Later Years and Death
After retirement, Miranda lived in his ancestral home, at Loutolim, a village in Salcete, Goa, with his wife, younger son and their pets. This house features in the 1985 Shyam Benegal film, Trikaal. Even after he retired, Miranda's work was seen regularly in Mumbai publications, and he was invited to travel to countries such as Mauritius and Spain, and draw their local cultures. On 11 December 2011, Mario Miranda died of natural causes at his home in Loutolim.His funeral was held on 12/12/11 at Loutulim Saviour of the World Church, where the family choir of Miguel Cotta, rendered for the first time Andrew Lloyd-Webber's version of Pie Jesu. Mario's body was then taken to the Hindu Crematorium in Pagifond, Margao, where he was cremated, thus fulfilling his wish, according to his wife.
Miranda was awarded a posthumous Padma Vibhushan in 2012.
Indian cartoonist Graphi and fine artist, Vijay N Seth (Vins) paid tribute to Miranda, whom he considered as a mentor:
With pen & ink that were at his command to churn out lines that every nib would be jealous of, he brushed aside the old school of cartooning using the brush, and set a new norm to use the nib pen and to master it for this branch of art.Mario created characters that gave his daily audience their quota of a smile without malice. His trips around the globe produced subtle close observations of the local musings – a fitting example of how far can one stretch the parameters of this branch of neglected art.
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Famous quotes containing the words years and/or death:
“I have started to say
“A quarter of a century”
Or “thirty years back”
About my own life.”
—Philip Larkin (1922–1986)
“But, when nothing subsists from a distant past, after the death of others, after the destruction of objects, only the senses of smell and taste, weaker but more enduring, more intangible, more persistent, more faithful, continue for a long time, like souls, to remember, to wait, to hope, on the ruins of all the rest, to bring without flinching, on their nearly impalpable droplet, the immense edifice of memory.”
—Marcel Proust (1871–1922)