The Last Window Closes, Remembering Vinod Kumar Shukla, the Poet Who Spoke for the Voiceless

On Tuesday evening, 23rd December, at 4:48 pm in Raipur, Vinod Kumar Shukla breathed his last at the age of 89. The man who had spent a lifetime crafting windows through words, windows that allowed readers to glimpse the extraordinary in the ordinary, had finally stepped through one himself, leaving behind a legacy that transformed Hindi literature forever.

Admitted to AIIMS Raipur on 2nd December after experiencing breathing difficulties, Shukla spent his final weeks on ventilator and oxygen support, his body failing even as his literary spirit remained indomitable. His son Shashwat and daughter stood vigil, alongside his wife, as Chhattisgarh's most illustrious literary son prepared to depart the small-town world he had immortalised in prose and poetry.

"The news of Vinod Kumar Shukla ji's passing is extremely sad for all of us," writes Ashok Maheshwari, Managing Director of Rajkamal Prakashan. "For a long time, we had been receiving news of his illness. But those who knew his personality and life-vision always felt that just as he had emerged from difficult circumstances every time before, he would soon return in good health. His departure is an irreparable loss not only for Hindi but for the entire literary world."

Born on 1st January 1937 in Rajnandgaon, a quaint town in what is now Chhattisgarh, Shukla studied agricultural science, obtaining his M.Sc. from Jawaharlal Nehru Krishi Vishwa Vidyalaya in Jabalpur, and later served as an associate professor at the Agriculture College in Raipur. By day, he taught farmers new agricultural techniques; by night, he cultivated sentences that would bloom into some of Hindi literature's most extraordinary works.

"There are three things that, to me, stand out in Vinod Kumar Shukla's poetry, his style, his concerns, and also his reception," observes Gautam Choubey, Professor of English at the University of Delhi and translator of the first Bhojpuri novel into English, Phoolsunghi. His assessment captures the essence of a writer who defied conventional trajectories. "He was a prominent figure all along. Most of his works were published, the anthologies were of course published in the 90s onwards, but he came to some sort of national prominence, according to me, in recent years, perhaps in the last two decades or so."

Shukla's formative literary years were profoundly shaped by his encounter with the Marxist poet Gajanan Madhav Muktibodh, who taught at Digvijay College in Rajnandgaon. This meeting, which Shukla later memorialised in his story "Old Veranda", proved decisive. Muktibodh's encouragement led to Shukla's first published poems, launching a career that would span over five decades.

His debut poetry collection, Lagbhag Jaihind(Almost Hail India, 1971), announced a distinctly ironic voice. His major works include the novels Naukar Ki Kameez(The Servant's Shirt) and Deewar Mein Ek Khidki Rahti Thi(A Window Lived in a Wall), the latter earning him the Sahitya Akademi Award in 1999. These weren't merely stories; they were portals into a world where the mundane transformed into the magical, where clerks and teachers became philosophers, and where the smallest gesture contained universes.

"Vinod ji's literature is the extraordinary expression of ordinary life," Maheshwari reflects. "In very simple language, he spoke of the very common person in such a manner that it created a unique identity across poetry, stories, and novels—all three. He invented his own style, which is why his writing doesn't resemble anyone else's."

What distinguished Shukla's craft was his radical simplicity. "What he does is he trims language down to its basic connotation, trims a sentence down to a pair, sit down to its basic semantics, so that as readers we dwell more on the perception, the idea, rather than language itself," Choubey explains. 

“The beauty of his writing lay in its simplicity, a reminder that words need not be complicated, or evoke complex feelings, in order to carry meaning. A bird, a window, a rupee note. All these could be the subjects of writing, equally important as writing about wars and religion,” reflects writer and journalist Shruti Sonal, "I think that's what also made him very popular with young readers, who have grown up surrounded by technology and a sense of alienation. He was a window into a world where magic existed in the mundane.” 

His characters inhabited the margins, government clerks surviving on meagre salaries, primary school teachers in villages where children sat on gunnysacks, couples whose entire world centred on a single window. Naukar Ki Kameez was adapted into a film by the late Mani Kaul, bringing Shukla's singular vision to Indian cinema.

Roving reporter Vishnu Narayan recalls a meeting with Shukla approximately three years ago, in December, at his Raipur home near the champa tree that appears repeatedly in his work. "Who wouldn't want to meet someone after reading him? Someone whom the glitter of metros couldn't attract. Who didn't travel much here and there, but whose writing now roams the entire world. Unique and singular in his own way. His life was just like his writing, extremely simple and natural. That's the kind of person we went to see."

Vishnu remembers that in his final days, Shukla was writing for children, "which is even more difficult. Just think about what kind of things and stories children would like, and writing them. Perhaps only he could think and write like this: 'The elephant walked ahead, leaving behind an elephant-sized empty space.' When he learnt that we had come from Bihar to meet him, he told us an anecdote about young people from Bihar—how youngsters reading and having read the story 'Machhli' still call him to resolve their doubts." It was, Vishnu reflects, "a beautiful memory that you'd want to preserve for a lifetime."

Yet for decades, Shukla's brilliance remained inadequately compensated. In 2022, he broke his silence, revealing that major publishers had paid him pittance, approximately Rs. 5,500 annually from Vani Prakashan for three books and Rs. 14,000 yearly from Rajkamal Prakashan for six books. His public statement, "Mujhe dhokha diya gaya hai" (I have been cheated), sent shockwaves through Hindi literary circles.

The revelation exposed systemic exploitation within Hindi publishing. Then came vindication. Earlier this year, Shukla received Rs. 30 lakh in royalties for just six months from Hind Yugm publishers for Deewar Mein Ek Khidki Rahti Thi, which sold over 86,000 copies in that period, proof that Hindi literature could command both respect and remuneration.

"Rajkamal Prakashan's relationship with him spanned decades," Maheshwari notes. "We had the good fortune of publishing his important novel Naukar Ki Kameez and several other books. In recent years, when one of his old books was republished, he was extremely pleased. Vinod ji, who generally stayed away from media, at our request also did a Facebook Live conversation during the Corona period, which was watched by thousands of readers unexpectedly, this was proof of his connection with readers."

International recognition followed. In 2023, Shukla became the first Indian author to receive the PEN/Nabokov Award for Achievement in International Literature. In 2024, he was honoured with the 59th Jnanpith Award, becoming the first writer from Chhattisgarh and the 12th Hindi writer to receive India's highest literary honour. The award was presented to him on 21st November at a ceremony held at his Raipur residence due to his extremely worsening health condition.

"And perhaps one last thing that stands out in his life and career is his location," Choubey notes. "He remained outside the circuit. He occupied his place in a quaint town and he stayed there all his life." Whilst Hindi literature's power centres remained in Banaras, Allahabad, and Bhopal, Shukla wrote from Raipur, finding in geographical distance a creative freedom.

His political stance was equally distinctive. "The other thing that stands out to me is the fact that he did not write searing political commentaries," Choubey observes. "Instead, he allowed his writing, his works to do the talking." Only in his later poems did explicit socio-political engagement emerge, particularly regarding Chhattisgarh's Adivasi communities. Yet throughout his career, "he spoke of the common man, the last man, and the politics of being the last man without being overtly political in his views."

Yet his final weeks exposed harsh realities. According to ground reports by Shubhankar Shukla of Roots Alert, after spending nearly Rs, 4 lakh at a private hospital with no diagnosis, the family brought him to AIIMS Raipur on 3rd December to avoid further costs. There, according to family friend Sanket Thakur, relatives were summoned to change diapers and bedsheets, doctors examined him via mobile photographs, and his son Shashwat slept on a mat on the waiting room floor, systemic failures mirroring the marginalised lives Shukla had spent decades documenting.

Vinod Kumar Shukla's death marks the closing of a window that looked out onto India's soul, the lives of ordinary people rendered with extraordinary tenderness. He is survived by his wife, son Shashwat, and daughter, and by countless readers who discovered in his sparse, luminous sentences a mirror for their own quiet desperation and stubborn hope.

"Though Vinod Kumar Shukla ji is no longer physically amongst us," Maheshwari writes, "through his literature, his language, and memories, he will always remain present. Rajkamal Prakashan expresses its deepest condolences to his family and countless readers in this hour of grief."

In his poem "A Man Had Sat Down in Desperation", Shukla wrote: "We walked together. We did not know each other. But we knew walking together."

Today, Hindi literature walks on without him, but carries within it the knowledge of walking together, a gift from a man who chose simplicity over spectacle, the margins over the centre, and human connection over everything else.