Tribute to Keki Daruwalla

The Rich Legacy of the Poetry of Keki Daruwalla

Vinita Agrawal

“… the same sizzling energy that drives the bud to flower drives the sap of the young poet. And old age blights both the crooked rose and him.” Keki Daruwalla

Keki N. Daruwalla, an eminent Indian poet, was a significant voice in contemporary Indian literature, whose work combined personal and national identity and deep philosophical perspectives. Born in 1937 in Lahore and educated at Punjab University, Daruwalla took on a multifaceted career as a poet, fiction writer and a high ranking police officer. His poetry shone its torch on human experiences using rich imagery, nuanced exploration of language and a rich cosmopolitanism. His writing was distinctively engaged with the socio-political context of India. Daruwalla's oeuvre transcended mere observation; it delved deeply into themes such as exile, memory, the human condition, and often drew upon mythological and historical references. 

Keki Daruwalla’s work is unpretentious but deep, intuitive without being overbearing and true without resorting to didacticism.  So if you’re veering towards astute, penetrative writing, you have a lot to learn from his poetry.  

The legacy of Keki Daruwalla is significant, as he continues to inspire generations through his profound insights and the evocative power of his words, affirming his place as a cornerstone in the narrative of Indian English poetry.

Remembering him fondly on his first death anniversary (26th September), I’d like to share a very special poem by him, one that Keki had shared with me when he noted that I was doing some work on eco poetry.

Of Ledges and Moss

You don’t have to notice a gun

to visualise black buck falling

in a fusillade of hoofs.

And the bellies of wild geese

flying in formation?

What is there to visualise

I hear a gunshot

though I don’t see a gun.

I don’t even hear the shot—

its all in the mind.

It will spin as it falls

huddling into its wings.

Just because I haven’t

pulled out a pad of moss

from some rocky ledge,

doesn’t mean I do not hear

the rip and tear of rending.

Just because I do not shoot 

quail or partridge it doesn’t mean

this birdlessness travelling towards me

like a visible void,

does not smother me.

Nature’s empire is not confined

to forest and savannah.

The soul is also one of its habitats