Toru Dutt: A Reappraisal

Abstract

On the 3rd of July, 2001, I took the Victoria Line to King’s Cross and came up blinking in the strong sun. Not knowing whether to turn right or left, I walked up to the bus stop just outside the station main entrance and gravitated towards the young woman waiting for the bus. She was carrying a huge canvas. There was no rationale to my feeling that just because she seemed to care for art she wouldn’t snub me. ‘‘Which way to the British library?’’, I asked. ‘‘Just go down the road and you’ll see it,’’ she said, pointing to the right. I hadn’t been to the library since it had shifted location. I walked a few blocks down Euston Road and there it was. A poster advertised a special exhibition – ‘‘Lie of the Land: The Secret Life of Maps from July 27.’’ ‘‘Some maps deliberately set out to deceive,’’ said the brochure. ‘‘Many show a selective view; maps from ancient to modern reveal a secret world for you to discover. In every case, there is more than meets the eye . . . ’’, it continued. I deposited my bag in the cloakroom, went up two flights of stairs and ambled into the Manuscripts Reading Room. Once in, I didn’t know what to do – how should I appear busy and important? I walked up to a PC, punched a few keys; what appeared on the screen didn’t make much sense to me. I had no plan, no agenda. Everyone else in the room was reading. There were books on the table and the staff moved around efficiently. Afraid that the security-checks person was soon going to embarrass me, I walked up to the lady at the Enquiry desk. ‘‘I wish to read manuscripts of the Indian poetess Toru Dutt,’’ I heard myself say – a spontaneous emotional choice I made as I recalled a friend showing me a photograph of Toru Dutt in an old Oxford University Press anthology. In photographs, I’d then felt, Toru looks much better than Sarojini Naidu, and so I chose, now . . . The lady asked me a few technical questions. She drew a blank. She courteously said, ‘‘Mr. Bowgan, there, will help you.’’