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I thought only Parsi bawas were eccentric, but I was wrong. Eccentrics are to be found everywhere. One Aussie character always addressed me as "Villain,” and I often wondered why. I have lived in Australia long enough to realize that Aussies are good at contrast nicknaming, calling a tall man "Tiny” or a polite person "Rowdy.” Still, Norm Cantrell’s nickname for me was baffling as I have never claimed to be a hero.
Norm — I called him Nariman, as he resembled a Parsi and ate like one! — worked in a laboratory in Sydney where I carried out my scientific research. He prepared and filtered growth media to culture bacteria and was in charge of sterilization. Most of the time, however, he was on the phone, advising people on the purchase and sale of cars. He was passionately fond of vintage cars, owning four. He would buy ancient, doddery, no-good jari-puranawalla (itinerant junk dealer) cars at throwaway prices and repair as also polish them, converting them from low price ones to priceless vehicles.
At work he was not popular, especially with his supervisor, who resented Norm being on the phone rather near the autoclave most of the time. We got on very well, though. Norm would tell me jokes starting with, "Eh Villain, have you heard this before?” I had problems understanding his strong Aussie accent but rather than say "Beg your pardon?” repeatedly, I would smile when he guffawed "Ha, ha, ho, ho.” Norm had black hair and a flowing moustache which ate up some of his food and most of his words. In summer he wore short pants to work.
  Once he came to me all smiles. "Want to keep a secret, Villain? I’m getting married.” This surprised me as he was 55, and not fond of girls.           
"Getting married to your Packard car, Nariman?” I joked.           
"I like that one Villain, very funny,” Norm laughed heartily. "I like you calling me Nariman; it makes me feel like a real he man.” Soon he announced the news of his engagement by bringing a huge chocolate cake to work at tea time. Next to vintage cars he loved chocolate cakes the most.
 He got married the following month and could talk of nothing but his wife. For once his Packard, Chrysler, Oldsmobile and Studebaker cars were pushed into the background. The euphoria did not last long, however. He was still in love with his wife but detested her five-year-old daughter from the previous marriage. When asked what he was getting his step-daughter for Christmas, he retorted, "A chair, an electric chair!”
It was all over within a year and no one was surprised or even bothered. We had other things on our mind. There was talk of our laboratory closing down. Norm was away from work for a while with severe back pain troubling him. His colleagues smiled knowingly. "He’s smart. He is using up his sick leave before the place closes down.”
Even when he was operated for a slipped disc manipulation, the cynics said with a smile, "You can’t prove whether back pain is genuine or not. But a compo (compensation) a few years before retirement would come in handy.” Such remarks from my colleagues infuriated me as Norm was an honest person. I visited him at the hospital. "How’s work, Villain, everyone missing me? Ho, ho, ho!”
 His back problem was cured, but he developed a brain tumor.
 "Inoperable brain tumor,” Sally, his good friend and the office stenographer, said. Even the cynics were convinced and sad. "He won’t live long,” she told us the following week. "He has stopped recognizing people, full stop.”
My research colleague Andy and I were hesitant, but picked up courage to visit him a few days later. At first we were unable to recognize him. His hair had turned white, the result of intensive chemotherapy. On his nearly bald pate had grown a tumor about two cms high. It looked horrible. Andy and I exchanged glances, wondering who should start the conversation.
To our amazement, Norm started talking. "Guess who’s here – Randy Andy and the Villain himself!” We could have cried with joy. His memory returned in a torrent. He asked about every one and enumerated his vintage cars. He then started telling jokes.
"Don’t you laugh, Villain. You never understood any of my jokes but were too polite to hurt my feelings. You laughed only to please me, you VILLAIN! Ha, ha, ho, ho!” The matron appeared as amazed as we were at Norm’s sudden improvement. Had he turned the corner?
Not so. He died 10 days later. It was an unusual funeral. As per his wishes, his vintage cars were parked in the churchyard where he was to be buried.