The many hats of Keki Daruwalla

GJV Prasad

From the time I began this column, I have wanted to celebrate the birth anniversaries of writers. Unfortunately, they don’t coincide often with the day in which this is published. So, I have decided to write around their birthdays! Keki Daruwalla was born on January 24. So, this is for him.

Many of you will simply say he is one of India’s foremost poets, an Indian English poet who has had a long career. Some of you may also think of him as an accomplished writer of prose fiction, and he sometimes seems prouder of his fiction than his poetry. Quite a few of you may know of his career as a police officer, moreover one who worked in the Chambal in its heyday! Not many may know of his stint in the intelligence services and the role he played in ensuring the security of our country. You may know of his lifelong interest in cricket and the archive he has on the early days of Indian cricket. If you have met him, you know how astute and acerbic a commentator he can be on all things under the sun and also that he is a great raconteur. He has always taken an interest in younger writers and, when he thinks it is his duty, he is great at editing your manuscripts.

Keki Daruwalla’s name identifies him as a Parsi, and his family name always brings a smile to those who have not heard of him before. After all, a poet and daru (alcohol) seem to be born for each other in the popular imagination. More so than a poet and the police force. In my early years as a teacher in Jawaharlal Nehru University, I had called Keki to meet the students of the School of Languages. A senior academic administrator of the university was to preside over the event. Keki turned up on time and waited patiently for the official who came a bit late. Introductions over, the official, asked, “Mr Daruwalla, what do you do?” Keki replied, “I write poetry.” So, the official laughed and asked, “No, no. What do you really do?” Keki was looking a bit embarrassed, and I intervened, “He is one of our foremost poets, Professor.” The professor wouldn’t stop, “But what do you really do? What do you do in the real world?” Keki Daruwalla replied, “I work in the police services.” The official laughed and laughed, sputtering, “Poets are always wanted by the police.” I quickly whispered in the official’s ear, even while he was saying that it was a good joke, that Keki was indeed a police officer. Keki was enraged at the insult to both his professions and went completely quiet. The official suddenly remembered some urgent work and didn’t preside over the event.

I recount the anecdote because it has always seemed to me that Keki Daruwalla has tried to keep all his hats where they belong, not wearing them at the same time. But how can you separate them completely? His experiences in his official service, his private life, and his personal interests influence his literary work in many ways. If you read his early poetry, you can see the police officer trying to vent in verse. A sensitive police officer’s lot is difficult. His poems on riots and famines, which express his despair at the world of bureaucratic apathy and the role he and others have to play to keep “law and order”, make this clear. There can be no evidence about atrocities committed by the state because “when the state rapes/ the streets are empty.” (‘Variations.’) I am tempted to quote from one more poem, this time on the response to people striking for food. When asked to send “Rice Specials at once,” the reply is “silo owners have gone off for the night/ despatching armed police instead.” (‘Hunger 74’). He has poems on political hypocrisy, official duplicity, and the false promises held out by everyone. And his later poetry gives evidence of his interest in the arcs of history, of his interest in the world of ideas and the ideas of the world. After all, all of us are results of historical events and journeys; who better to know it than a Parsi.

His fiction has explored many themes and it won’t surprise us that he has written on Partition (he was born in Lahore in 1937), a lovely novel which seems to have flown below the radar of hype. But hype and Keki Daruwalla don’t go together. Ever willing to talk about others, he is never really willing to talk about himself. A poet, writer, police officer, and intelligence chief needs to let his work speak for him, and Keki does.

Here’s to you Keki, advance birthday wishes and thanks for wearing all those hats so well. 

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