<p class="bodytext">A few months ago, when I heard that Pandit Rajeev Taranath had passed away, I travelled back in time. He was my professor at what is now the English and Foreign Languages University (EFLU) and was formerly the Central Institute of English and Foreign Languages (CIEFL) in Hyderabad.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Soon after I acquired my Master of Arts degree from Delhi University, I joined CIEFL to pursue a postgraduate course in English. Apart from my eagerness to advance academically, I was excited at the prospect of staying in a hostel. “Bliss was it that dawn to be alive, but to be young was very heaven,” declared 21-year-old Wordsworth, arriving in France at the start of the French Revolution. I was about that age and felt the same way when I landed in Hyderabad with books and baggage. There stretched before me a glorious year of intellectual enjoyment.</p>.<p class="bodytext">My linguistics and phonetics classes were interesting, but I avidly awaited the literature lectures. Dr Rajeev Taranath discoursed eloquently on the works of T S Eliot, his area of expertise. Just a few months earlier, I had been privileged to study that writer with another amazing academician. Dr Vinod Sena was visually impaired, but that did not detract from his brilliance, not least because he could recite Eliot’s poems with rare recourse to the printed word. As I listened with rapt attention to Dr Taranath, he encouraged me to share the insights I had previously gained in Delhi.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Dr Taranath, who came across as firm and forceful while teaching, was a congenial companion after college hours. He lived on campus and, in the evenings, he threw open his house to anyone who wished to hear him make music. I was not among those who availed of the invitation, but many of my fellow participants (as we were known at CIEFL) were regular visitors. They came back saying that they felt relaxed and refreshed after the sarod sessions.</p>.<p class="bodytext">There came a day when I needed solace. “Surya, your grades are falling,” said Dr Taranath gently. “What is troubling you?”<br />I explained my predicament and acted on the advice he gave me. Despite the immediate, unpleasant fallout, I was greatly relieved. Today, nearly half a century later, I remember with immense gratitude the wonderful human being who reached out to me at a critical juncture in my life: the maestro and my mentor, Dr Rajeev Taranath.</p>
<p class="bodytext">A few months ago, when I heard that Pandit Rajeev Taranath had passed away, I travelled back in time. He was my professor at what is now the English and Foreign Languages University (EFLU) and was formerly the Central Institute of English and Foreign Languages (CIEFL) in Hyderabad.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Soon after I acquired my Master of Arts degree from Delhi University, I joined CIEFL to pursue a postgraduate course in English. Apart from my eagerness to advance academically, I was excited at the prospect of staying in a hostel. “Bliss was it that dawn to be alive, but to be young was very heaven,” declared 21-year-old Wordsworth, arriving in France at the start of the French Revolution. I was about that age and felt the same way when I landed in Hyderabad with books and baggage. There stretched before me a glorious year of intellectual enjoyment.</p>.<p class="bodytext">My linguistics and phonetics classes were interesting, but I avidly awaited the literature lectures. Dr Rajeev Taranath discoursed eloquently on the works of T S Eliot, his area of expertise. Just a few months earlier, I had been privileged to study that writer with another amazing academician. Dr Vinod Sena was visually impaired, but that did not detract from his brilliance, not least because he could recite Eliot’s poems with rare recourse to the printed word. As I listened with rapt attention to Dr Taranath, he encouraged me to share the insights I had previously gained in Delhi.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Dr Taranath, who came across as firm and forceful while teaching, was a congenial companion after college hours. He lived on campus and, in the evenings, he threw open his house to anyone who wished to hear him make music. I was not among those who availed of the invitation, but many of my fellow participants (as we were known at CIEFL) were regular visitors. They came back saying that they felt relaxed and refreshed after the sarod sessions.</p>.<p class="bodytext">There came a day when I needed solace. “Surya, your grades are falling,” said Dr Taranath gently. “What is troubling you?”<br />I explained my predicament and acted on the advice he gave me. Despite the immediate, unpleasant fallout, I was greatly relieved. Today, nearly half a century later, I remember with immense gratitude the wonderful human being who reached out to me at a critical juncture in my life: the maestro and my mentor, Dr Rajeev Taranath.</p>
