Vik never once asked ‘why me?’. He leaned into life exactly as it was — concerts, football, bhajis on the beach, too many celebrity selfies, and countless witty posts online. He showed us all that SMA was not an end to living, but another way of living fully. Half mischief, half philosopher — always Vik. 

In his final years, Vik lived with three tools: his voice, his brain — and a stubborn refusal to be limited.

He filled life with concerts, comedy gigs, football, Marvel films, Stranger Things pop-ups, family bhajis on the beach, and endless photos proving he’d met someone famous. He worked at Vega and Ocado, made friends on pavements, and turned niche loves — Neighbours, Countdown — into instant connections.

Vik embraced the online world early, long before most. For him it wasn’t escape, but a bridge to the real world: emails, jokes, sharp insights — all typed unaided. Half mischief, half philosopher. Always worth reading, even when we winced.

He knew London’s ramps, lifts and bus routes. His wheelchair was steady while his body leaned to the left, elbow propped in that unmistakable Vik pose. For most of us, that chair was never seen empty — until now. That image stays with us.

Vik grew up with SMA in a time before today’s treatments. There was no hope of slowing or reversing the condition. He never once asked “why me?” or longed for an able-bodied life. He simply lived with SMA as it was — and showed younger generations that a full, joyful life was still possible.

The end came suddenly. On 23 June 2025, a chest infection seemed manageable; by 12 July he was gone. This speed is not uncommon with SMA. Families should know that even well-meaning hospital teams can struggle with the complexities of older adults with the condition.

One plea from our experience: have the hard conversations early. Record wishes clearly. Talk about intubation and tracheostomies. Put powers of attorney in place. It helps families, and it helps doctors act with confidence. Palliative teams can guide with compassion — ours was Becky. Vik’s parents, who cared for him for fifty years, knew his red lines by heart. Written records simply make it easier for everyone else.
Vik never saw himself as a victim. He lived with wit, courage, and a relentless appetite for life. When he comes to mind — whether at a football score or an old episode of Countdown — feel the sadness, but then try to hear the joke he would have made.

He’d want that.
Sonal (Vik’s cousin)