Shortly after his death, Desani's collection of colorful gemstone rings was professionally appraised and sold piecemeal to former students. The modest proceeds of a lifetime's hunt for beauty and perfection went to UNICEF.
At some point in his young life, Desani's family returned to their home in Shikārpur, Sindh, India (now part of Pakistan). Considered a prodigy, but difficult, by grammar school teachers and a naïve dreamer by his merchant-class family ("I like books," he once shouted back at his father, answering a question about his goals in life. "You like books?", his father retorted, "I'll buy you a bookstore!")
Another anecdote: "Boy, you don't understand," Desani was told by a favorite aunt, upon his informing her that he would go to England and become famous. "You don't even know English," she said. In fact, Desani ran away from home several times, once arriving in Great Britain, penniless (and without English), at age 17.
After a chilled-to-the-bone London winter (to keep from freezing he stuffed newspaper into a second-hand overcoat), Desani somehow made his way in the big city. With a knack for engendering enthusiasm in total strangers, Desani was so often interrupted by rooming house neighbors that he borrowed 5 Pound sterling from each, returning the money only when he was ready to move.
Attractive, brilliant, charismatic, and brimming with energy and self-confidence, the young Indian found a patron in member of parliament George Landsbury who arranged for Desani to have access to the British Museum and its library.
For the next 20 or so years Desani moved between India and England. He took bit parts in British movies and worked as a stringer for British and Indian newspapers including The Times of India. He did a stint as headmaster at the same grammar school he had once been nearly expelled from. On occasion, Desani traveled the countryside with a servant, collecting business debts for his father. Somehow along the way Desani developed an lifelong interest in India's spiritual heritage, the gurus, sadhu and Buddhist traditions and practitioners.
During the war, Desani's avocation became writing, several of which he developed for broadcast on the BBC. His literary efforts eventually gelled into what he called a gesture. Notably, as Desani dryly observed in his introduction to All About H. Hatterr, there was no market for gestures, only for novels. Later he learned that even the market for gestures described as novels (or vice versa) was modest.
Hatterr made grand fun of all manner of social structure, stricture, status, religious instruction, spiritualists, and language itself, English, its bastardized stepchild Indian English, Sanskrit and Hindi. Yet the book also offered glimpses of a man seeking to interpret the human condition — despite its obvious shortcomings — as having — if not a higher purpose — at least a trajectory. Writing in 2016, reviewers still find new things to say about this nearly 70-year-old novel. A recent writer pointed out that until Desani published Hatterr in London, of all places, literary Brits had doubts about the ability of non-native English speakers to fully master the language. George Orwell, who had lived and worked in India, was a defender of English written by native Englishmen. He was none too pleased when Hatterr appeared and he provided one of the few negative reviews of the initial printing.
In short order Desani's All About H. Hatterr joined with James Joyce's Ulysses and Finnegan's Wake in helping to flesh out an exotic, polyglotic, supranational novel that reinvigorated the Mother Tongue. Hatterr had a major influence on contemporaries such as Saul Bellow and later writers, such as Salman Rushdie. The anti-hero Hatterr's hilarious and essentially clueless attempts to reconcile East and West deftly foreshadowed contemporary challenges of maintaining self, civilization, and true faith in a pluralistic, secular, rapidly-changing world.
In 1950 Desani's highly personal poetic play Hali was published. It is difficult to imagine two more different fictional works. While Hali may have puzzled Hatterr enthusiasts (E.M. Forster called it a "private mythology"), it at least well captured well spiritual disquiet a increasingly preoccupied the now-middle aged Anglo-Indian author.
In 1952, Desani returned to India to begin an urgent, highly personal search for meaning. That endeavor fully occupied the next 15 or so years of his life.
Desani recognize early on that the Indian ascetic guru/chela system occupied a unique place among the world spiritual paths. And that that system was being rapidly obliterated by modernity. The aging and obscure practitioners Desani encountered probably saw him as a worthy -- or least unworthy -- recipient of their crafts. The challenge of what to do with the gathered information, the experiences, the objects, and drawing communicable conclusions from those years occupied Desani for the remainder of his life.
In the early 1960s, in a climax worthy of any grand adventure, Desani embarked on the most rigorous of spiritual disciplines: pursuit of Enlightenment. His first attempt — at a Zen monastery in Japan — was not a success. Subsequently, however, he spend nearly a year at a Theravada Buddhist monastery in Rangoon, Burma. Upon arrival at the monastery, Desani joined a small group of Western practitioners in being introduced to the monastery's famous Abbot, Mahasi Sayadaw. The master gave his standard lecture, pointing again and again at a rough blackboard drawing of a triangle which showed Nibbana (Pali for Nirvana) at the apex. 'Questions?' Desani scandalized the monk doing translation by asking of Enlightenment, "How much does it cost?" The monk initially refused to translate the insolence. A solemn discussion was turned into pandemonium as the Abbot, in Burmese, demanded "What did he say!? What did he say!? What did he say!?" Once a translation was apologetically provided ("He fables, 'What does it cost?' ") Sayadaw, according to Desani, roared with laughter.
Soon enough Desani was settled into a rectangular room where his assigned practice was 20-plus hours a day of walking meditation with the instruction: "Observe". After a few months the Abbot told him, "You may go" and also authorized Desani to provide instructions in Theravada Buddhist Vipassana meditation. Traditionally, such a dismissal would only be provided had the practitioner attained at least the first of the four stages of Nirvana, Buddhist enlightenment. Desani neither claimed nor disclaimed such.
In Hatterr, through his Indian spiritual quest, and in his later years as a professor at The University of Texas at Austin, Desani delighted in debunking spiritual teachings that he considered "beneath contempt", a favorite phrase. He was particularly critical of Hatha yoga, Shankara Hindu philosophy ("I am Brahma. You are Brahma.") and its Westernized characterization that enlightenment is simply a state of mind. Yet he showed great respect for genuine spiritual teachers — Hindu, Muslim, Jewish, Moorish or Christian — and their crafts. He was keenly interested in still little known Nadi texts, reputedly ancient hand-written palm leaf writings based on Indian astrology that were the property of a class of Indian gurus and their disciples. Desani was convinced that he had received readings from such text purveyors that relied entirely on documents written years if not decades before he was born, and which correctly predicted his birthplace, name, and other obscure time-sensitive facts that only he could know.
As an instructor Desani exuded physical stamina, great confidence and a projected sense of personal achievement that contrasted markedly with the then-in-vogue cool images of contemplative and reticent gurus and Zen masters. He uniquely combined a highly competitive — if not occasionally combative — persona with a deep bow to the great religious traditions of the East. His teachings are respectfully summed up as follows:
The ancient goal of Enlightenment is real and attainable. However, the quest is difficult and is for the few, not the many. Others should simply try to live good, ethical lives.
On most weekends Desani would play host and chef to former students who came to help with projects that might range from re-organizing his wall-to-wall library to improving an object found in a junk shop by spraying it gold. At the end of the day tired helpers would crowd his tiny sitting room, wolf down one of his out-of-this-world curries punctuated by Lay's Potato Chips ("a very healthy food") as he shared one of his life lessons with an always rapt audience.
Through his years in Austin, Desani befriended and was aided by about a dozen students, former students, and several of adult women who, as members of the local Theosophy Society, met Desani by auditing his classes. In some cases, support was provided for as long as 30 years and included, all told, thousands of hours helping Desani with his writings, his housing and accommodations, his legal and literary affairs and, finally, arranging for and providing financial, companionship, and care management to an aging friend and mentor. The group of helpers — once as close-knit and dysfunctional as any extended family — are strangers again.
Desani spent his last few years in failing health, cared for by an ever-shrinking team of home care nurses and former students, all Americans. He died at 91 in a private home near Ft. Worth, Texas.
Desani's plan to publish a compendium of his writings — fiction and non-fiction — remains unrealized. The Rissala, as he called it, was submitted in the mid-80s to a major high-end literary publisher. By then, however, the market for massive compendiums of living writers — never large — was nil. And Desani was no longer particularly well-known. The writing of an autobiographical account of his spiritual quest — to be based on his voluminous journals — was also "not willed", as Desani would have put it. (A former student and helper, John Hinds, has provided Some Further Thoughts on Rissala on his professordesani.blogspot.com.) Mr. Hinds' blog contains several reminiscences of his time with Desani, including transcribed notes, scanned programs, letters, and so forth. Of particular interest is his Note from Meeting with Desani which may have summed up the author's personal philosophy.Some of Desani's legacy remains unaccounted for. In his first years of his teaching at UT (1966-67), a series of Prof. Desani's course lectures on Theravada Buddhism and Yoga were recorded and later transcribed. Similarly, the disposition of Desani's collection of artifacts from his spiritual quests, as well as numerous related drawings and illustrations, is unknown. Recently "An Admirer" published Part 1 and Part 2 of a 1989 videotaped interview with Desani on YouTube.
In 2007 the Harry Ransom Center, UT Austin, received Desani's papers, including the original manuscript of All About H. Hatterr and his journals. A few other documents including handwritten palm-leafed pages from Nadi texts which Desani unsuccessfully attempted to get carbon-dated, were gifted to John Silber, then president of Boston University. At Desani's death, UNICEF was the only beneficiary and holds the copyright to all his writings.
Editor's Note: Over the next several years we hope to provide further insight into G.V. Desani's teachings and to offer examples of his world-class fiction, commentary and lectures. Our goal is simply to chronicle, as fully as is permitted, the legacy of a man whose teachings and writings have, if anything, greater relevance today than they did during his lifetime. In the meanwhile you are cordially invited to send questions or comments to firstname.lastname@example.org. Emails of general interest will be posted on this site.
Site contributed in memory of Blossom Burns and Ila Maberry.