d only recently traded ideas and dreams over group text.

But some of us were lucky to see the other side of Om: the small words. I envied his ability to walk into every store, every restaurant, every corner where someone already knew his name. Maybe his true platform wasn’t the one-to-many broadcast; maybe it was the close one-to-one connection of small words. He loved the makers: the writers, the artists, the tailors, the photographers, the builders, the restaurateurs, the philosophers and all sorts of misfits. He would get to know you, your kids, maybe take your picture, ask about your startup or shop and tell your story to the world.

And for these stories we are grateful: that’s what made him the man, the presence, the legend. 

I keep refreshing his blog, checking my inbox, waiting for a ping on messages. I would have loved to have had a last chat, a last Brunello, a last espresso, some last words. I can’t help but think he would have wanted to share some profound parting words.

But now it’s our turn to share: a photograph, an anecdote, a story about Om. For a man who spent most of his life writing about other people, it’ll finally be nice to read what other people write about him.

Thank you, Om.