17 December,2021 10:23 AM IST | Mumbai | Fiona Fernandez
Kavita recalls that he chose happiness in all circumstances and was concerned for the needs of others; these among other values were passed on to her. Illustration/Uday Mohite
"Suppose I were a shooting star, I would want to be seen, that would be my only meaning, what is there, after all, in shooting across the sky and being burnt up? But being seen! That would be another thing" - Nissim Ezekiel (d: 2004)
On busy Dr E Moses Road is an oasis of calm. It is the Jewish Cemetery, the final resting place for Mumbai's Bene Israelis. Among those who are buried here is Nissim Ezekiel, the famous bard. His words (above) etched on his epitaph echo the journey and contribution of the community.
He may have belonged to one of India's tiniest minorities but Ezekiel, affectionately called âThe Poet of Bombay', played a key role in postcolonial literature in India, having impacted generations. To commemorate his 97th birth anniversary (December 16), his eldest daughter Kavita Ezekiel Mendonca collaborated with poet and academician Mustansir Dalvi to release Marathi translations of two of his famous poems, Poet, Lover, Birdwatcher and Night of the Scorpion, as well as a third, Loss, that she penned about losing her father to Alzheimer's Disease in 2004.
Kavita Ezekiel Mendonca
"I read Professor Dalvi's translation of poems into Marathi on his Facebook page. Many were of poets my father admired, like William Carlos Williams and Rilke. I enjoyed his translations, and began communicating with him. Marathi is my first language along with English. It is the language of the Bene Israel community of Indian Jews. My husband and I also speak Marathi at home, although his first language is Konkani. My father had co-translated the poems of the well-known Marathi poet Indira Sant. Last week, I requested Professor Dalvi to translate my poem," shares Ezekiel's Canada-based daughter. "Professor Dalvi is an accomplished and widely published poet. I have been co-translating my father's poems into Spanish, and hope to translate them into French someday," she reveals.
For Dalvi, Nissim was a familiar, avuncular figure while he was at architecture school, walking around the same places as he did in South Bombay. "I saw Nissim before I read his poems in books at the British Library. He was easily recognisable because of his long flowing hair and metal-framed glasses. I was struck by his strong poetic lines, his observations, his use of language and how he got the everyday speech exactly right." Dalvi's favourites are Goodbye Party for Miss Pushpa T.S. and The Patriot.
He was well aware of the risks that come with this translation since he began translating from English to Marathi recently. "Most of my work is the other way round, translating Marathi poems into English. I attempted translating English poets, both Indian and international, to see how their poems sounded in Marathi, for my own pleasure. I am grateful to Kavita for urging me to translate Nissim's poetry, and her own ode to her father." Dalvi attempted these with some trepidation but feels he got the spirit of the poems. "Of course, they have to stand as Marathi poems on their own. The act of translation must be subsumed in the final product, never to stand out."
While working on these translations, two things struck Dalvi. "The atmospherics in the poem - night, rain, diabolic tail, very noir and the prayers that I tried to refashion with rhythmic incantations. It is poetry that sweeps in several directions, and I was aware of that while I tried to put the translation together."
Kavita has fond memories of watching her father at work, "I watched with great interest and some amount of amusement, the process and technique my father employed in the writing of his poetry. I have described this in my poem, How Daddy wrote His Poetry. He usually took one puff of a Menthol Cool cigarette and left it to die out in the ashtray, placed a handkerchief over his eyes and lay down on the bed, then back to his desk after a few minutes as the lines came to him, writing them down on lined paper, then back to the bed again. It was a kind of a set rhythm," she reminisces. In comparison, Kavita writes at her desk, in the office space that she shares with her husband. "When I set out to write a poem, I am not conscious of my father's influence, but once I'm done writing and revising, I realise his strong influence. I have developed my own voice, but we share a few similar themes, such as a love of nature and ordinary things, as well as a more conversational and direct style of writing. Sometimes, even the tone of our poems is similar." She admits, however, that the depth and breadth in his writing will need many lifetimes to achieve.
Mustansir Dalvi
There is something about poetry that attracts children, both to read, and write it. And Kavita wrote poetry from an early age, though she did not think it had much to do with her father at that stage, except unconsciously. "He was quite excited though, that I had become interested in poetry. I had a long career in teaching in Indian schools and colleges, and in private schools overseas, and was deeply committed to the profession. I published my debut collection in 1989. Subsequently, there was a long hiatus, working full time, raising two children, and moving to another country. It was only after I retired that I resumed writing poetry. I enjoy writing, but it is hard work and my thoughts go back to my father with every poem I write. He juggled a full-time teaching career with his writing, mentoring other poets, and immersing himself in other interests like art and theatre."
Unlike the weight that offspring of successful people tend to carry, it was easy for Kavita. "My father never put any pressure on me to write. In fact, he said he felt people would think he was promoting his daughter. He was very conscious of that fact. I believe, from the messages I receive from individuals whom he mentored, that he was very proud of me. He even carried my first book of poetry [Family Sunday and Other Poems, 1989], with him to Israel, when he was invited there in 1995. I respected his wishes to not be involved in my writing, though it was a difficult decision, especially for my mother. He devoted all his time and energy to mentoring other younger poets. I am certain my writing career would have taken a much different turn if he had done the same for me."
Kavita is keen to keep his legacy alive. She discusses his poetry with today's younger generations of poets, who might not be acquainted with it. "I also take every opportunity to introduce him to students of poetry overseas. My father was a foundational figure in the postcolonial literary history of India. Contemporary poetry cannot be studied in a vacuum."
She is working on a personal memoir to commemorate the centennial anniversary of his birth. "It will be a challenge to record so many special memories of growing up with an interesting and âlarger than life character'. Every anniversary is a reminder of his wonderful achievements and how much fun it was to be in his company. He was a great storyteller. He also had a sweet tooth, though he ate everything in moderation, so we will celebrate with cake on this occasion!" she signs off.
Ezekiel had a deep commitment to the city of his birth; it featured in many of his poems. Kavita quotes from Island, "I cannot leave the island/ I was born here and belong." She also shares from Background Casually, "Others choose to give themselves/ In some remote and backward place/My backward place is where I am." She had written poems to celebrate his love for the city and hers as well. "As he grew older and needed to be cared for, I invited him to live with us in Mussoorie, where I was teaching English in an international school. He wanted to join us but did not wish to leave Bombay. Although many Jews left for Israel, he stayed back. He believed that if everyone left, âwho would do something for India?' He had wanted to do something for India from an early age. He was at home here, and specifically, in Bombay," she shares.
Kavita recalls a poetry reading session where Ezekiel was asked about his favourite poet: "He replied, âMy daughter, Kavita.' That wasn't meant to exclude my siblings [he wrote poems about them too]. He had named me symbolically, and perhaps, even prophetically! That might have had something to do with it. He had obviously put a lot of thought into my name."
