Rajagopal Parthasarathy, who passed away on March 7, in Saratoga Springs, New York, seems to have faded from the poetic consciousness of my generation. While his contemporaries, Adil Jussawalla and Arvind Krishna Mehrotra, for instance, or even A.K. Ramanujan, seem to have kept pace with us, Partha, as his friends called him, was flattened early into literary history.
Perhaps that is because he was swallowed up by the United States, spending many years teaching at Skidmore College. Or it could have been that he simply did not write much.
