Around 12.30 pm on April 28, we were about to go for Friday prayers at the nearby mosque when the phone rang. Looking at the caller ID screen, I thought: "Ah, it's time to update ourselves with the latest political anecdote."

The number on the screen belonged to none other than the 'talkative man'.

Even as a not-so-old family friend, we have grown accustomed to receiving his calls every now and then from time immemorial. But my father, who answered the call, hung up after barely a minute. It must have been the shortest telephone conversation between him and the talkative man.

Soon, I was to be told that the man at the other end was the talkative man's son, who called to inform that his father had just passed away. It then dawned upon me that there was no point waiting for the talkative man's analysis on this latest news so I decided to take it upon myself.

The talkative man, to borrow the title of a famous Indian novelist, the late R K Narayan, was none other than MGG Pillai.

In a way, one cannot help but see the similarities of both these writers, whose legacy, among others, was the art of thinning the borderline between fact and fiction, yet leaving their audience not to doubt their stories' credibility with a "just in case" feeling.

A factory

While Narayan was more well-known among literary circles for his simple story telling skills, Pillai will be remembered for his anecdotal political writings, through his articles churned out at great speed whenever an event took place. Indeed, Pillai was a factory, and there was seldom an incident in the country passing without Pillai adding his analysis and, more of often than not, conspiracy theory.

But the seasoned MGG reader knows that his commentaries on political happenings in the country, however strange they sound (or had sounded), seem true and certainly worth consideration.

If Westminster, which some of our opposition activists have been wont of imitating, had a political tradition called a 'shadow state funeral', Pillai would be the first to deserve such a ceremony in Malaysia. It would have attracted all the opposition leaders, both the intellectually inclined, as well as the coffee shop variety, who have benefitted greatly from Pillai's political insight, or if you like, prophecies.

Pillai was best known for his articles on the internet, but his countless analyses which followed the Anwar Ibrahim saga, published first in PAS' mouthpiece Harakah as well as in Malaysiakini and other websites, would now be treasured not only for the punch with which he argued his claims, but for the historical insights which he dropped between the lines.

Every writer knows that even Oscar Wilde needed his writings to be corrected and edited or 'subbed'.

As the person responsible for publishing the English section of Harakah at the peak of its circulation, I had the honour of being one of those who had to 'sub' Pillai's articles. Other than the usual grammatical errors that every thinker commits once in while, one is left with doing little else, except to memorise the phrases he coined in his articles to be plagiarised one day.

One of his most famous inventions, of course is 'Bolehland', a term which he began to use long before many so-called political writers (with the bent to write for the sake of writing), borrowed it as their own, overusing it to the point of it being reduced to a jargon.

An enigma

Pillai means different things for different people. But for everyone, Pillai is like a milking cow full of analyses and theories, its teats lactating with viewpoints and opinions to provide sustenance to the hungry politician, ever looking for a battle cry to show his or her worth.

But despite the clearness in his thoughts and analyses, and the force in which he espoused them, the 'talkative man' remains an enigma. What sort of idealism did he hold? Which side of the fence did he lean?

These are questions that can never be answered even when one joined him for a few cups of black coffee that he used to request as grease to prolong his political anecdotes sessions. Not all of his theories have been proven, yet none of his theories have been disproved either.

When in early August 1998, he turned up for coffee at our house and informed us that "Anwar (Ibrahim, the then deputy premier) is gone and he will be arrested", we laughed it off. A month later, Pillai came for coffee happily eating the murukus we served, while we sat there eating our words.

He was wont to say something to this effect, during many a conversation whenever he visited our home, "I have always been in the opposition and will always be in the camp opposing the government, even when the present government becomes one".

I remember the day he was first spotted with a mobile phone. "Every crook should have one," he said. Although a man who exploited the internet technology to its full, one had not seen him with something as remotely 'techy' as a handphone.

Simple man

Then again, this is just one example of his worldview, reflected not only in his commentaries and political views, but also in the simple home he stayed, the clothes and sandals he wore, and the old continental car he drove. We used to joke that so leftist the man was that even the car he once owned for so long was a left-hand drive, until he sold it for an old Saab.

It was because of his choice of simple things in life and the fact that he was contented with this simplicity that he could afford to indulge in the rare luxury of using his pen at will and dared to become however libelous, preposterous or in the same parlance, truthful.

That he was a pioneer of internet political discussion in Malaysia is no longer arguable. Long before the palm oil estates of Cyberjaya were turned into a little Euro-Japanese colony, Pillai launched his Sang Kancil discussion group with the help of a friend based in Australia.

It was he who first gave me the idea to start a webzine called Muslimedia, taking the name of a magazine on current affairs from a Muslim point of view banned by the Malaysian government in 1994.

Pillai's hidden hand behind every editor will be sorely missed. Many editors will now tell you that there had been times when Pillai was the scribe of anonymous articles, sometimes directly, and sometime indirectly, quoting him from the many talkative sessions. Editors might sometimes ask him to use a pseudonym, not because he was afraid of the repercussion, but because of the glut in the number of articles he had written that would have shamed the other writers.

And yet, despite the quantity, the quality of his articles was rarely undermined. They tackled subjects as silly as a tycoon's divorce suit to the history of the Acehnese struggle, from water issues to Bush meddling in the Middle East. He was not interested in payment for what he wrote anymore than he was for recognition for his original ideas. Perhaps all he ever needed was to take care of his internet bills and pay the rent for his modest flat in Brickfields.

When recently, the Harakah management decided to slash his fixed allowance they had been paying him since the last few years to just a paltry RM90 for each article similar to the other average writers, he politely told them to keep it. He had no ill feeling towards others and even the most dictatorial of politicians would fall victim to his tinge of sarcasm and comical phrases.

Hours after he had breathed his last, his coffin lied in his home. Stacks of his books can be seen scattered in one of the adjoining rooms a trademark of his for which his wife always complained.

His thick glasses were still on him. I stood there looking at him as if waiting for a cheeky grin on his face like he always used to as a prelude to his next conspiracy theory. But alas, he was no more there, only his vast body and his big heart were there, his soul departed to his Creator.

Farewell, talkative man. From Him we come, and unto Him is our return.