East-bound

My strongest regret in life has been my inability to visit the East. A single visit, lasting only forty eight hours, to Calcutta in early Seventies hardly did any justice to the region. Bengal was in the grip of Naxal violence then (seven people were shot down the day) so I latched on to Rai family when they revealed their plans to visit Sikkim & Darjeeling. Sikkim was knocked off the itinerary by a quake measuring 6.2 on the Richter scale causing a loss of over hundred lives. So we substituted it with the sleepy Kalimpong town.

The flight from Delhi takes less than two hours to Bagdogra - a small airport with archaic facilities and a disinterested Staff. A tourist, who looked like a Chinese, merrily recorded from the pick-up bus everything, including military choppers taking off in the background apparently on rescue missions to devastated Sikkim but no one seemed to care. So much for our security concerns.

The drive through Siliguri to Kalimpong was an extremely rough & bumpy, with patches throwing up so much dust that it could cause an asthmatic attack. The car had to swerve from right to left to protect the suspension from potholes. Gosh! It took an extra hour to reach the small town & another two wandering around it to locate Orchid Retreat on Rinchingpong Road. A smiling hostess later explained that it was a private estate, which did not advertise itself commercially. A quick homely lunch & a breathtaking view from the cottage managed to soothe our nerves.

The small Kalimpong market shuts itself pretty early. The hostess also warned us that it will not be possible to get a cab after 8 p.m. So we were dropped at a corner where the golgappas, neatly stacked in transparent plastic, could be had for a song. The SBI ATM, with the shutters down, had a long queue outside. We spotted the restaurant, Kalash, & went inside. Last order for dinner at 7.30 p.m.! This left us with little time to explore. All we could see was a Durga Puja pandal on the road (there’s one on every street), which had turned one way. We ate a survival dinner and were refunded the coffee charges as the clock struck eight. In Kalimpong, It is the lights out time.

There was no TV in the Cottage’s rooms, which was a blessing in disguise; nor any newspapers with their daily dose of negativity & sensationalism. The small balcony, in front, had comfortable bamboo chairs. Over the railing, one could see lights, twinkling like stars, on the distant mountain slopes. In the clear sky above, the half moon spread its silvery light across the horizon. Jagjit Singh & Ghulam Ali’s ghazals played out of our mobiles. The melodies wafted through the mountainous air. Baat niklegi to door talak jayegi! It was sheer bliss!

The morning at Orchid Retreat was heavenly. We could hear the gurgling water of a stream from somewhere down below & decided to check. There was a rich variety of fauna & flora growing in abundance all around. The steps stopped after awhile with a wooden log blocking the way. We climbed over it and went through a path, which took us to the point where water gushed down a slope. As it wound its way round boulders & stones, it also carried a lot of garbage. We may someday give up the habit of littering.

The dining hall above was spacious & tastefully done. The teak panelling on the walls; the wooden floors & ceiling gave it a heritage look. Books for those who are fond of reading but the kids accompanying us were not bemused by the titles like ‘Hitler’. I could persuade the vegetarians amongst us to try an omelette and won a couple of converts. The mountains, lit by shafts of sunlight, & moist with overnight mist, peeped through the window. The beauty of nature is bountiful!

Delo Top afforded a good panoramic view of the mountain ranges around. A man could be seen para-gliding at a distance. We clicked a few pictures & descended to the Singh Dham temple where a large statue of Hanuman stood atop a hillock. Choosing steps over the ramp, we reach it & bowed our heads in reverence. My colleague commented favourably on the Hindi spoken by the priest but beat a hasty retreat when the latter revealed that he was a poet too.

Dr. Graham’s School, which attracts students from Sikkim to Kolkatta, was in state of repair. The church had suffered a major crack and was closed to visitors. The corners of some class rooms had come apart & were being filled. A blackboard showed English tenses were being taught when they broke up. A Class VII girl had left her school diary behind, which showed stickers of Valentine’s Day & Hanna Montana stuck on different pages. Romance starts pretty early these days!

We were taken next to Zang Dhok Palri Phodong Monastery, which was opened for us by helpful monks. The colourful interiors revealed Buddha in several forms with benches and prayer books placed in front. We went to the giant prayer wheel & swung it around. A metallic road hit a bell every time a circle was completed. Buddhist monasteries are a strange amalgamation of spirituality & splendour with strong emphasis on meditation. The sight-seeing for the day ended with a trip to a private Cacti collection. Never saw such bright, big flowers atop them in my life!

The next morning was the drive to Darjeeling with a new driver. Like nature, they too were bountiful on this trip! For a change, Bharat Thapa was an amiable man, who stopped to let us click a few pictures at the Golf Course. The Sikh guard looked at us almost with disdain. We crossed Teesta (my thoughts veered towards the social activist!) flowing down the hills. Thapa bemoaned the neglect of Kalimpong, which affected the tourist inflow. ‘This year, we have tourists in Kalimpong because they can’t go to Sikkim’. On his recommendation, we also bought Lopchu pedas made with pure cow milk. They were delicious.

We crossed a bridge over Teesta and ascended to a high point where the road took a sharp turn. Gosh! There was a confluence of two mighty rivers, Teesta & Rangeet about 1000 meters below us. What is amazing is that the colours of the two are clearly separable: the light brown of former & the dark green of the latter flowing along awhile. A cup of tea, some Chana Chat and a friendly chat with roadside vendors & we were on our way again.

‘Tomorrow is Dussehra. It’s our main festival in the hills. We worship our parents and if they are no more, their photographs. They apply Tika of rice on our foreheads; give us new clothes & money. We eat meat, drink & gamble’. ‘Drink’, I frowned. ‘Yes. The eldest gets rum, the younger men, beer but the boys, only milk or lassi. These are shaguns.’ I reminded my colleague that I was the eldest in the group but never got more than a cup of coffee so far.

We checked into Swiss Hotel around noon & were out soon to look for animals in the zoo. A wild boar and crackling sounds of a few exotic birds greeted us at the entrance. Few that could be spotted in other enclosures looked fatigued and sleepy. We ventured into the museum of the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute looking at ice-axes & snow-boots. We raced to the Tenzing Rock where, it was claimed, the Sherpa who climbed Everest used to practise. We were sceptical but let the young boy, U., roap-climb to the modest top. A., his sister, did not buy my offer of money to give it a try. Leos know what they crave for! Gombu Rock, across the road, a tougher target, hardly had any takers.

We spotted a few bamboo kiosks selling Darjeeling tea & snacks. Through them, lay a kuccha path around a few tea plants. The real gardens lay beyond. We were spell-bound by the patterns they made over the mountain slopes. The evening was spent on the Mall picking up bric-a brac from Tibetans and walking right up to Chorasta across some top confectionary shops & bars. Being in the company of teetotallers, I resisted the temptation citing Lord’s Prayer silently.

We were racing to the Tiger Hill at 4 next morning to see the Sunrise. The kids, like the shopkeeper who sold curios on the Mall, complained that Sun rises everywhere but trudged along. We had to trek the last mile as countless cars had blocked the way. Diesel fumes polluted the hill air. We looked around at the railing. Not an inch of space. I stood on my toes to catch a glimpse. The mountain sky soon changed crimson and the Sun, more like an electric bulb, shot up to the excitement of the crowd. To the Left, the Kanchenjunga peak caught the first rays from the East & shone majestically. Meanwhile the Tibetan girls, with cans in front kept shouting ‘Coffee! Cigarettes’ to people lost in nature’s glory.

We stopped at Batasia Gurkha War Memorial, partly to pay homage to the sturdy martial race & also to taste some pakodas and garam chai. Born spoiler that I am, I couldn’t resist taking to task the man who was selling tickets. ‘Why don’t you guys put the tiles, which have broken off the memorial, back in place? He was surprised, apologetic and assured me that it was being done. We ordered another cup of tea in relief.

Mirik, situated at an altitude of 1780 m, was the next destination. Dipak Rai, the driver for the day, halted at Jorpokhri lake, which was full of noisy ducks giving themselves a good wash. For driving us on the festival day, he was getting another hundred rupees. We stopped en route & went across the road. One could see a tiny hamlet at a distance. ‘You are standing in Nepalese territory’, the lady vendor informed us. A cheerful young girl with pink cheeks kept screaming at the group of visitors. ‘Buy at least something worth five rupees’. Our mobile phones promptly displayed NCell signs & an SMS wished us a pleasant stay in Nepal.

Mirik has a small, placid lake with wind causing ripples on its cool surface. Boating was ‘closed’ and the kids, nauseous with fast driving on serpentine hilly roads, refused to go anywhere near the horses. When nothing else works, try Punjabi food! We located Jagjit restaurant & ordered aloo-paranthas with solid dahi. The old, burly Sardar soon had more customers than he could handle on Dusshera day & ordered the main door closed. On our way back, at the border, a disinterested Indian policeman jotted down my name in a register, added ‘+6’ against it & told us we were free to go as far as Kathmandu. That’s what you call a porous border!

We shelled out 200 rupees on the Nepali side for just a 1 km ride to the lack-lustre Pashupati market & back. Hardly any shoppers since post-liberalisation, most of the stuff on sale, can be seen in any Indian market. No wonder, the Custom check-post, where kids from my wife’s school had their electronic toys confiscated years ago, was now reduced to a site-sign. Our ‘pleasant stay in Nepal’ lasted only 30 minutes.

We drove through more tea-gardens on hills and plains, to reach Bagdogra airport at 7.30 a.m. on the final day. The lone sentry informed us that the Staff will report for duty only at 8 a.m. so we sat on our trolleys surrounded by dead insects, littered poly-packs & used pet bottles: the gateway to the exotic hills of West Bengal.

At Jantar Mantar today!

I went there today out of curiosity. Anna Hazare has been on a fast unto death for the last 56 hours (Gosh! I find missing a meal such a big deal!) spearheading a movement for curbing corruption in an effective manner. The 72 years old civil rights activist from Maharashtra is a former army man who has espoused several popular causes in his home State, chief among which has been enactment of RIT or The Right to Information Act. As the official Lok Pal (Ombudsman) Bill gathers dust after repetitive failures in Rajya Sabha, Hazare has raised the demand for a joint committee of govt. representatives and civil activists to be notified immediately so that the corrupt, at all levels of hierarchy, may be jailed and the money looted by them recovered from them expeditiously under a Jan Lok Pal Act. To get it realized, he decided to go on a fast unto death in the heart of the capital. Coming in the wake of several scams (CWG & 2G being the latest), his move is reminiscent of Gandhi’s in the face of a foreign power. It struck an instant chord with people sick of corruption prevailing in every walk of public life, which saw an outpouring of crowds along with renowned figures from diverse fields. Kiran Bedi, former IPS officer rubbed shoulders with Anupam Kher, Shabana Azmi & Amir Khan from Bollywood. Anna Hazare is being assisted by civil activists Kejriwal & Swami Agnivesh who are interacting with govt. emissaries to achieve a consensus. The govt., unnerved in the midst of State elections, has largely been positive and accommodating since it would not like to be seen as shielding the corrupt. However, Hazare’s team is careful not to be taken for a ride and is demanding credible steps so that the govt. is unable to backtrack at any stage later.

The scene at Jantar Mantar was quite electric and euphoric. With dozens of OB Vans telecasting the scene live, tricolours fluttered as groups of young men and women tried to catch a glimpse of the fasting leader on a make-shift stage while scores of sympathisers lay on either side. Across the road, people were lighting candles at the foot of a tree while the kiosks briskly sold refreshments to the hungry. Anchors you see on news channels every day were scampering for key positions or building impromptu platforms for live interviews. The media presence was just too heavy to be ignored. Anna Hazare himself may not have anticipated such an enthusiastic response as young & old outpoured their emotions uncontrollably by raising slogans, displaying placards & demanding a clean society. It showed how strongly the common man feels scourged by the cancer of corruption. I tried to reach the stage but the crowd was just too large to enable me to get anywhere near. Making my way through a battery of photographers, I ran into a row of visually impaired children who were on their way out. I stood frozen! Isn’t it ironical that those blessed with sight become so cynical while those without it nurture a vision-the vision of a free & fair India?

The news has just come in that Anna Hazare’s demands have been met and he shall break his fast tomorrow. Long live, India!

A date with art at College of Art!

It was an SMS from Megha Madan, which prompted me to visit the exhibition put up by students of College of Art on its campus on Tilak Marg. It was partly out of curiosity in which environment the budding artist , whom I had once seen paint in my courtyard, was about to graduate. The curtain fall on the week-long show was to synchronise with a farewell function for the finalists both a Grad & PG levels. I invited my close friend, O.P. Dutta, formerly of Delhi Doordarshan, to join me with a promise of a cup of coffee later.

College of Art, established in 1942, is a leading art college for advanced training in Creative and Applied Art, under the Faculty of Music & Fine Art, University of Delhi, and is run by Government of Delhi. It boasts of the likes of Ramendranath Chakravarty, B.C. Sanyal, Biswanath Mukherjee, and O.P.Sharma as its former faculty members and an auditorium designed by ace architect, Satish Gujaral, which was added in 2008.

It offers training in Applied Art, Art History, Painting, Printmaking, Sculpture and Visual Communication. Anupam Sud, D.B.Seth, Manjit Bawa, Paresh Maity & Sonia Khurana are among its notable alumni.

Located in the heart of capital, it nurtures talent from all over the country, much of which was on display during the last week. The first thing we noticed was the festive atmosphere all around. Barring a few Master of Fine Arts (MFA) students who were determined to stick around & show their work even to the last visitors like us, most youngsters looked relaxed, radiant and raring to go. So we went round in solitude and were amazed by the variety of exhibits and the abundant creativity on canvases all around us. The pictures of a few of them, which caught our eye, have been added to this post but it evidently cannot do justice to the range.

The one whose memory is unlikely to fade away was a query scrawled in the left-hand box: ‘Hey, Why can’t I wear a spaghetti top and skirt to Chandni Chowk?’ Considering that Chandni Chowk’s only a couple of kms away, it seemed even art could not erase some social & cultural divides.

All the best to the debutants!

With Swami Sukhbodhananda again!

When I drove into Siri Fort’s parking, I noticed a serpentine queue outside the gate. It was curious! Did all these people overcome the desire to watch India-Ireland match in the ICC World Cup to hear the Swamiji? If they did, his discourse on Gita the previous evening must have done wonders. It also gave rise to a disconcerting feeling that there may not be place for me and my friend, whom I had persuaded to join me. I was to be proved wrong on both the counts. The long queue was for a live show of gazal-king, Jagjit Singh while Swami Sukhbodhananda’s discourse had already begun by the time we found seats in the right auditorium. He was deriding those who saw things only superficially and impatiently demanded ‘what next?’ Seeing things with sensitivity (not sentimentality) is needed to make them a part of our experience’, he opined. More often we refuse to accept things as they are, focussing on what we wish them to be. ‘Experience the experience without the experiencer’, he added while the audience looked lost in the verbal onslaught. ‘You don’t look at your wife as she is but as you would want her to be’, he tried to explain the thought through a mundane analogy and brought in the other gender too as an after-thought. Love your spouses as he or she is rather than as you wish them to be. If you feel unhappy with the present and hope that happiness will come sometime in future, you are mistaken for, neither past nor the future but only the present-here and now- is real. The future too shall become present at that point of time. Future is an illusion and to link your happiness with what you may get in it, only a delusion.

Swamiji highlighted the importance of silence, which, unlike space or light, was limitless and facilitated communion with the divine. He asked the audience to shut their eyes to experience the power of silence. Inexplicably, there were sounds of shuffling of seats as if one needed to change one’s posture to close eyelids and the odd ringtones emanated from mobiles to produce a discordant note in that symphony of silence. The audience awoke to a reminder that we should not try to escape from what is-if you are hurt, feel the hurt. Perhaps more than an escape, what the Swami meant was to be in a state of denial-refusing to accept the real. This leads to conflicts since we are constantly trying to chase an illusory happiness. Act out of happiness & not for happiness; he said alluding to peace & understanding that acceptance of reality leads to. Quoting intermittently from Kabir, Buddha & the Holy Vedas, he exhorted the audience to give up egos and the arrogance associated with it. Advocating detachment from worldly goals, he revealed, ‘Don’t worry about the world; it will go on very well without you. It is you who will be reduced to a photograph hung on a wall.’ I visualized my own, albeit with a sandal-wood garland thrown round the neck. ‘It might be dug up later from a basement and dusted for the benefit of your grandson’, he added while I comforted myself that my single-storied home has none. As a long queue built up for the prasadam, I was reminded of the one witnessed outside the gate. We made a hasty exit through the side door. Even spirituality gets a short-shrift sometimes!

Ramjas College-Reminiscences from the Sixties

Well, Ramjas in mid-sixties was a bit formal as well as forbidding! May be the fault lay with me as I inhaled the first fumes of famed English Literature after sprouting straight out of a school’s Science labs with physical balances encased in glass-houses and beakers emitting torrid acid smells. Having failed to meet the rigors of science, I accepted the sage advice to try my luck with literature. Admission to a college like Ramjas in the heart of North Campus, now a feat in itself, was not as formidable then. We were a class of eleven, six boys and five girls who sat straight in segregated rows and stared at the ‘know-all’ faculty unflinchingly.

Most would remember Dr. Devendra Kohli with his golden spectacles & the elderly, elegant Mr. Chopra, who explained in his silvery voice Milton’s ‘Paradise Lost’. You couldn’t but be attentive since teachers knew all of you by name! While hearing how Satan fell from heavenly heights, you could find your name squeezed in, once your sight strayed, regardless of whether you had colluded with the devil or not. There was the fatherly figure of Mr. Mathew whose gentlemanly demeanour would disarm even the most rebellious. I recollect vaguely how the boys sat impatiently to see how he explained the lines in a Spencer’s sonnet comparing parts of a woman’s body with flowers. But he neatly skipped the lines leaving them flummoxed. Ramjasians of that era also remember with nostalgia Mr. Vinod Sahai clad in his crisp cotton and uttering crispier one-liners before he exchanged places with Dr. A. Jha of Patna. The handsome Mr. Gondal (we wondered if he owned the Gondal’s Press in CP’s inner circle!) & Mr. Prashant Sinha, a tiff with whom earned me my first and only suspension in life. That’s not counting the additional fine of Rs. Fifty-you could ride to college on DTC for four months with that princely sum.

‘The English Seminar’ could boast of inaugurations by the likes of Nirad Chowdhary. He was actually brought from his ancient abode in Mori Gate to point out how few Punjabis could name the five rivers flowing though the State. The valedictory function was addressed by Prof. Swarup Singh (Photo attached) who rose to become the VC later. ‘Anand Parvat’, the college magazine was much sought by those blessed with creativity and maintained excellence except when it gave space to my contribution in its Hindi section. Govind Vyas, a contemporary, often regaled the students with his hasya-ras. I also recollect vividly the college auditorium resounding with rock music as many bands converged and drew enthusiasts from across the North Campus while courting couples cooed on its periphery.

Ramjas had a closed-shelf library in those days. You had to tell the man at the counter which book you were looking for. Things, however, changed before we left its portals out & you were allowed to look at the spines of books including volumes of ‘Shakespeare Survey’ lined in a row. There was a section upstairs for the ‘seriously inclined’-the wooden partition in the middle enabled the couples to whisper sweet nothings till they were silenced by others. Girls’ Common Room was securely located next to Principal’s Office-both guarded by a Gurkha Bahadur. The corridors were cleared by the principal, Dr. P.D.Gupta himself, with burly seniors running ahead and announcing the arrival of ‘Committee’. The Canteen was more welcoming with its countless teas, bread-pakoras, gossip & cigarette fumes. I willingly picked up the stick & the habit, which took 28 years to kick!

Once Ramjas shut its gate for the day, there was a Panditji across the Gate selling pan & fags and a Chacha’s khokha at Maurice Nagar’s Chowk with its steaming hot bun-omelettes & garam chai before you headed home.

Re-discovering the Joy of Life!

The audience in Shah Auditorium had a unique experience on Sunday. Sister Shivani, as she is called by the members of Brahmakumari movement, explained how people could recapture happiness in their day-to-day lives. Drawing on her interactions with ordinary people, she felt that our ‘remote’ lies within our reach and we can control how we react to situations around us. It is normal for ordinary folks to suffer from a persecution complex and indulge in a blame game. Every one amongst us feels aggrieved in today’s world and takes it upon those who are thought to be responsible for our miseries. Shivani, in her characteristic style, interacted with the audience and made them admit that they had no control over others. However, they could surely choose the way they react to them. Urging them not to carry the unpleasant baggage of the past and use the ‘delete’ button daily, she showed how we can live happy lives and also spread happiness around. The joy lies within us. We have to discard our negative energy and accept those around us with love and understanding. Let us be joyous in spirit and behaviour. The best part of the program was the way she introduced the audience to the art of meditation. Silence reigned in the auditorium whenever she urged the participants to observe silence, look within, to be stable and at peace. When we are at peace within and without, this would automatically lead to world peace, she told a questioner towards the end.

As I strolled out at the end, I wondered if peace & joy were synonymous. The members of the organization, including Shivani herself, choose to clad themselves from top to bottom in spotless white - the colour of peace. Is it also the colour of joy, I wondered. Somehow one relates joy most with children who love colours the most. A child who insisted on saying hello to Shivani declared that she was not the one he saw on TV. ‘Which one is better, she asked him smilingly and he made no secret of his preference: ‘TV wali’.

Internal Emergency

Internal Emergency is back in the news courtesy a book released during the Congress party’s recent plenary, which gives its account of the events of 1975. The news reports reveal that late Sanjay Gandhi, younger son of Indira Gandhi has been largely blamed for what went wrong. These must be references to shifting of slum-dwellers to resettlement colonies on the outskirts, forced sterilisation & bull-dozing in areas near Turkman Gate to shift Muslims to Inderlok. There may be some truth in it since Sanjay Gandhi was not only the active face of Congress party at that time. Most ardent supporters of emergency, including V.C.Shukla, who implemented press censorship & Jagmohan who executed Turkman Gate plan appeared to be directly reporting to him. Curiously many members of Sanjay Gandhi’s coterie, including his wife Maneka and son, Varun, subsequently found place in BJP (see Pankaj Vohra’s piece in today’s HT). One wonders whether blaming Sanjay for what has been described by Advani as a ‘Nazi rule’ is, in part, family politics since Congress is today headed by the senior sister-in-law while the junior and her son are in the Opposition camp.
Needless to recollect that Internal Emergency was hastily declared in the wake of Indira Gandhi’s disqualification by Jagmohan Lal Sinha of Allahabad High Court on a petition filed by Raj Narain alleging misuse of govt. machinery during the polls. I recollect a cartoon by Abu showing the then President Fakhruddin Ali Ahmed handing over the signed declaration from a bath tub and asking them wait if there were more papers to sign. Beginning June 12, 1975, Opposition leaders were taken into preventive custody and many innocent people, including college teachers of DU, ended up in jail. Therefore it is incorrect to put the entire blame on Sanjay Gandhi for a step meant to save his mother from being unseated. The way many people, who occupied prime places later, crumbled like a pack of cards during the police raj was shocking as well as revealing. Barring Indian Express, which had the temerity to leave the edit space empty to protest censorship and invited retaliatory raids as a consequence, the media ‘kneeled when it was asked to bend’. Seminar was the only magazine, which continued to debate the issues freely. The reason, explained by a friend in I & B Ministry, perhaps was the academic nature of its content and small circulation, which posed little danger to those in power. Most people saw Emergency only in terms of punctuality in offices and running of trains and most critics of establishment turned sycophants for the sake of convenience and out of fear. Several diehard activists of political parties, taken into custody under DIR apologised to secure release from prison while those under the more strident MISA spent the entire 18 months behind bars.
Those who were born later and did not see the dictatorial face of Indian officialdom will be amused by the way Emergency affected people at the micro level. Shyamlal College, which was experiencing trouble in the Seventies, got a new Principal, G.C.Ahuja, courtesy DU’s then VC. The Governing Body of the Trust was sent packing and both the Vice-principals were out of sight-one under detention and the other underground. The temporary staff of the Evening College, a part time D.P.E & two office clerks, was removed arbitrarily. There was a curious reversal with new faces, either with an anti-Trust image or keen to acquire one to escape the ordeals of Emergency, thronging the office of the officiating Vice-principal. Colleagues spied on one another and official complaints went to local police alleging opposition to infamous 20-point/ 5-point programs of Indira Gandhi & Sanjay Gandhi. A teacher went all the way to Jammu to help police apprehend the Vice-principal who had fled in time. A senior teacher was summoned from his Kidwai Nagar residence at midnight to explain the ‘RSS connections’ alleged in the college complaint. What was heartening was the way more than half of Evening College refused to be cowed down and even issued a legal notice to the management when wages were denied to the staff to protect the Principal. Signed by ‘I.J.Bhatia & 18 others’, it created an identity for the rebels. Teachers, who were soft-spoken or remained quiet revealed exemplary fortitude when the more militant ones sometimes wavered, felt insecure and needed to be convinced. A few even indulged in double-dealing with the authorities. Emergency became a good example of how people could indulge in vindictiveness or settle personal scores: it brought out the worst in us. Fortunately, a Stay Order prevented the college from initiating any disciplinary proceedings against permanent employees throughout the Emergency. Indira Gandhi lost the election & the new Principal fled the college the same evening with lots of files, never to return.
The wheel had come full circle!