attended school in Muncie. Later the family moved back to Srinagar, and that was where Shahid completed his schooling. But it was because of his early experience, I suspect, that he was able to take America so completely in his stride when he arrived in Pennsylvania as a graduate student. The idea of a cultural divide or conflict had no purchase in his mind: America and India were the two poles of his life, and he was at home in both in a way that was utterly easeful and unproblematic.
Shahid took his undergraduate degree at the University of Kashmir, in Srinagar. Although he excelled there, graduating with the highest marks in his class, he did not recall the experience with any fondness. "I learned nothing there," he told me once. "It was just a question of
ratto-maroing
[learning by heart]." In 1968 he joined Hindu College in Delhi University to study for an M.A. in English literature. Once again he performed with distinction, and he went on to become a lecturer at the same college. It was in this period that he published his first collection of poems, with P. Lal of the Writer's Workshop in Calcutta.
Shahid's memories of Delhi University were deeply conflicted: he became something of a campus celebrity but also endured rebuffs and disappointments that may well have come his way only because he was a Muslim and a Kashmiri. Although he developed many close and lasting friendships, he also suffered many betrayals and much unhappiness. In any event, he was, I think, deeply relieved when Penn State University, in College Park, Pennsylvania, offered him a scholarship for a Ph.D.
His time at Penn State he remembered with unmitigated pleasure: "I grew as a reader, I grew as a poet, I grew as a lover." He fell
in with a vibrant group of graduate students, many of whom were Indian. This was, he often said, the happiest time of his life. Later Shahid moved to Arizona to take a degree in creative writing. This in turn was followed by a series of jobs in colleges and universities: Hamilton College, the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, and finally the University of Utah, in Salt Lake City, where he was appointed professor in 1999. He was on leave from Utah, doing a brief stint at New York University, when he had his first blackout, in February 2000.
After 1975, when he moved to Pennsylvania, Shahid lived mainly in America. His brother was already here, and they were later joined by their two sisters. But Shahid's parents continued to live in Srinagar, and it was his custom to spend the summer months with them there every year: "I always move in my heart between sad countries." Traveling between the United States and India, he was thus an intermittent but firsthand witness (
shahid
) to the mounting violence that seized the region from the late 1980s onward:
Â
It was '89, the stones were not far, signs of change everywhere (Kashmir would soon be in literal flames)...
Â
The steady deterioration of the political situation in Kashmirâthe violence and counterviolenceâhad a powerful effect on him. In time it became one of the central subjects of his work; indeed, it could be said that it was in writing of Kashmir that he created his finest work. The irony of this is that Shahid was not by inclination a political poet. I heard him say once, "If you are from a difficult place and that's all you have to write about, then you should stop writing. You have to respect your art, your formâthat is just as important as what you write about." Another time I was present at Shahid's apartment when his longtime friend Patricia O'Neill showed him a couple of sonnets written by a Victorian poet. The poems were political, trenchant in their criticism of the British government for its failure to prevent the massacre of the Armenians in Turkey. Shahid glanced at them and tossed them off-handedly aside: "These are terrible poems." Patricia asked why, and he said, "Look, I already know where I stand on the massacre of the
Shahid took his undergraduate degree at the University of Kashmir, in Srinagar. Although he excelled there, graduating with the highest marks in his class, he did not recall the experience with any fondness. "I learned nothing there," he told me once. "It was just a question of
ratto-maroing
[learning by heart]." In 1968 he joined Hindu College in Delhi University to study for an M.A. in English literature. Once again he performed with distinction, and he went on to become a lecturer at the same college. It was in this period that he published his first collection of poems, with P. Lal of the Writer's Workshop in Calcutta.
Shahid's memories of Delhi University were deeply conflicted: he became something of a campus celebrity but also endured rebuffs and disappointments that may well have come his way only because he was a Muslim and a Kashmiri. Although he developed many close and lasting friendships, he also suffered many betrayals and much unhappiness. In any event, he was, I think, deeply relieved when Penn State University, in College Park, Pennsylvania, offered him a scholarship for a Ph.D.
His time at Penn State he remembered with unmitigated pleasure: "I grew as a reader, I grew as a poet, I grew as a lover." He fell
in with a vibrant group of graduate students, many of whom were Indian. This was, he often said, the happiest time of his life. Later Shahid moved to Arizona to take a degree in creative writing. This in turn was followed by a series of jobs in colleges and universities: Hamilton College, the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, and finally the University of Utah, in Salt Lake City, where he was appointed professor in 1999. He was on leave from Utah, doing a brief stint at New York University, when he had his first blackout, in February 2000.
After 1975, when he moved to Pennsylvania, Shahid lived mainly in America. His brother was already here, and they were later joined by their two sisters. But Shahid's parents continued to live in Srinagar, and it was his custom to spend the summer months with them there every year: "I always move in my heart between sad countries." Traveling between the United States and India, he was thus an intermittent but firsthand witness (
shahid
) to the mounting violence that seized the region from the late 1980s onward:
Â
It was '89, the stones were not far, signs of change everywhere (Kashmir would soon be in literal flames)...
Â
The steady deterioration of the political situation in Kashmirâthe violence and counterviolenceâhad a powerful effect on him. In time it became one of the central subjects of his work; indeed, it could be said that it was in writing of Kashmir that he created his finest work. The irony of this is that Shahid was not by inclination a political poet. I heard him say once, "If you are from a difficult place and that's all you have to write about, then you should stop writing. You have to respect your art, your formâthat is just as important as what you write about." Another time I was present at Shahid's apartment when his longtime friend Patricia O'Neill showed him a couple of sonnets written by a Victorian poet. The poems were political, trenchant in their criticism of the British government for its failure to prevent the massacre of the Armenians in Turkey. Shahid glanced at them and tossed them off-handedly aside: "These are terrible poems." Patricia asked why, and he said, "Look, I already know where I stand on the massacre of the
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