The hazards on the ground were often not visible until you were at a lower altitude. Only then could you see the rough terrain, the power lines, even cows. Despite hearing all this, when I was invited to go flying one afternoon, I immediately said yes. It all sounded exciting. Little did I know it would be much more than that.

It was a good day for flying and I along with Tata, Charlie Green and Moises Benchoam cut our architectural design class in Sibley Hall and headed for the airport. We took off in the little plane with Tata at the controls and Charlie in the co-pilot’s seat; Mo and I were in the rear.

It was wonderful as we flew toward the campus and the Quad. Tata pointed out the dome of Sibley below, which I could not see from my side of the plane. Tata said he would turn the airplane around for another pass over the Quad, but we never did make that turn. It suddenly became very quiet.

The engine had stopped, the propeller had stopped. We were silent. No one said a word as Tata tried to restart the engine. It would not start. Was it the magical pull of Sibley to get us back to class?

Then I heard Tata call ‘mayday’ on the radio and there was no reply; I knew we were in serious trouble. We were on our own. Mo and I looked at each other but said nothing.

We were gliding but running out of altitude and time. We headed towards Schoelkoff and the alumni field looking for a spot to land, but football practice made a landing there impossible.

I could not see exactly where we were, but I kept thinking about those cows, the power lines and — oh — the lake. There were so many obstacles to avoid. I began hoping this real emergency landing was not going to be a disaster.

Something I had not thought of was the tree line which was quickly coming into view. Suddenly we cleared the trees, and to my surprise and relief we were at the airport and on a runway. But our problems were not over.

Just as we touched down, a commercial plane was landing and headed in our direction. We had run out of options, so we had landed from the wrong direction, ending up against runway traffic. Nobody but us was aware of our predicament and distress calls.

Tata quickly guided the tri-pacer onto a taxi strip to get out of the airliner’s path. We could see the faces of the bigger plane’s crew as they passed. They were visibly alarmed and angry about our landing violation, which had created a dangerous situation for them. But the point was that we had landed safely.

Tata drove us back to Sibley, where we told our tale to our classmates, adding to the lore of flying with Tata. For the rest of the year, a piece of the broken engine piston remained on Tata’s desk in the Sibley drafting room as a memento of that afternoon (I have a feeling he threw it out at the end of the year).

Ever since, whenever I pass by a local airport and look at the small planes I remember our memorable flight on that sunny day. But that incident, frightful as it was, never did keep me from the joy of flying.

I am grateful now, as I was then, to Tata for keeping his calm and for the skill he brought to bear in bringing us safely to the ground. His calmness is what I really remember.

He followed the prescribed emergency procedure in the right order and he kept his cool.

After college we all went our different ways and I lost touch with Tata, till one day when I saw him outside the elevator door of a building in Park Avenue in New York. I was working for an architectural firm and one of the Tata trusts had an office in the premises. So there he was, four years after I had last seen him. He said, “Hi,” and I said, “Hi, Tata.” It was a wonderfully surprising and coincidental meeting.

Turned out his dad [Naval Tata] was speaking at the United Nations and he was there for that.

We went out for lunch and caught up with what we had been doing. And that was that until the Cornell reunion of 2009.

Back at Cornell, Tata was a very good student, one of the toppers in the class. The guys in the class were kind of rough and rowdy but he wasn’t like that at all. I think he was raised to be respectful to others; it was part of his upbringing.

I had no idea then, though, about his family or his background.

He blended well with the whole class, all the guys, maybe some he didn’t like, but I never saw that. I later heard this story about there being a mock Indian wedding that was organised at Cornell during Diwali time.

A Sri Lankan woman agreed to play the bride, but she said she would do so only if she got to pick the groom. And she picked Tata.

I used to drive a very old car at the time and I remember Tata telling me it was probably not safe. So then I decided I wanted a new car, but by the time I bought it he had relocated to California.

I sort of recalled all this when the Nano story came out, his interest in automobiles and the rest.

I think the Nano was a really interesting project. The car was displayed here in New York once and I wanted to go and sit in it. But the security guy said nothing doing. I told him I was willing to buy it, but no go.