Keki Daruwalla

Rating: 4.33
Rating: 4.33

Keki Daruwalla Biography

Keki Nasserwanji Daruwalla was born in 1937 in Lahore in undivided India. In
1945 his father Prof. N.C. Daruwalla retired from Govt. College Lyallpur (now
Shah Faizlabad) and moved to Junagadh as Tutor and Guardian to the Prince.
His latest novel Ancestral Affairs (Harpercollins, 2015) dwells on Junagadh’s
disastrous accession to Pakistan in ...

Keki Daruwalla Comments

Bijay Kant Dubey 13 May 2014

Keki N.Daruwalla even in his definition of poetry makes it clear how he has taken poetry along, into the stride and thud of his, never to be taken over by sentimentality and loose overflow of emotions. He is what that forms a base of the chunk of his poetry, making poetry closer to observation and landscapic presentations. Disease, death, epidemics and the morgue, the post-mortem house, autopsy and stench with the kites, hawks and vultures hovering over are the things of his poetry and he keeps himself abreast of all that going. But we are very sorry to say that the number of the birds has fallen very miserable and they are scarcely to be sighted over. The Cheel Ghars too lie in short of the birds of prey dwelling inside or perched on its walls, almost abandoned and without the visits and flutter of the birds. Dead bodies, accidents and tragedies speak in his poetry and the shells of his make a mockery of the people peeping through the curfew-clamped towns and its barren streets. He is not a simple man to take poetry simply, but a lover of bombastic words and shells, weighty, laden and carrying in. The poem, Wolf from The Glass-Blower: Selected Poems may be quoted and cited in to dwell upon and delve deep into the psyche and space of his own. Daruwalla as a poet is of a hunter’s penetration, telling of the duality, ever present in this creation, the contraries and contradictions which G.M.Hopkins comes to mark it in the poem ‘Pied Beauty’. Fears lurking within human mind, gripping and grasping, striking by surprise, the unthought-of and the thought swapping positions continue to allure and strike us. Wolf, a run-on poem of one stanza, has the verve and dark imagery of its own. The tiger, tiger, Blakian tiger vision, the villagers calling aloud, Hopkins’ creation contradictory and conflicting, Shaw’s anti-thesis, Hughes’ animal imagery, Corbett’s man-eaters, Orwell’s animal farm and the shooting of the elephant, Shelley’s description of the creator, preserver and destroyer in the message and thunder of the cloud, Eliot’s depiction of the waste and barren land standing in unison with man for a vegetation and the rains and son on take over the consciousness of the poet. Though Kipling talks of the friendship of Moglie and Bagheera, but the Jungle Book is a jungle book. Nature red in tooth and claw will always evade, is the Tennysonialn truth. Wordsworth too feels the same when he describes Lucy taken over a whirlwind. The laugh and thunder of the passing clouds with the bolts from the blue in The Cloud, Brahma, Vishnu and Maheshwara with the shantih, sahntih, shantih of the waste land of Eliot and the penance of Sagar’s sons, are the things of reckoning. Nature being varying and fickle is also there in Wordsworth’s untitled poem, but read as The Education of Nature and wild, swift and proud as Shelley says it to the wild west wind, fluttering and passing by strongly, by lifting it all overhead too sometimes.

22 10 Reply
Bijay Kant Dubey 13 August 2013

There is nothing as that to say with regard to this modern Indian English poet who has come a long to reach the pedestal of glory, but as Jaynata Mahapatra has reminisced about in his Door of Paper, a collection of memoirs, sketches and reflections, reviews, lectures and speeches, annotations and explanations gathered in, there should be something on his part to clarify his point of delving. An autobiography will be very helpful in understanding his mind and feeling. Bijay Kant Dubey

23 8 Reply
Bijay Kant Dubey 13 August 2013

There is nothing as that to say with regard to his presence into the domain of modern Indian English poetry. Daruwalla has definitely come a long way to reach the pedestal of glory, but there should be something like that of Jaynat Mahapatra's Door of Paper, a colection of sketches, reflections and memoirs, reviews, opinions, sppeches and lectures and some clarifications on his part which the poet has reminisced about and these we too seek for from Daruwalla. Had he an autobiography, it would have aded to our critical verve. Bijay Kant Dubey

20 7 Reply
Gobinda Sahoo 21 October 2015

One of my favorite poets and one who has influenced me in expressing images.

11 5 Reply
LALA LALA 26 November 2017

FUCK SHIT LUND ASS VAGINA PENIS

1 9 Reply
Krishnendu Biswas 29 September 2021

Kindly upload the poem 'Razia the tigress'.

0 0 Reply
Awadhesh Kumar 24 June 2021

Please make the poem 'Rumination' by K. N. Daruwalla available

0 0 Reply
Rãkshit 29 September 2020

Razia the Tigress

2 0 Reply
7-76RJ-P6RE5DCGHNJKML 05 May 2020

I74I67U8REWQAZXCVBNJOUYTORESXNMKO]P9U8-60549E8SXDKL; KM[\I-J8UYT-R609I

1 0 Reply
Ayukta 15 March 2020

Please send the poem Boat ride along the Ganga by Daruwalla

1 0 Reply

The Best Poem Of Keki Daruwalla

Migrations

Migrations are always difficult:
ask any drought,
any plague;
ask the year 1947.
Ask the chronicles themselves:
if there had been no migrations
would there have been enough
history to munch on?

Going back in time is also tough.
Ask anyone back-trekking to Sargodha
or Jhelum or Mianwali and they'll tell you.
New faces among old brick;
politeness, sentiment,
dripping from the lips of strangers.
This is still your house, Sir.

And if you meditate on time
that is no longer time -
(the past is frozen, it is stone,
that which doesn't move
and pulsate is not time) -
if you meditate on that scrap of time,
the mood turns pensive
like the monsoons
gathering in the skies
but not breaking.

Mother used to ask, don't you remember my mother?
You'd be in the kitchen all the time
and run with the fries she ladled out,
still sizzling on the plate.
Don't you remember her at all?
Mother's fallen face
would fall further
at my impassivity.
Now my dreams ask me
If I remember my mother
And I am not sure how I'll handle that.
Migrating across years is also difficult.

[From: The Map-maker]

Keki Daruwalla Popularity

Keki Daruwalla Popularity

BEST POETS
Close
Error Success