Adil Jussawala remembers his friend, the poet Dilip Chitre.
That was in Sion, Bombay, in 1967, not long after I’d met Dilip for the first time. Dilip loved wordplay, loved alliteration. However serious the topic of discussion (and discussions with Dilip could be very serious), he had a way of thwacking it off its predictable track with a witty or sarcastic sideswipe. He spoke energetically, sometimes flailing his arms about him, as though words alone were too weak to contain his energy, as though that energy were made up of elements that couldn’t be expressed by words alone, that it needed his whole body and mind to make itself felt.
Full report here Timeout Mumbai