‘How should we understand a life – and where do literary, personal and intellectual biography meet?” asked Patrick French in a colloquium held last year. There was nobody better positioned to answer. A biographer of unparalleled sensitivity, Patrick learned early on “to realise the complexity of each person” and “the need for scrupulous research and selection, as well as intuition, empathy and compassion”. He will long be remembered for his literary achievements, especially his biography of VS Naipaul, which offers a masterclass in life-writing.
I was fortunate to get to know Patrick as a person and intellectual as well. We met in 2018, not long after he generously reviewed my book The Dawn Watch for this paper. He had recently become the founding Dean of the School of Arts and Sciences at Ahmedabad University, in Gujarat, where he was tasked with building a liberal arts institution from scratch, and where he invited me to become a visiting professor. Not many people can move seamlessly between literary and academic realms, with the different forms of thought, creativity, and communication they entail; nor do many writers or professors possess the vision, patience, and pragmatism required to lead an institution. Patrick had all these capacities, plus an abundant curiosity and tolerance that helped him navigate across cultural and disciplinary lines.
His achievements as an institution-builder included hiring and nurturing dozens of faculty members in fields ranging from physics to philosophy. He took the “building” part seriously, too, engaging with the design of the school’s new premises, with spaces to foster various forms of interaction. Most of all, Patrick established a collaborative, collegial intellectual culture. One of the first things he did was install a coffee machine in the faculty lounge – a mainstay of many a university department, to be sure, but in India a deliberately norm-busting move. Patrick wanted to challenge the traditional hierarchies of Indian office life, where senior personnel have “peons” to bring them tea and do chores.
For my part, I’ll remember Patrick’s twinkling wit, particularly with respect to language. We shared a Hindi teacher, Ali Taqi, who enjoyed their laughter-filled lessons and noted Patrick’s pleasure at discovering the Hindi origins of expressions in Indian English. We also shared a delight in the sort of English-in-aspic preserved in certain corners of Indian officialdom. Patrick regularly forwarded me communiques featuring archaic and inventive locutions – “phrases to add to the lexicon,” he said – and insights into “the warp and weft of Ahmedabad academic life”. My favourite, headed “Monkey (Langur) Menace”, came from the retired colonel in charge of campus operations, and concerned an aggressive troupe of monkeys who had to be chased away by security guards throwing firecrackers. “You noticed the Colonel’s assertion that only ‘heavy crackers’ will disperse the monkey (langur) menace?” Patrick highlighted.
Patrick understood clearly the mounting challenges to academic freedom and civil liberties under the regime of Narendra Modi. He was disappointed by Ahmedabad University’s decision to cancel the appointment of Ramachandra Guha, one of India’s leading historians, after protests from the Hindu right. Yet amid all the difficulties posed by politics, Covid, and his own illness, I never knew him to lose optimism and purpose. “Things are running well,” he reported during lockdown. “Amazes me some days that we have been able to build this at all. It seems both solid and fragile.” Patrick’s body became too fragile too soon. His integrity, kindness, and his contributions in so many arenas, and to so many peoples’ lives, were as solid as can be.
