A tireless crusader for what was right, Mr Cowasjee stepped on a lot of toes, did not mince his words, and made many a powerful man and woman squirm. Yet, under the sometimes abrasive surface, he was as kind and caring as a human being could be. And although he cared little to promote these latter aspects of his character, I was fortunate enough to experience them firsthand not once, but twice.

Having never met him in person, and knowing him only from his impressive writings and charismatic appearances at public events, I once picked up the phone impulsively to speak with him about a matter that was troubling me personally. He listened to me for about two minutes only to interrupt me by asking, “Are you an educated lady?” When I responded that I was indeed, he snapped, “Then why are you surprised over all that is wrong? You ought to be surprised when all is right.” He also added that I could visit him if I wished.

Not one to let such an opportunity pass, my husband and I duly went over. Mr Cowasjee listened carefully and did not respond extensively, except to tell us precisely what to do and how to go about doing it.

He then walked us to his gate where he turned to my husband and inquired, “Are you telling me the truth?” “Yes, Sir”, replied my husband. He proceeded to study my husband from top to bottom thoroughly, and finally remarked cheerfully, “Any man who does not dye his hair or wear heels, I trust him.”

His advice helped see us through our personal crisis; a crisis near which even angels would have feared to tread. A complete stranger had held our hands and led us to shore at a time we feared we would flounder in this sea of troubles.

On another occasion, whilst visiting home from college in the US, my daughter expressed the desire to meet Mr Cowasjee. Like me, she had become an avid online reader of his articles. I took both her and her younger sister to Mr Cowasjee’s residence on a whim. Upon reaching his house we sent him a note requesting his company. Within minutes we were ushered in and welcomed by the man himself. The fact that he was still in his pajama suit seemed to matter little to him as he advised my daughter that if she wanted to help Pakistan she should do so through the cause of education, but only via bonafide NGOs and never the government itself.

When both my daughters expressed the wish to be photographed with him, he obliged ever so charmingly, but not without excusing himself for a few minutes to change into his signature toga first.

Both my daughters are teachers today.

If Mr Cowasjee remembered me from our previous meeting, he gave no indication of it. Whether this was intentional or he had genuinely forgotten about it left me sure of one thing; that he spent his life helping those he felt deserved it sincerely and he did so spontaneously, without any forethought or much afterthought. He did not intervene as if to do one a favour; he offered his guidance as a show of duty to the larger good. The happiness and respect of his fellow citizens was of paramount importance to him, irrespective of their social, religious, or cultural background. All he valued was an individual's humanity and ethics. His daughter upheld these very values, allowing any and all to offer their final goodbye to him personally.

Yes, he later developed into a crusty cynic; watching his country rot and depart appallingly from the very ideals it was founded on. Still, even in this state, he fought defiantly and spoke boldly on behalf of us all. He never stopped dreaming that a new day would dawn, hoping we would soon learn the lesson behind this famous saying:

“First they came for the Jews, and I didn’t speak out — because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for the Communists, and I did not speak out — because I was not a Communist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out — because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak for me.”

— Pastor Martin Niemoller (1892-1984)

Such words could have been Mr Cowasjee’s very own.