country I was born in – the UK, and the country she was born in, India. I spoke of Byron, she told me of Tagore. That conversation would go on, and cross continents, only to eventually end 11 years later, in late April 2025, when after a short illness she passed away surrounded by the family she loved so dearly. She was 75.
Jai verma
Jai was born in the small village of Jiwana, rural Uttar Pradesh in 1950. A bright child, she graduated with a BA in English Literature. She would marry and have a child, Roopam, before her husband took a job offer in the UK to work in the NHS as a hospital doctor. She arrived in the UK in 1971, fittingly on Gandhi’s birthday, 2nd October. While England was not the world of Dickens and Austen she’d enthusiastically read of in her youth, she nevertheless set out to be part of it. Vipin, a brother for Roopam soon came along, and the Vermas settled in Bramcote, Notts.
Her enthusiasm for words led to a job teaching Hindi in the city, and later to producing Hindi language books for the council’s education department. She began to write poetry, sparkling lyrical, visually resplendent verse in Hindi, to be equally as sung as read. After chairing Nottingham’s Asian Arts Council in the nineties, she would set up Kavya Rang (Colours of Poetry) in 2003, a multilingual literary group devoted to cross-cultural relations. Kavya Rang would host open events during the year, culminating in a Grand Kavi Sammelan, where poets from South Asia would fly in to perform, often with dignitaries from the Indian High Commisison, who would meet with Nottingham based poets and the Lord Mayor, and Sheriff of Nottingham. It was this work, and her sheer organisational energy, that led her to be such a vital part of the City of Literature bid, especially when it came to showing UNESCO how well Nottingham connects across communities. Her ethos aligned with UNESCO’s and she was there when the news broke we had been successful and joined the Creative Cities Network. Thankfully, the Nottingham Post photographer instructed as to be vertical for the subsequent photo, though Jai, a lifelong teetotaller, gamely posed with a glass of champagne.
Our friendship continued. I would visit her most weeks, and help organise events, help translate (or rather, reconstruct a transliteration) her stories from Hindi to English. I attended dozens of events, where most of the poetry was in Hindi. I don’t understand much Hindi, so often had no idea of the words – but Hindi poetry has a beauty that transcends words – its mellifluence, its
audience participation, its sheer passionate expression would have me rapt. From the House of Lords to The Nehru Centre; Newstead Abbey to Nottingham Castle, her events would always bring joy, vibrant colour and much more. By which I mean the finest samosas this side of the Indian Ocean.
After her beloved husband died in 2018, she divided her time between Noida in India and the UK. This overwintering was not a time to put her feet up and retire however: she would travel up and down the vast expanse of India chairing conferences, being honoured at ceremonies, and relentlessly, passionately pursuing her idea of worlds rich with words. In early 2023, she invited me to join her in India. An anthology of her short stories I had helped her translate from Hindi to English was being released at Delhi Book Fair, so I flew out for what would be one of the most wonderful fortnights of my life. Having read and written about India for years, I finally got to see how the reality matched up. It is to Jai’s credit that while the India I saw was a colourful explosion of life and activity, it felt as Jai wrote. Wherever she went, she was revered and honoured by poets and writers. We visited her home village, and the school there,
where our visit was honoured by the students singing and dancing, reciting verse. She donated heavily to the school, funding its library, ensuring all had access to words.
Jai died as she lived: busy, with half a dozen projects on the go, and surrounded by those who loved her. Her death has came to a great shock to many: how could someone with such energy and commitment to the sheer activity of living, die? Yet she leaves behind a legacy rich in inspiration. Her poetry events would always be preceded by the lighting of a candle, which would flicker away as the poetry was sung out, ebbing on the wick to nothing as the event ended. Yet everyone in attendance would have had a flame lit within, a flame they would carry and, with hope, pass on.
Such is Jai’s life, and her work. Her light lives on, and Nottingham’s recognised excellence at crossing continents and building better worlds with words is testament to that.
Matt Turpin is a Nottingham-based writer and Journalism and Creative Writing Lecturer. Matt was involved in the bid for the City of Literature designation and worked as the Communications Manager for the first eight years. In 2011, he set up the hyper-local publication ‘The Beestonian’ of which he is still the Editor-in-Chief.