It was only when he spoke that I recognised the man. The unmistakably crisp voice that once boomed in the halls of Government College, Lahore; a voice that never failed to gather audience and always commanded respect. The voice of Professor R.A. Khan.

But the professor looked so frail lying on the hospital bed. With an unshaven face and dishevelled hair he was dressed in the loose hospital garb that looked clumsy at best. A stark contrast of the elegant man he always was. Prim and proper, one would say.

He had recently suffered a heart attack, his second one, and his body was desperately trying to stage a fight-back. You could see that even breathing was an effort, yet he spoke so reassuringly that I thought maybe, just maybe, he will make it after all.

"It was a close call. You know they had to put me on a ventilator," he informed me.

And I had responded gawkily by telling him that he had dodged the angel of death once again.

But he did not. About a month later, on July 30, 2016, I received the dreaded call from his son. The man was no more.

Dr Asim, his son who had done all that was expected of him to save his father’s life, told me that the agony was just too much for everybody to bear.

"He never had any respite since your visit," he said, filling me with an unexplainable guilt. I should have visited him more often. But I didn’t. And now he was gone.

So how do I eulogise the man? I didn’t have any lifelong association with the late professor and, therefore, have no intimate tales of the man to narrate. He never taught me, hence I cannot expound on what a marvellous teacher of English Literature he was, which though he was if we go by what his students had to say about his teaching methods. I never read his articles, which popped up now and then in English dailies, and so I cannot write a critique on his writings. I barely knew the man.

Save for a few forgetful encounters with the then Vice Principal of the Government College, Lahore, I never really met the man till he was into his seventies. But when I did, there was no room for flight.

It seemed that he had singled me out. As if his grey eyes had zoomed in on me to be his favourite pastime for the remainder of his life. Well! At least that’s what I thought in the beginning. Why does he always barge in when I am at my busiest in my office at the bank? Why does he always insist on a cup of tea? Why not just collect your pension and be done with it?

But after a few visits the canny professor had me eating out of the palms of his hands. He ensnared me by feigning interest in what interested me. So, I liked reading? What was it that I was presently reading? Erich Segal? A very good writer. Not far behind Shakespeare who, by the way, he used to teach at GC. (Oh, I was never a student of English Literature at GC!)

Political Science? Interesting subject. Again, oh! I have also dabbled in journalism. He also went the length of praising a very ordinary piece that I had once penned.

Now his visits were awaited and his company cherished. Tea was deemed too little a price for an hour with the professor. Our chats covered a myriad of topics: from politics to sports, from history to music and what not. We left no avenue untouched. But somehow our discussions always drifted to and then rested upon the Government College, Lahore, his companion for more than four decades.

He would talk of peers, his teachers, his students and the societies he headed. The Oval, the Tower, the Amphitheatre, the Scholar’s Garden -- all featured somewhere in his reminiscences. Yes, indeed, even the talk of GC gave him pleasure, though he hated the suffix "university" that is nowadays attached with it.

His frankness was infectious. Soon I noted people just hanging around a little longer to hear him speak. They were not in a hurry to get a document signed, all too eager to have a chat with him. And more often than not, he obliged. Talking to them in his trademark engaging manner and listening intently to whatever views they had to offer. Always giving respect and in return earning a heap full.

Sometimes I even stumbled upon my office boy having a tête-à-tête with the learned man.

And, that’s how I remember my dear friend. Honest, upright and frank. No fancy adjectives for the Professor. He would have hated them any way.