Description

A round-faced man talks of parrots. He might suddenly explode into a flock of them, his skin opening like a bag, releasing a sea of green feathers. ‘Rohinton Daruwala’s poems unfold like a baramasa, an almanac of seasons and sensations, exquisite torments and explosions of delight. He essays a sensuous portraiture of place, invoking torrential monsoons, arid summers, railway A round-faced man talks of parrots. He might suddenly explode into a flock of them, his skin opening like a bag, releasing a sea of green feathers. ‘Rohinton Daruwala’s poems unfold like a baramasa, an almanac of seasons and sensations, exquisite torments and explosions of delight. He essays a sensuous portraiture of place, invoking torrential monsoons, arid summers, railway bridges at night, libraries in deserts. He spells out a frank eroticism in the textures and flavours of fruit…at the same time, he is entangled in the hypermodern present. He gathers traces of the loved one from residues both material and digital… He maps the city, not only through the portraiture of human protagonists, but also through the micro-ecologies inhabited by butterflies and sparrows… In Daruwala’s handling, the poem can be an oblique parable, a brief lamp of wisdom in the wind of distraction: light as breath, yet as essential.’—Ranjit Hoskote