When the media mediates In the name of neutrality…

Before I venture into writing about the death of the Pricol HR manager at the hands of workers of the same firm, let me qualify that I am against any kind of violence- unorganised or organised; orchestrated by the state or by individuals. I condemn violence. However, when I read the reports of the incident in the various newspapers, I got the feeling that the ‘lumpen proletariat’ killed an innocent person without any provocation. More than the company, the newspapers painstakingly explained the gory incident and that it happened without any provocation; the slain Roy George was too good; understood the workers and interacted with them individually about their problems. Even if he was not, the murder was not justified.

This is the second incident in India, in recent times. The first one happened in an Italy based MNC located in Noida almost a year back.

Well. If you dig a little bit further, the other side of the story will also appear. It seems that the company Pricol was not very worker-friendly. Apart from transferring many workers to Uttarakhand, it has also laid off many workers; some of them had worked for more than 20 years in the company; and at least half that number of years left before they retired. They were agitating for the last 2 years against the company hiring contract labour.

Thanks to the liberalisation and globalisation, many workers have either lost their job or are having to work as contract labourers; the principle of hire and fire at will has been made easy.

While my sympathies are with the bereaved family, my thoughts are with the workers who were arbitrarily laid off. To find another job immediately is a grim probability as the job market is messy. What will happen to their families? Will they be able to meet with their basic needs? What will happen to the education of their children, perhaps the first generation learners in those families?

I know the case of a worker whose case is being fought by Krishna in the labour court. He was thrown out of his job in 1989; 20 years ago and still fighting against the management and his case is being shunted from one court to another all these years. All these to get his job or legitimate compensation. The case is still on; from the labour court to the Madras High Court and now back to the labour court. God only knows as to how long it will take for him to get his money. Hopefully, he may get it in his own life time. I felt the trauma of the worker.

Let us look in to the other side of the story too. A negotiation, on equal footing with the workers, not victimisation, is the solution. How much I wish the media is neutral than taking the side of the rich. Memories of how the media focussed so much on the Taj Hotel and the Oberoi Towers and so little or even nothing was said about those who perished at the Mumbai Central station are fresh in my mind even now.

An interview with poet Salma --a Malayalam version of this was published in Janashakthi (And thanks Cheri for the quick translation; it saved my time)

You have said that your childhood experiences inspired you to write poetry. What were those?
I was born into an orthodox Muslim family in Thuvarankurichi in Trichy district, facing the restrictions imposed on a girl with such an upbringing. I could study only till the ninth standard. The circumstances under which I had to leave school hurt me a lot; I had to pay a heavy price for a small incident at an age when I was unaware of the discrimination between boys and girls. As a child, I was crazy about movies. Three of my girl friends and I once bunked classes and went to a small theatre near my house, without knowing which film was being screened. We found ourselves the only girls in the theatre which was playing the Malayalam movie "avalude ravukal(Her nights)". My brother too was there amongst the audience. Despite ourselves, my friends and I managed to remain in the theatre till the end of the movie. But by this time, the news had travelled home and I was beaten when I returned. More than the physical pain, it was a blow to my heart. No one even scolded my brother. When I protested, I was told: YOU ARE A GIRL, HE IS A BOY.
With that, my studies were discontinued.
When did you begin writing poems?
After my studies ended, I was in a kind of house arrest for some ten years. I was not allowed to talk to boys and rarely ventured outside. Reading was the only means I had to escape this loneliness. I would read whatever I could. I grovelled before my brother for him to bring me books from the village library. I used to be a regular at that library in the days before I left school. It was in these lonely years that Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky entered my life. Reading broadened my intellectual horizons and my imagination. That is how, at the age of 16, I began writing poems. My poems, under my own name-Rajathi, were published in magazines like Kalachuvadu.
What were the repercussions of you being published?
In the little hamlet that I lived in, the poems kicked up a storm. How a Muslim girl could dare to write such things, people asked. My marriage had been fixed at a very young age, but with these problems, my engagement was almost broken off. After much debate and discussions, the elders decided: she is not to write after her marriage. With my marriage, the restrictions on me increased manifold, do not write, do not read, it went to that extent. No one understood me in that house. This was how Salma was born. I wrote surreptitiously, using the name Salma. No one in my house or my village knew of it. I would not even put my address when I sent my poems for publication.
Who encouraged you to write?
Senior writers like Sundara Ramaswami, who received my poems for journals like Kalachuvadu, encouraged me.
When did the world next hear of Salma?
The panchayat elections in Thuvarankurichi paved the way for that. The president's post was reserved for women. My family decided to put me up as a candidate as a proxy for my husband. Selfishly, they thought they would control the post through me. But when I won the election, I began taking an active interest in panchayat affairs. I had to travel a lot for work, and had to meet officials like the collector. This made me shed my insecurities and my fear of the outside world. Thus the world began to know of Rajati, of Salma. In the beginning, my husband had problems with me. But since I was in the habit of discussing panchayat affairs with my husband, we solved our issues.
Why do you continue to write, even at times you are engaged otherwise?
As I said, it was the pain and loneliness of my teenage years that got me writing. When I freely write what is on my mind, it is as if I am sharing my sorrows and pain with someone. That was what made me a writer. My emotional state must have been too intense to share with someone else. So writing is the only potion
What do you think is the strength of your writing?
It is for readers to decide on the strength of my writing and where it lies. For me, it is in the restrictions imposed on me as a girl, more so on a girl from an orthodox Muslim family. I have a feminist perspective. My pain and my problems are not unique; they are universally experience by most women.
How do you view Malayalam literature?
Malayalam has a lot of good writers, many of whom I have read in Tamil translations. My favourite Malayalam writer is Vaikom Muhammad Basheer. It may be that I relate to his works more than others', being a Muslim woman. I enjoy Kamala Das' poems very much; her poems reflect a woman's strength. I also like Zachariah.
How do you carry along your busy public life along with your writing?
I have been neglecting my writing for some time now, it is true, but I enjoy my work as the chairperson of the social welfare board. I can help many suffering people, especially women and children, and I am confident this experience with enrich my writing.

The 99999 Campaign

IT was Exnora’s campaign -99999 (09-09-09-9PM-9 minutes) for switching off lights at 9PM; for 9 minutes. To show that we do care for the environment and we would like to contribute to prevent global warning. Indeed it was a good idea in times of the threat of global warming hanging over our heads; like the proverbial Damocles sword. The media had publicized this campaign quite a bit. And we participated in that campaign religiously. Sharp nine, we switched off all the lights; including the wet grinder which was running. From the terrace we looked towards the city to see the magic. How many environmentally conscious middle class and upper middle class people were there doing the same? To our dismay, we found lights on everywhere in our neighbourhood. The homes everywhere were brightly lit up with light peeping out through the windows of those airconditioned rooms! Of course, there were few people who switched off their lights; and the flat complex where the faculty and staff of the Institute of Mathematical Sciences reside were dark during that nine minutes. Thank God! There are still some people who care for the environment. And the day after, we were out at 5 AM; we were driving to the central station to pick up Appa and Amma and the Satyamurti Bhawan, the Tamil Nadu Congress Committee’s headquarters off Mount Road was illuminated with hundreds of bulbs. The occasion was that of the visit by the charming prince Rahul Gandhi to some parts of Tamil Nadu; mind you not in Chennai). So they had decided to light up the whole building. Besides this, hundreds of flexi boards were on display- the young Gandhi, sister Gandhi and mother Gandhi and the at the bottom, the photo of the chotta local leader at the feet of THE family. I am not totally disheartened – What do you expect of the politicians and political parties otherwise. I still prefer to believe that we and others who switched off the lights for nine minutes made a small difference. And I shall continue to do it where it matters. We don’t have to wait for a catastrophe to happen to amend ourselves. Do we?

Newspapers carried the photo of the Ripon building which is housing the Chennai corporation without lights and I appreciate their move.

YS RAJASEKHARA REDDY and others

Our politicians are benevolent kings. History will definitely write about them. Like we learnt by rote that how emperor Ashoka built roads and planted trees etc, or how Akbar built Fatheh pur Sikri and so on in our school days, the generations to come will end up reading by rote (thanks to our education system) how 21st century kings built flyovers, smart cities, SEZs and their children followed suit. When YS Rajasekhara Reddy, the chief minister of Andhra Pradesh and the major money spinner of the Congress died in a helicopter crash (while he was on his way to visit his subjects in a village), no wonder, it made headlines for a few days and newspapers taking the role of investigation agencies (a new trend in journalism) and looking into the crash from all ‘angles’. They did give expert opinion on the weather conditions, condition of the chopper; compared it with the other choppers and more importantly giving a chronology of deaths in air crashes. Well. My television is not connected to any cable now and hence lost out on the theatrics.

We, Indians are the most courteous people in the planet so we do not talk about the dark sides of a person after his death. So there were condolence messages about what the nation lost with his death- a vibrant, pro poor politician, etc, etc, they conspicuously buried his detrimental relationship with mining mafia in the state and many such things. One of those days, the news papers also carried a four line report that 6 more farmers committed suicide in the Vidarbha region. They added to the statistics of 136 suicides in the last one year due to the debt trap. Of course it does not have a news value; hence it would not make news. After all they do not belong to the ruling class; they are the subjects. And the fact that the peasants happen to be the people who feed and clothe the nation would not make any difference. Nor are they celebrities.

WOW! NATO did it again!

NATO admitted that its air strike in the northern province of Kunduz killed and injured many civilians. It was ‘just’ a mistake as they thought there were no civilians in that area. The strike was reportedly ordered by a German commander after Taliban militant hijacked two fuel trucks on a NATO supply route from Tajikistan. Of course, German chancellor Angela Merkel ‘deeply regretted’ the loss of civilians in the attack. I am sure God may take pity on Angela’s deep regret and give back lives to those innocent victims. This International Security Assistant Force (ISAF) in Afghanistan think that they are doing a great service to the nation as well for the humanity as they are saving the planet from Islamic terrorism. They had had their share of cleaning up in Iraq and in the process we have also come to know what some of the soldiers were doing. You act as a world police man and enter anybody’s b ack yard and fcuk up sovereign nations in the name of democracy. Life is precious everywhere – whether the lives of the people who got killed on 11 September or the lives of the people doomed in the Hiroshima & Nagasaki or the people perished in Vietnam or Palestine or the civil war victims in Sri lanka or the innocent civilians killed in the indiscriminate bombing in Afghanistan. Explosives burn you skin irrespective of its colour. That gives the worst memories to the one who has to live with the injuries and agonies about the beloved ones who died. The famous bible quote “for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword". This is relevant to the good terrorists and bad terrorists.

When Hariharan Sang along with the sound of waves at the Elliot’s Beach!

One could not have asked for more! An evening at the Elliot’s Beach- Cool and breezy! An enclosure, lit up for the occasion; and decorated with flowers. The temporary podium stood against the relentless waves and Hariharian was there to enthrall the crowd with his Gazals. The ambience was just right. Of course, I have a different view about the audience. I think, Chennai is yet to get into the nuance of the Gazals.

Hariharan began with a few numbers from his album ‘Kaash’- ‘Kaash aisa koi’, Maikade bandh’….. The first half was good. And there was a break. During the break, someone who claimed to be a singer and an ardent follower of ‘Hariharanji,’ tried miserably to sing a Gazal. The rendition could be easily voted as the disaster of the evening. No wonder, someone from the audience was heard commenting that this girl is either from the sponsor’s family or from the times of India family (with all due respects to the ToI for gifting such a magnificent evening to Chennaites).

The break saw many people leaving; disappointment was writ large on some people’s face: That Hariharan did not sing those filmi numbers from Roja or the likes. Well. I do like Hariharan’s filmi numbers but would not have enjoyed them as much in what was billed to be an evening of gazals with that maestro. In any case, half the chairs in that enclosure were empty when Hariharan decided to take a short break. He deserved that after rendering one of his difficult numbers like Patta patta, butta butta'.

The first half, certainly, was good; but the second half was excellent. The one Gazal which was dedicated to his wife in raag Darbari left our eyes damp; the pain of separation was conveyed in the lyrics as well as his rendition. Even my husband, who refused to get a packet of popcorn for his wife, had moistened eyes!

Hariharan did play to the gallery once or twice: May be it was meant for the gen-next. A section of the audience did relish that and also enjoyed Hariharan mixing gazals and quawalis (Mere hi naam aaya hai yeh jam mehfil mein). They were seen clapping and whistling cheerily. That was all fine. But then, there was a silly girl who kept nagging; unfortunately we were sitting in the row ahead of her. She was irritated with the Gazals and wondering aloud; “ivaru eppo tamil pattu pada poraru” at the end of every gazal. After a point, she decided to register her protest, she was talking on the cell phone, loud enough, to disturb us and others who did not belong to her league. And much later, she did a wiser thing: just walked out of there to our relief!

And all the while, three boys, in their teens (who were hired for that purpose) were seen carrying the vacant chairs and gathering them in one place even while we were engrossed in the Gazals, the sound of the waves and the blowing wind. The boys were indifferent to all these because they were engaged only to clear the place in the night itself; before they went home for dinner and before they slept at the mid night after the work. Hariharan who? The only entertainment they had was blasting balloons that were flying into the enclosure from the rest of the beaches.

The memorable evening ended at 10 PM; Hariharan made it known that he should stop singing at the stroke of ten and the police would stop him otherwise!

This book review appeared in The New Sunday Express, August 23, 2009

"FOOL'S GOLD" - Gillian Tett
Trapped in a vast, opaque spider’s web
E K Santha

The global downturn, the worst since the Great Depression of the 1930s, has affected Europe and the United States; and Asia, Africa and Latin America as well. With investors pulling back globally, the unemployment rate swelling across Europe and the US, steep GDP contractions and large numbers of people filing for bankruptcy, governments in Europe and USA are desperately cooking up economic stimulus plans to fire up the economy. Some economists predict a deepening of the recession, including a further fall in the GDP in the euro zone.

Fool’s Gold by Gillian Tett, a Financial Times journalist who followed the innovations in the investment banking sector since the 1990s, is an enquiry into the economic catastrophe caused by these innovations. Tett’s work unravels what went wrong, why and who was responsible.

In a narrower sense, it is an account of JP Morgan Bank and a young, super-savvy group of employees who were responsible for the new derivatives. Indeed, they became the model for other banks. The story begins at a private beach in Boca Raton, Florida, where they met to have fun and also gather ideas on CDs in 1994. Despite the stock market crash in 1987, when the banks lost fortunes in derivatives, they went ahead. Their ideas changed the derivatives worlds of America and Europe. There was no dearth of regulations — national and international — or regulatory bodies in the commercial banking sector to see that banks maintained a reserve equivalent to 8 per cent of the value of their assets to be adjusted against risk. Indeed, the colossal growth of derivatives so rapidly invited the attention of regulators; they insisted on the extension of rules for investment banking, especially on CDSs (Credit Default Swaps) and like products.

JP Morgan, along with the banks involved in large-scale credit derivatives, formed the International Swaps and Derivatives Association. ISDA furiously lobbied, in the UK and the US, for a self control mechanism rather than regulations. The regulatory bodies succumbed. All the four anti-derivatives bills were shelved in the US. Tett brings this out clearly to show where the fault lies.

Some of these regulations would have averted disaster. The Congressional Watchdog Government Accountability Office conducted a study on the derivative world and had commented in 1994 on the weakness in risk management that might create wider systemic risk. But it did not find any takers, as “market derivatives had grown overnight from a cottage industry into a bazaar where tens of billions of dollars of risk was changing hands.” Insurance giants like the American International Group galloped in to insure the risks.

The one thing the inventors of the derivatives had never imagined was the scale of disaster that their brainchild would unleash. It not only devastated Wall Street but shook the world as well.

Investors, who relied on the rating agencies, were riding for a fall because the agencies had no idea how to assess or assign risk for the CDOs (Collateralised Debt Obligations). Even bankers had a tough time understanding these complex instruments, but the ratings agencies nevertheless gave triple ‘A’s to many of these instruments.

Investment banking grew manifold in these magical years, the large banks by 14 per cent in fiscal 2003-04, earning a profit of $61 billion. Most of this came from the frenetic appetite for sub-prime loans repackaged into CDOs. Soon, the bubbles began to pop all over the place. Repeated shocks, such as the collapse of the Asian market, Enron Corporation, the Internet bust, the fallout of 9/11 and the collapse of some huge hedge funds exposed the system. By early 2007, “most of the Western policy makers were convinced that the credit cycle had been so extreme that it would inevitably turn soon” says Tett.

The inevitable did happen; prices of houses (yet another huge mortgage sector) started sliding and many banks suffered huge losses on the mortgages. In April 2008, total mortgages lost were approximately $400 billion. Big banks and brokers were collapsing and governments were trying desperately for bailouts. JP Morgan was forced to buy Bear Stearns, which was on the verge of collapse. AIG was sold to JP Morgan. Lehman and Washington Mutual Fund collapsed. Bradford and Bingley (UK) was nationalised.

“The CDs market had turned in to a vast, opaque spider’s web; linking together banks shadow banks and brokers alike with unfath­omable trades and fear”. And Tett’s book conveys to us, that as in the case of Mackenna’s Gold,that Hollywood classic, the rush for riches in this case was Fool’s Gold.

This is a must-read book for the simple and catchy narrative of a complex credit derivative world and about how unrestrained greed corrupted a dream, shattered global markets and unleashed a catastrophe.

Long Live Sree Kerala Varma College (SKVC)!

It is rather coincident that this post too is about my alma matter; not JNU this time. It is about Sree Kerala Varma College, Trichur where I spent 7 years before landing in JNU. Well. Unlike JNU, from where I obtained just an MPhil and a PhD (incomplete), I did take my Pre-Degree, BA and MA from the campus in Trichur!

We recently had the Kerala Varma College alumni get together; for the first time in the last 22 years. It was exciting!! The excitement began the moment Jayakrishnan (Pattande) called me up, after a gap of 22 years, to inform me about the get together. Apart from the elaborate travel plans (since I had to travel from Chennai to Trichur), I made several phone calls to connect with old comrades even before the D day. I was, somewhat, nervous for no reason.

I had left the campus in 1986; but then, I had made it a habit to visit the campus at least once in a year; every time I visited home, a few hours at the college was a routine. I met my teachers. In a sense, I have observed them over the years; those who were young men and women when I was a student had begun to gray and some are now retired from work. And during my brief visits, the all shared their own perception of the changes in the campus. Invariably, RG sir or KuttiKrishnan sir got me Sharbath and vadas from the shop located, round the corner outside the college gate. Sometimes Krishna and Chinku too joined me in this ``pilgrimage’’. Well. I also happened to teach in the same college for a few months; I had filled up a leave vacancy. The fact is that at no point of time did I feel like an alien in the campus.

This time it was different. I was so much excited about meeting my old comrades; it was with them that I inculcated the concept of ‘study and struggle’ in my life. Along with the old royal buildings, suppotta trees and Ooty, the campus was and is very much a part of my life. Kerala Varma’s Ooty deserves a special mention; this is the most beautiful part of our campus; a large tract of thickly vegetated land with water bodies. In fact, one of the ponds marks the boundary between Ooty and the ladies hostel. Beyond this are the paddy fields; in the summer months, I used to walk through the fields to the college from home. Ooty was also the most romantic and serene place in the campus. For the same reason, the entry to Ooty was eternally banned to the students by the not -- so -romantic administration.

Well. Couples managed to break the rules to attain the solace of Ooty; to be reprimanded later.

This was the campus I entered there for my pre-University course when I was still in my teens. I must thank my father for that; he defied disapproval from many of my relatives; Kerala Varma College, after all, was co-educational and hence! There were other colleges in town known for their disciplinarian methods and meant only for girls. And it was in Sree Kerala Varma College that I joined the SFI. And it was in this very campus that I received my first love letter; that one was mixed with poetry and prose. I said no to him. I was, at that time, a sincere comrade and thought that love affairs were part of the bourgeois culture.

In this very campus, we had long study classes, discussion and poetry workshops. Those were times when every second person wrote poems or stories; I too was one among them. RG sir’s classes were wonderful as he connected the Malayalam poetry with those from Latin America; and we learnt to love Pablo Neruda –
“And it was at that age...
Poetry arrived in search of me.
I don't know, I don't know where it came from,
from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices,
they were not words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face”

We had long sessions at the canteen with vadas and chai. Those days money was scarce; hence less number of sponsors for tea and snacks. Many a time our teachers fished us out of the debt trap!. And the SFI taught us to be political, lead a simple and socially committed life; urged us to decide “our politics because politics decided our future”. We all happily led a Spartan life, much to the ire of our parents and relatives. We, girls refused to wear gold; not even ear rings; the three Geethas, Jaya, Arya, Beena and many more.

There were demonstrations and processions; we sang revolutionary songs – “it is the time for struggle comrades”….Martyrs are the greatest and they show us the right path”….

We organized the best cultural events; from folk arts to showing of great films like Satyajit Ray’s pather panchali and made hand bills and posters in the evening.

Those days had its share of turmoil also. I lost my younger brother for ever; to the intolerant and brutal politics of the ABVP-RSS. He had just joined the college then. We were very close as siblings as well as comrades. The same ideology held us together. We just began to understand each other in a different light as members of the same organization. Then not even six months together in the campus; they killed him for nothing. There was no history of fight with them, no record of having provoked them. Nothing. Just like that they had decided to finish off somebody that particular night and this boy was an easy prey. He had his last supper at home and had a good laugh over something and left to watch the local festival; never to comeback. They were waiting in the dark. Just three deep stabs. A 17 year old life and his dreams ended there.

It took long; several months for me to come to terms with his death. A deep sorrow settled in the place of tears. My comrades were there to support me throughout the traumatic period.

And I met them after 22 years, around 200 of them. Some of them were very close to me; others were just known to me. Now we live in different parts of the country; some even abroad. Matured with gray hairs and several kilos heavier than they were! I must admit that I could not recognize some of them. I too realized that some people will never grow up in their life; even if they appear older.

But then, many others have grown older and wiser too. Soopan (Suresh) is now a bulky guy; I remember him as a lean and thin boy. And he is also wiser now. Prabha (our kalari payattu hero and hence called Chekavar by us) looked the same. He was a composed person then and continues to be one now too. Beena looked sadder and I thought of those vibrant days of struggle where Beena played a major role.

Politically, most of us are still left leaning; but some of us are not with any particular party. Comrades like Radhakrishnan (now the Speaker of the Kerala Assembly) and U.P.Joseph are still with the CPI(M). There are some others like them too.

But we felt the warmth of the being together and sharing a comradeship of the 1980’s. And it was also fun to have a lone KSU (I) guy at the get together. He jelled well with us.

Of course, SKVC looks better! Lot more trees now and hence greener. The old supotta trees defy their age and live there for ever, the buildings have been painted many times and there is a new auditorium. The old one, facing the beautiful Ooty is still there!

Thank you His Highness Sree Kerala Varma! Long live Kerala Varma College!!

Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU)and Ragging?????

I was shocked reading newspaper reports that some students from the Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) were expelled from the hostel on charges of ragging. It seems that they were caught red-handed by the anti-ragging committee. (Again a surprise: when did they begin to form an anti-ragging committee? Is it mandatory these days?). This is for the first time that I am hearing something of this sort about JNU; a campus known for a culture where the seniors take care of the freshers. For that matter, not only the freshers but also the young job seekers from the various small towns are taken care of in JNU! Such people are ``accommodated’’ in the various hostels, albeit illegally by the students. In the past, when stories of ragging were in the news, we were proud that ours is a ragging free campus.

I recall my early days in JNU nostalgically. I arrived there one morning in June. Summer was still scorching and I was tired after a long journey. I was depressed too. Hostile weather, alien language and food that I was not used to; an array of discomforts! In June, we Malayalis are used to the magical spell of the monsoon. And we are notorious for using coconut and its oil in any edible stuff. And as far the language, I struggled with my English and always answered in monosyllables. And my Hindi was equally bad!

But the most amazing thing was the way the JNU seniors welcomed you. I had to prepare for the interview for my M.Phil admission in Chinese studies. Please note the fact that I was not a student yet! I did not have any deep understanding on China though I had cleared my written test. Yamuna, was in JNU already. I did not know her until that day I arrived. But then, she let me stay with her till I got through my admission. A senior of mine at my Centre- Vikramsimha Rao -- whom I met for the first time in my life -- offered all help. He spent hours with me and discussed about the possible questions and prepared me for the interview. Though a perfect stranger to me, he had made me comfortable about the campus, and helped me to overcome my fears and worries.

Well. TK was there to steer me in the initial days despite his busy work with the Students Union. He acclimatized me with the way of life in the campus; sometimes even chided me for not going to the library. I have sweet memories of my seniors- helping me with the assignments, inviting me to the film club, photographic club, a dinner at Udippi or a trek to the Qutab Minar and so on. And in just a year’s time, I was a senior and I too reached out to the freshers:– Keeping the tradition on.

No wonder that the report of ragging in JNU (by few MCA students) disturbed me so much. It was so inimical to our glorious past and tradition, where everything coexisted - Jhelum lawns, Ganga Dhaba, library canteen, us and so many other things….. I would like to take it as a bizarre incident which would not be repeated….for I am planning to send my child to JNU… And I do not want him to come back and counter me saying…Mom, your much heard stories do not match with my experience.