ASIAN JOURNAL OF PHYSICS

          One day, shortly after the Durga Puja vacations, Prof Khastgir invited me to visit him at his home that evening. I was flattered: here was a respected professor inviting an undergraduate student to partake refreshments with him, that too at his home. I had never been to a professor's home before. Surely, it must be different from my parents', neither of whom was a professor. What wonderful treasures must exist in a professor's home?

          The evening was magical. I remember arriving a few minutes earlier than the planned 6 pm. The door of the house (New G 13, Hyderabad Colony, BHU) was open. I entered a drawing room with a sofa, a divan, a couple of chairs, a cabinet of curios, and two sets of shelves replete with books. Some books were piled on the floor as well. The titles of the books were fascinating. They ranged from physics to philosophy to literary criticism. Most were in English, but I spotted a few in Hindi and Bangla as well. A young child came from another door into the room. I told him that I had come to see Prof Khastgir. He asked me to sit down. "Baba would be along shortly."

          Prof  Khastgir came out in a few minutes, dressed in the same clothes in which he had taught me earlier in the day. After some pleasantries had been exchanged, he enquired about my hostel accommodations and my family, and then asked me if, while living in Lucknow, I had ever taken any interest in kathak, thumri, and dadra. No I had not, I replied, I knew nothing about Hindustani classical music. So he enquired about my taste in Western classical music. Sadly, I knew nothing about Beethoven, Mozart, and Bach either.

          Just about then, before our conversation could pall (I thought), someone else came to the house, and then a third person. Within a few minutes, the drawing room was full of students chattering about music, literature, and even some politics. I was fascinated. So, this is what a salon must be, I thought.

          Prof. Khastgir presided at this salon. Actually, "presided" is too authoritarian a word for him. He merely "guided" any conversation that had petered into silence, From time to time, someone would appeal to his authority, and he would provide his view. Mrs  Khastgir would send copious amounts of tea to lubricate the conversations. Some savories also were supplied occasionally. But most people were interested mostly in conversations. Around 9 pm, the drawing room emptied.

          Well, I became a regular visitor to his salons for the remaining two years and a half of my studentship at IT. Often we would sit in Prof  Khastgir's drawing room, sipping cups of tea; but sometimes a few of us would sally forth for a long walk with him under the mango trees. I met students and professors from diverse BHU colleges. We discussed the metaphysical writings of Henri Poincaré and the foibles of the English upper class as described hilariously by P G Wodehouse. Occasionally, someone would bring over a gramophone. I came to love Harry Belafonte, especially Jamaica Farewell ("Down the way where the nights are gay/ And the sun shines daily on the mountain top") and Banana Boat ("Come, Mr Tally Man, tally me banana/ Daylight come and we wanna go home"). I discovered the mellifluous voice of Jagjit Singh, and Amir Meenai's ghazal "Saraktii jaai hai rukh se naqaab aahistaa aahistaa" became my favorite. I became convinced that science, mathematics, and engineering must be accorded the status of liberal arts. I came to appreciate Bimal Mitra and Sharat Chandra Chattopadhyay more than Rabindra Nath Tagore, despite the efforts to the contrary of several regulars at the salons. In short, impressionable as I must then have been, Prof Khastgir's simple invitation one day ended up molding my intellectual consciousness and my ways of interacting with the world. What a great gift my mentor gave me!

          I left IT mid-1979 and India soon thereafter. In Salt Lake City, Utah and later in State College, Pennsylvania, I would often think of Prof Khastgir. Communications in those days were not as easy as nowadays. I also had a research and teaching career to develop. My contact with Prof Khastgir dried up.

          Then in December 1990,1 visited the Electronics Engineering Department in IT. Prof Khastgir came to attend my seminar. We spent a few minutes together afterwards. He was still his jolly self. Apart from arthritis and sundry other ailments, he informed me that he was very well indeed. Two years later, I was fortunate to spend a week delivering a short course on electromagnetics and optics in the Applied Physics Department. He was then heading that department. Our discussions encompassed the extended boundary condition method, ever.isotropic chirality, Green functions, and much more. I also spent one evening at his salon. It was as vibrant as ever

          In December 1995, 1 took my daughter, Natalya to IT for a short visit. Prof Khastgir made a point of regularly enquiring about her progress thereafter. We began to communicate by postal mail several times a year. Once in awhile, I would call him on the telephone from State College. Whenever I visited BHU, I would spend some time with him, until he retired to Chandan Nagar.

          I last spoke to him in February 2006, when I was visiting Pradip Jain in the Electronics Engineering Department. Prof Khastgir was in Chandan Nagar then. Although in great pain from his arthritis and suffering from diabetes and a handful of other medical problems, he sounded cheerful. Thus, the news of his demise a few months later was a shock, although I realized that it must have come as a blessing to him.

          How can one sum up the impact of a mentor? I can talk about him for hours, as my Wife, Mercedes will testify and then I fall silent because the only conversation that I can then have about Prof Khastgir is with myself. I know that he mentored several generations of IT students, but I still feel that all of his efforts were directed towards shaping me alone.