Carran Tikaram

Good evening

We gather here tonight to honor the life of Suresh —a brother whose quiet strength, kindness, and devotion to family became the bedrock of our lives. Though he was never one to seek the spotlight, his absence today somehow fills this room with a weight only love and legacy can explain.

Suresh, or Quarter as so many knew him,  left us last Wednesday at 69, a number that now feels scarred into our family’s story. Just over a year ago, our brother Ricky, too, departed at 69—a bittersweet symmetry that reminds us how fragile, yet how stubbornly beautiful, the story of family can be.

Born under Guyanese skies, Suresh was one of nine siblings—five brothers and four sisters—in a fiercely close-knit family that weathered distance, migration, and time.
After settling in the United States, he became a quiet anchor of dedication to those he loved.

If i am to describe Suresh in one word it would be kindness. And pushed to find another, it would be humility. He was always ready to lend a hand, a steady voice on the phone, and the keeper of connections. To his sisters, he was a daily ritual—a call, a laugh, a complaint, a reassurance that they were never alone. To his brothers, he was a silent force, a man who spoke less and did more. His love was not in grand gestures, but in the constancy of his presence.

In Guyana, he was renowned for his mastery of the hy-mac excavator, he shaped the land with the same care he devoted to his family. Villagers knew him not for his words, but for his work ethic—strong, precise, and dependable. Yet beneath that quiet exterior burned a fiery devotion to his siblings, parents, and extended family. He was a man who bore his pains quietly, while always inquiring into the well-being of those around him.

Suresh life was a testament to the power of quiet love and humility. He leaves behind a fractured but resilient family, who will forever remember his gentle spirit, and the way he turned ordinary moments into close, nice and simple  bonds. His passing leaves a silence that echoes—a reminder to cherish the unspoken words, the daily calls, the comforting words, discussing aches and pains, all with love.

Tom Campbell said: “To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.” But Suresh, you never truly left. You’re in every call we still make, every quiet act of care you undertook.

So rest now, Quarter. Your hands have earned their peace. Somewhere beyond the horizon, you’re back in Guyana’s soil, reunited with Ricky, Mom, Dad, and all who went before—no no migraines, no bad knees, no hurting neck,  just endless evenings of stories traded under a sky that remembers your name. We'll keep the line open.
Thank you.