Ayyappa Paniker and I were together in the University College, Thiruvannanthapuram, first as students doing the English Honours course and a few years later as teachers, till he left from the University's institute of English. Paniker as a student was a rather shy young man but as a teacher he was a vicarious presence in the staff-room. Not that he ever talked or laughed much. But his flashes of wit and humour evoked peals of laughter from us, and often gave us food for thought. We, his colleagues, delighted in drawing his
attention to something or other to trigger off his criticisms. By the end of the 1950s he was a well-known intellectual with a large circle of friends, many of them writers and artists. Before he was 30 he was a presence in the Kerala literary scene and in the capital city's
intellectual life.

As a teacher Paniker worked so hard that he became a scholar in whatever he taught. A voracious reader gifted with penetrating intelligence, his watchwords were clarity and exactness. I remember how many dictionaries he would consult to determine the meaning of a word. He combined love of facts with poetic enjoyment of style and diction. He respected the individuality of words-- their sound, their form, their usage in context old and new. He had a special respect for the student whose essays showed a searching for the right word.

He communicative skills were equal to his knowledge of literature and allied subjects. Hence, his lectures lit with flashes of surrealistic wit, shedding light in unexpected directions, and now and then startling with novel insights were a unique experience to his
students. They enjoyed the pure pleasure of contact with a superior intelligence. Sometimes he could hurt too with a scathing comment.

His interests were many-- literature, specially poetry and criticism, drama both as literature and theatre, cinema, kathakali, various other ancient arts, also translation, travel, lecturing. Naturally he had friends and admirers the world over.

With his `Kurukshetram' and other poems he gave a jolt to Malayalam poetry which was comfortably settled in a kind of repetitive romanticism. He brought in the many-branded anti-romantic, modernistic stance. He was unsparing in knocking down illusions, or in directing a spout of acid at pretensions. He could juggle with words, discard metres, or break their back. He brought in a new freedom into the writing of poetry. As he grew older disenchantment seemed to become a philosophy with him. He was strong enough to imbibe it himself.

I am astounded when I think of the tireless work he did. There was hardly a moment when his mind or his pen took a rest. There are hundreds in this city who have felt in his discourses the power and sharpness of his intellect, enjoyed the creativity in his ceaseless
punning and quibbling, and shared a joke with him. He was an inspiring model as a researcher, scholar and teacher. In poetry he pioneered significant trends. As a friend and colleague he has become a precious memory.