A scholar’s life.

[Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi]

The tall and stately Rupin Walter Desai commands awe, esteem, and gratitude among scores of Delhiwale, who had the privilege of attending his English Literature lectures in Delhi University. That said, the professor’s professional academic days are long gone; he retired more than 30 years ago. However, the man’s formidable stature is continually invigorated by his unceasing intellectual interventions, and has transcended the university circles. Professor Desai happens to be among India’s greatest living Shakespeare scholars. He founded the highly regarded Hamlet Studies, a journal that he single-handedly sustained for more than two decades. Indeed, to commemorate his lifetime’s worth of scholarship, the professor’s colleagues and disciples had honoured him with a “festschrift,” in a ceremony held two years ago at the India International Center; the volume contained critical contributions to his work from 35 academics.

The aforementioned ceremony could have been the cue for the scholar to ease his demanding engagements with Yeats, Milton, etc, and to give needful rest to the extensive private library he has built in his East Patel Nagar flat—along with wife Jyoti, herself an English Literature professor. But Professor Desai won’t have it. He has just sent to the press his new offering, titled “50 Poems I Often Revisit—And My Reasons for So Doing.” The anthology is a selection of verses from professor’s beloved poets. In the poignant foreword, he writes: “Having crossed the threshold of 90, it is time I made my intellectual will with the hope that before the demolition squad and senility step in, a maximum of four outstanding poems by each poet whose works I have cherished over the years will induce readers to explore further…”

Not many are aware that the professor has personally dabbled in poetry. He agrees to share a poem with us, which he composed in the midst of a deadly pandemic.

The Coronavir US and Us

A scientist corrected me: she said,
“The virus doesn’t have a thinking head
As you and I have. Devoid of conscience,
Sense of right and wrong, it gouges lesions
In our frail flesh with neither hate nor vengeance,
Social distinction or racial difference.”

I replied:
“I’d never thought of that, I must confess,
So should we all now agree to bless
The virus for being so non-discriminatory,
Boldly exposing our collective folly
In waging wars of shocking cruelty?”

She replied:
“Wanton killing, mass destruction, our history books
Record how intemperant are the looks
We heap on those whom we detest,
Death and carnage rampant, doing their best:
Remember Hiroshima and the rest.
Partition, Nine-eleven, Twenty-six eleven.”

I agreed:
“We are guilty, not the virus, of grave offence.”