The
Passing of a Muslim Scientist
By Syed Amir, PhD
Bethesda, MD
Dr. Syed Virasat Shikoh Kashmiri
was an unusual scientist. Those who knew him as
one of the most pre-eminent immunologists and
research scientists among the Muslim community
in the United States often did not realize that
he was also an accomplished poet and literary
critic in Urdu. Sadly, Dr. Kashmiri died last
July, having lost a two-year battle with kidney
cancer. The large Pakistani-Indian community in
the Washington area continues to mourn his death.
He was a senior scientist and the group leader
at the Tumor Immunology Laboratory at the National
Cancer Institute, part of the National Institutes
of Health (NIH), the world’s largest research
organization. Before arriving at NIH in 1986,
he had been an associate professor at the University
of Pennsylvania. During his tenure at NIH, he
represented the organization and his own Institute
at various scientific forums around the world,
where he was invited to present his latest research
findings or deliver a talk. Ironically, for the
past several years, he had been involved, as part
of his research project, in the development of
immunological reagents for the diagnosis and treatment
of human cancers.
He achieved world renown for his research designed
to generate specific antibodies, proteins that
are mounted in response to infection in the body
to combat it, that would bind to cancer cells
and destroy them. His ultimate goal was to design
therapeutic reagents to vanquish the deadly disease.
He had made progress in that direction, secured
numerous patents and had received a number of
awards from the NIH and other professional scientific
bodies in this country and abroad in recognition
of his seminal contributions to cancer research.
Several years ago, the Asian-Pacific Organization
at NIH honored him with their highest award to
recognize him for his research accomplishments.
As opposed to most of us, he was almost embarrassed
to talk about the awards he received so frequently.
Only after his death, some of us found a collection
of plaques, citations, and awards that he had
won over the years stashed away in his basement
where no one was likely to come upon them.
His devotion to his research was rooted in his
love of science, as he spent long days and evenings
in his laboratory, often to the dismay of his
family. Dr. Kashmir was keenly interested in helping
young men and women, especially those from South
Asia, who aspired to a career in research, helping
and mentoring them in his laboratory. It often
meant investment of a considerable amount of his
time in this service. It was not unusual, for
example, to find young postdoctoral fellows in
training in his laboratory whom he personally
supervised and nurtured, helping them to grow
into seasoned investigators. His enthusiasm for
science and research was infectious, and he was
blessed with the uncanny ability to transmit some
of it to the young trainees who came to work with
him. During his long research career, the final
two decades of which were spent at the NIH, he
trained a whole cadre of young researchers, many
of whom have now become independent, well-recognized
scientist themselves. He had forged strong, life-long
relationships with many of his former trainees.
Dr. Kashmiri and his family were very popular
in the community in the Greater Washington area
and led a very active social life. However, a
strange facet of his personality was that he never
talked about his work or research at such social
gatherings. Those who met him socially would have
never guessed that he was an internationally recognized
scientist. In the true sense, he was a renaissance
man, very well read on a variety of subjects,
religion, politics, history, literature and, of
course, poetry. Kashmiri loved to debate issues
with his close friends, often taking positions
that were at variance with popular opinion. He
had a marvelous and mischievous sense of humor,
often provoking people into political or religious
debates and then enjoying the ensuing heated discussions.
On such occasions, one could appreciate the sharp
and incisive nature of his mind as he brought
forth arguments that seemed very persuasive and
compelling at the time.
Kashmiri Sahib was allergic to grapefruit juice.
Once some years ago, at a lunch party at our house,
he inadvertently drank a small amount of grapefruit
juice that was mixed with orange juice. Within
minutes, he started to have an allergic reaction.
We took him to a pharmacy and had him take an
anti-allergic medication. He soon recovered, but
then drowsiness overtook him and he spent most
of the afternoon dozing. With him out of the conversation,
the party soon lost a lot of its zest and exuberance.
Just one person made all the difference.
Dr. Kashmiri was from an established family in
Lucknow, India, and came to personify all the
traditions, fine qualities and ethos of that unique,
bygone culture associated with that city that
has been the subject of so many legends in Urdu
literature. He was extremely polite and spoke
classical Urdu language with an accent and pronunciation
that many of us admired. No one called him by
his first names, not even his wife; we all fondly
called him Kashmiri Sahib. The Kashmiris were
gracious hosts, often inviting friends to their
house for lavish dinners. Especially after the
annual Mushaira, organized by the Washington Aligarh
Alumni Association, one often found a gathering
of poets at their house and a mini Mushaira in
progress. His circle of friends was wide and included
people of diverse religions and ethnicity; his
mind was not circumscribed by biases based on
national or religions affiliations.
In his last year of life, as he was going through
the final phases of his terminal illness, he showed
his indomitable spirit, never losing his sense
of humor or his eternal optimism. Some of his
friends kept close contact with him, visited him
frequently, and never found him depressed or bitter.
In the time-honored eastern tradition, he fretted
even in those dark days whether his visitors had
received proper hospitality. With the cancer cells
invading his vital organs, progressively worsening
his pain and discomfort, he continued to work
on his scientific manuscripts, readying them for
publication. He knew he had little time left,
and was anxious to utilize every minute of it.
Two of his research papers, including an award-winning
publication, came out after his death.
At some level we are constantly reminded that
all life is ephemeral. However, some people impact
their surroundings and those they come in contact
with so powerfully that it takes a long time to
accept that they are never coming back.
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