What can be said about the man who becomes a great man, the ordinary man who becomes a pioneer? How do you define one whose ordinariness becomes extraordinary, whose modesty becomes a source of pride, whose quiet presence lifts the collective spirit of thousands who follow in his footsteps?
It is impossible to summarize Nissim Ezekiel’s life in a few words. His work, simple yet profound, mirrors the world he inhabits. Rich in color and imagery, his poetry reflects his ability to depict the complexities of life. Ezekiel was not only a poet; He was a likeable figure both in literary circles and in real life. A role model for budding poets, his influence continues to reverberate, a literary lighthouse whose light lingers long after the ink of his pen has dried.
Let me return to a scene set in Hyderabad, in the early 1980s, an academic hub where scholars, young and old, seriously discuss the various nuances of literature, critical theory, cultural studies, and other topics often associated with academia. Discussion. Days are filled with educational activities, evenings witness relaxed networking, open-air dinners under towering trees swaying in the tropical breeze, conversations interspersed with educational anecdotes, a few quotes from a witty literary figure, an occasional song with make-shift drumming. Dinner plates, full-throated laughter after a stray joke, and so on.
In one corner is a group of young up-and-coming scholars around a slightly stooped, bespectacled man in a red shirt and blue jeans. He has an animated look, his eyes twinkling through his glasses as he makes a point, clearly explaining something to an eager group of listeners who hang on every word he says. Clearly, there is serious discussion going on.
I turn and ask my host: “Who is the man who looks like a poet?”
“You mean Nissim Ezekiel?” pat comes the answer. “Let me introduce you to him.”
Those were my teaching days. I was familiar with his name and some of his work, but this was my first opportunity to see him in person.
A few years later, when OUP published Nissim Ezekiel’s Collected Poems, I was asked to review it for a newspaper. It felt like serendipity – a gold mine. At that point, I was a young, enthusiastic teacher and researcher, about to embark on a postdoc. Life was full of hope and possibility. Reviewing this collection was the icing on the cake, especially after meeting the poet. I eagerly wrote the review, praising Ezekiel as a role model and mentor whose poetry every student of Indian English literature should read.
The editor was pleased with the review, and my colleagues familiar with Nissim Ezekiel’s work praised it. However, some did not. A particularly famous poet, who also wrote in English, was bitten by a green-eyed monster. He couldn’t understand why another poet was praised and recognized while waiting in the wings for his turn. Tormented by bitterness, he hatched a plan.
In all fairness, this other poet had a lot in common with Ezekiel – he was also a teacher, wrote in English, and had many of his students. He asked the editor to write a letter explaining that there has been injustice, that another poet has been praised unjustly, and he attacked the reviewer, the reviewer and the editor for giving him the responsibility.
Letters flooded review columns attacking the poet, the poem, and the praise it received. Caught in the crossfire, this reviewer also received its share of intabats and went underground, looking for crawl spaces to hide. Meanwhile, the editor, delighted by the controversy, published the papers weekly for three months. Every Sunday, the columns were filled with attacks, until, finally, the storm subsided. Some readers sent counter-reactions, questioning the legitimacy of the letters and their authors, restoring peace.
Then what did I do? I simply collected all the hate mail and sent it to Nissim Ezekiel, giving him the background (not so casually, he might say). In response, I received a few postcards from him – probably still somewhere in my academic memory. He acknowledged the situation, offered sensible advice to avoid the attacks and avoid them. There was also a casual exchange about poetry, poets and the inevitable egos that come with both.
Another incident that is relevant here is the scrap in the face-to-face encounter with the dreaded VS Naipaul, when I mentioned that Ezekiel was coming to India like an Indo-Trinidadian conduit. The inspector wears a handkerchief to his nose and criticizes everything he sees in the country of his birth. All hell broke loose. Did Nobel laureate Sir Vidya hit the ceiling at that time? He certainly did, and refused to continue with an interview conducted by a “stupid, stupid person” like me. Again, I sent Nissim Ezekiel a graphic account of the encounter and I am sure his eyes must have lit up with amusement.
This is my little personal connection to Nissim Ezekiel, a poet we, as teachers of literature in English, have read, admired, and studied for decades. Ezekiel is now a legend in Indian writing in English. In fact, while compiling The Routledge Encyclopedia of Indian Writing in English (2024) I found that almost every poet in the collection acknowledged his influence. As a poet, teacher, and mentor, Ezekiel set a standard for embracing vernacular poetry, drawing inspiration from the vibrant life around him – Pidgin English, fishermen, and more. In his words, “the mixture of memory, observation and imagination is what ultimately makes a poem,” encapsulates the heart of his poetic vision.
The author is former Professor and Head of the Department of English, Punjab University, Chandigarh and former President of Chandigarh Sahitya Akademi.
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