91

Dear Readers,

                      Today morning's ghastly attack on children attending school at Peshawar in Pakistan has jolted many of us who followed the bone-chilling news on television and saw and heard the mourns and cries of the innocent- both pupils and their parents. I was left in a state of shock and agony after I shut down the TV set.

                          Of all the scenes and interviews which were being telecast, the one image that tore my heart apart was an interview of a father caught on tenterhooks outside the school compound. A middle aged person with a respectable mustache on his round swarthy face was speaking in a befuddled tone. His son was still stuck in the school as the terrorists roamed about in their killer prowl. His speech clearly reflected his gigantic efforts at keeping a brave face before calamity and to gather every ounce of strength and courage in order to be ready for any eventuality.  A helpless yet hopeful voice invoking God to come to his rescue. A voice so despondent that it makes the listener go weak at his knees.

                          Be it Arnab Goswami's Newshour or the international broadcasts of BBC or CNN, everyone was trying to read the politics behind these attacks. I could not make much sense of all that. The only thing that kept ringing in my mind was the eye-witness accounts of young lads speaking in a language so similar to mine that I could not hold my tears. Brothers and Sisters of Pakistan, we grieve with you today but always remember, these terrorists are nobody's 'Freedom Fighters'......

90

Dear Readers,

                      After a hiatus of 27 years, the valley of Kashmir reverberated with the humming of throngs of people queuing up to cast their votes in the Legislative Assembly elections. The impressive voter turnout ( a whopping 72%) filled the hearts of incorrigible optimistic enthusiasts like me to wish well for the future of this unique province of India. May God bless the people of Kashmir with a restored 'normalcy'.

                     The images of beautiful men and women wearing pherans reminded me of the latest flick on Kashmir doled out by Vishal Bharadwaj, Haider. The critically acclaimed movie portrays the trials and tribulations faced by Kashmiri youth today after years of militancy, soaring unemployment and opportunistic politics. Haider is a young lad who is the main character of the story. 

                          In the end scene of the movie, it is the mother of the protagonist Haider who blows herself up as a human bomb to put an end to the vicious circle of "intekham" or vengeance which lays engulfing the life and conditions of the people of Kashmir. Probably, the symbolism of this climax has got reflected in the picture of a 102 year old mother at Bandipore who, as reported, came out to vote despite threats to life from Jaish-e-Mohammad. The mothers of Kashmir have decided to brighten the future of their lads....it seems...  

89 The shadow of light

Dear Readers, 

                   There comes a few times in your lifetime, moments which bring you face to face with the ones who shape your mind, whom you admire, with whom you debate or disagree, who influence your thought cycle directly or indirectly and I had my share of this novel experience when I met the legendary Professor of Medieval Indian History, Irfan Habib Sahib at his home turf, in his office room at the Aligarh Muslim University. My understanding about medieval India is highly influenced by his writings. 

                After a pleasurable drive from Jaipur to Aligarh racing past lush green fields of the Ganga-Yamuna doab spotted here and there with those typically affluent UP'ite mango orchards ( aam ki bagichian), I reached Aligarh in the late evening of November 10th. The next morning, the day I was to present my paper at a conference here organized on the theme of Foreign Relations of India during the medieval times, I met that iconic personality. 

            As if the calm and composure that surrounded Professor Habib's aura was not enough, the sheer depth of the look in his eyes ( due to the volume and weight of his knowledge and analysis) matched with his immaculate medieval court-like gestures completely unsettled me. It took me 4.5 seconds to gather myself and answer to his seemingly simple question, " So, where have they lodged you on campus?". 

               Stammering and faltering, I somehow managed to keep pace with his conversation. He pointed out some follies, hinted at some rectifications and made a suggestion about further research on my topic. At the end, when he cast a half-glance on the stack of papers on his desk, I learnt that even at the age of 83, he has enough desk work to keep him occupied till dusk and that it was time to take his leave. So I did, and as soon as I felt my limbs walking through the corridor, it felt as if an unknown shadow of light had permeated the inner membranes of my mind...

                  Kafir-e-ishqam musalmani mara darkaar neest

                 Har rag-e mun taar gashta hajat-e zunnaar neest;
                 Az sar-e baaleen-e mun bar khez ay naadaan tabeeb
                Dard mand-e ishq ra daroo bajuz deedaar neest;
                Nakhuda dar kashti-e maagar nabashad go mubaash
                Makhuda daareem mara nakhuda darkaar neest;
                Khalq mi goyad ki Khusrau but parasti mi kunad
                Aarey aarey mi kunam ba khalq mara kaar neest...

Amir Khusraw

88

Dear Readers,

                     It is always so much fun talking about music with friends (more so when they are from different cultures). The moment the other person lets you into his or her world of audio tastes and likes, you get a glimpse of a new world filled with some known matter and some totally unknown particles. One is made to acknowledge the minuscule quantity of songs that one has heard when compared to the galaxies of music genres, artists and albums in the world. 

              Yesterday, I was chatting with a friend in Florida who is a quintessential American with a highly interesting gamut of musical delights. At once, I was transported to an unexplored territory when song after song and band name after band name, we visited the different nooks and corner of music played in US the A. I was simultaneously hearing the songs out on youtube. What a ride it was!

               It started on a random note with Emmylou Harris and Ellie Goulding. The conversation then touched upon some retro stuff including the Queen, Van Morrison and Rolling Stones. This last legendary band was the only strand of familiarity in the monologue that was going on and on to my pleasure. A few songs by Drake, Chemical Brothers and such latest artists were also given some space to complete the platter. Even at the end of it all, my soul yearned for more and more of melody.

               And the caravan is on its way

               I can hear the merry Gypsies play.....

               

87

Dear Readers, 

                     History reading is fraught with pain and agony. There are millions of reasons why we are enticed by the reading or revisiting of our past. Some people feel that when they visit old forts, palaces, or any building lying dormant since ages, they experience a nostalgia which leads them into believing that they had been at that location before. A historical deja-vu so as to say. For highly emotional and sensitive souls, one such attraction is the plight and pathos of some important characters of history. 

                         My heart wails in the dark of the night when I read about Raziya and her rise and fall. I feel like rushing to her grave and offer some prayers for her or offer a wreath of flowers. What all did she have to suffer at the hands of those wretched nobles who could not understand her vision and character. If I happen to use a time-machine and transport myself back to time, the date I would chose would be October 13th 1240.   

         As Raziya would lay soaked in her own blood murdered by some decoits around Kaithal in modern day Haryana, I would pick her up in my arms with the highest degree of reverence and respect due to an Empress and at any personal cost, rush her to the site where her confidant and ally, Yakut, lay buried. I would bury her next to him and then weep my heart out. After all, Razia was the queen of hearts for us, the common people. 

                            kitni dushwar guzar thi woh raah tere jane ke baad, 

                            shab-e vasl mili hai aaj to zara gaur se sun.........  

              

86

Dear Readers,

                     During the course of lazy Sunday morning chats today, a  friend of mine asked me how did I spend my Saturday. I was a bit hesitant to divulge the exact details, for my idea of a perfect Saturday evening would have been unpalatable to him. In sharp contrast to throbbing discotheques and loquacious restaurants, my refreshing weekend was spent in a park and a cozy bedroom. 

                       My long, quiet and lonesome weekends in the sand dunes of Bikaner has habituated me to celebrating Saturdays in a very solitary yet soul-rejuvenating way. Yesterday, to beat the fatigue of week-long lectures and writing, I chose to walk down to the Central Park for an evening jog. The real attraction was the opportunity to hear Parveen Sultana, one of the most famous classical singers of India, live. She was performing on the occasion of World Tourism Day at a concert organized by the Government of Rajasthan. It was so soothing to sit on one of the benches and listen to her beautiful voice doling out thumris and bhajans one after the other.

                    After all that peace and calm, I returned home, had a light dinner and tucked myself in the bed to feast upon a latest flick Finding Fanny. Homi Adjania's dry humor is nothing close to a master piece but is never the less entertaining and comic. For me, the highly luscious portrayal of Goa and its culture was enough to transport me into my fairyland and earn me a sound sleep...... 

85

Dear Readers,

                   A friend of mine posted an article on her Facebook account which talked about the frivolity and extravagance of the great Navratra festival of Gujarat. The article talked about how Garba and Dandiya ran in the blood of Gujaratis and all those non-Gujarati outsiders who are enamoured by this mega festival. Apparently, I am one of the latter kinds. 

                 After reading that article, I went down memory lane and all those colorful and dazzling images of those magical nights flashed before my eyes. The beautifully adorned Gujarati women, donning mirror-work chaniya-cholis and dancing so elegantly in those gigantic swirling movements that they appear to be apsaras floating on celestial clouds. Equally gorgeous were the men folk, wearing kediyas and bustling with joy and energy. 

             The most romantic part of the whole experience is the slight nip in the air that usually hangs about post-monsoons during the month of October. To drive back home on a bike or a car late night ( which is really late, somewhere around 3 or 4 pm) in the company of friends through those streets of Ahmedabad or Baroda drenched in orange lights is a sure way to send your heart soaring so high that you feel dizzy and inebriated. Who needs alcohol, after all, in the 'dry state'!!! 

84

Dear Readers,

                      Everybody these days is all praises for the new Pakistani TV serials which are being broad casted daily on a special channel. The other day, I overheard two ladies chit -chatting about the sumptuous visual treat from across the border that also offer a much needed relief from Ekta Kapur's torture. One of the ladies who happened to be an ardent fan of stories by writers like Sarat Chandra, Dostoevsky or Rahi Masoom Raza told the other one how she could instinctively associate with the heart rendering subjects of these televised stories. She complained that the beauty, elegance, simplicity and close-to-real-lifeness of these programs was something that is missing from our soap-operas.

                 If this was not enough, I encountered a bunch of unpatriotic fans right inside our staff room. These  young ladies were going gaga over some Fawad Khan whom they found irresistibly cute. After a lot of external stimuli, my anxiety was raised to such a level that in the evening I had to park myself in front of the idiot box and catch a glimpse of these characters.

              I could manage to watch it only for about fifteen-twenty minutes because I would prefer to read than to watch TV. Yet, whatever I saw brought a strong smell of the mother Earth. The character and story did touch the inner walls of the heart and one could feel the belongingness. Whatever that's got anything to do with India-Pakistan is highly emotionally charged and I believe this adds to the intoxicating charm of these programs. As for me, the historian inside raced back into time and brought back visual memories from TV serials of the good old days - Hum Log, Buniyad, Mitti ke Rang and my favorite Neem ka Ped.

                                 Munh ki baat sune har koi, dil ke dard jane kaun,

                                 awazon ke bazaron main, khamoshi pehchane kaun.....

83

Dear Readers, 

                    The colonial legacy of the British Empire in India is a vehemently debated issue and more so when we make an attempt to gauge it in terms of imperial benevolence and the profit motive. However, there are a few remnants of the British-Raj which on sight, simply overawe us and compels us to appreciate a few qualities of our former masters. They were excellent builders and the proof of it are the tall and grand structures erected by them which have endured the onslaughts of time. 

                      My personal favorite are the bridges built by them. This can serve as an excellent topic of research for any scholar of Modern History: To write the story behind the construction of bridges all across the Indian sub-continent. The sheer expanse and diversity of geography encompassed by such a study would be very fascinating. I am also sure about the fact that the researcher will encounter many thrilling kissas and tales revolving around the sahibs who encamped near these sites and built smaller but strategically important bridges across streams, rivers, jungles and mountains. Something akin to the masterpiece narrative of Lt. Col. John Henry Patterson and his famous Tsavo adventure. Clint Eastwood's Bridges of the Madison County also strikes the mind, though it is remotely linked to the theme. .  

                       This thought chanced upon me a few weeks ago when I was on my way from Jaipur to Jodhpur. En route, one enters the picturesque Bar valley( I would say 'once picturesque' because the recent construction of a six-lane super highway through the valley has rendered an ugly look to the entire landscape) after Beawar and can see several bridges. The Britishers built a railway line across this valley, one that connected Delhi and Ahemdabad and was thus, highly important. Later in the early twentieth century, a road was also constructed that connected Ajmer, their capital to western Rajasthan and was thus, equally important. One of the outcomes of such a study would be that all these structures would be documented before they are lost at the hands of 6 lane highway construction mafia. 

                         

              

82

Dear Readers, 

                  This week offered two opportunities to have a closer look into the status of Education in our state. First, Professor Sukhdeo Thorat, an eminent academic administrator and thinker of our nation, visited our University to deliver a lecture. He spoke about the challenges that the system of Higher Education has to face in our country. The problem of ensuring a holistic and inclusive education persists all across India and the gap between the educated and the uneducated citizens is ever widening.

                      Being an economist, he doled out tonnes of data and stats in his lecture and it was appalling to learn about some alarming information. The gender ratio is one statistic which is highly skewed in Rajasthan. As compared to the number of men enrolled in Higher Education institutions across the state, fewer number of women are enrolled in the same. This glaring gap assumes dangerous proportions when we take into account the urban-rural divide. The most disturbing fact is that even in the twenty first century, huge chunks of our citizenry is relatively isolated from the academic realm- the young people belonging to SC, ST, OBC and religious minorities sections. 

                     The second event was when I was invited by Step By Step High School for conducting a workshop with students of class 11th and 12th enrolled in the Humanities stream. I lectured them about the significance of the Classics and about inculcating creativity and expression in the face of over-dominance of the popular media. I thoroughly enjoyed the session with the beaming students and it brought back memories from my school days when we were all so 'enthu' about opting Arts in 11th class in spite of scoring very well in the matriculate. 

                     This school is one of the 'elite' rich private schools which caters to the narrow top bracket of our people. The masses study in very poor condition Government schools. In my opinion, if we want to bring  in some qualitative changes, we need to update the system of teaching in such schools. Rather than painting just the exterior of the edifices, we should look for streamlining the entire organisation, no matter how Herculean this task may seem to be. One possible suggestion can be that University teachers and school teachers should mingle freely, work in unison and give up their false egos which prevents the realisation of the first two objectives. There should be a clear cut path for the ordinary students from the level of the primary right up till Research.......   

                       

81

Dear Readers,

                     India is in the middle of its greatest national festival, the General Elections and boy oh boy! what a roller-coaster ride it has been so far for all of us, the electorate, the candidates, the netas, the bade babus and the ocean of people on the move both physically and in terms of their opinions. They are saying that this time over, the elections will be the toughest ones fought ever and judging by the grisly comment-hurling that the politicians have indulged into, this speculation does seem true in all earnest.

                     The day for voting in all most two-thirds of the constituencies in Rajasthan was declared to be April 17th. On the eve of that epochal event, most of the parts of western Rajasthan (including Jaipur and its environs) witnessed a strong dust storm. For me, the timing of the storm could not have been better. After dinner, when I was trying to settle down in my study, I heard strong winds blasting into the face of concrete buildings. Dust laden winds swooshed into our home's interiors through the edges of the sills after playing havoc in our tiny pedicured gardens. 

                    Thunder and lightening cracked forcefully while window panes smashed against their frames making alarming noises. I interpreted this effect as a divine message sent from the heavens. Someone somewhere up above is also watching this game closely. This storm was in a way their way of expressing their own predilections, or prophecies or warnings. While I sat in vapid vacuum waiting for this tempest to subside, my timid mind could not but think about what May 17th holds in its dawn for our nation......    

80

Dear Readers,

                     Just finished reading Khaled Hosseini's And The Mountains Echoed last night and in the name of Christ, what a story this book carries. The close resemblance of its characters with the real life offers a vivid travel across the changing faces of Afghanistan over the last century, through credulous twists ad turns in the chain of happenings. At times there are passages which evoke strong emotions out of you as you feel your blood become warmer under the skin and the elegance of such prolific writing rests in the quality that the author manages to touch you so deeply without unnecessary allusions to Soviet harshness, Mujahideens, the Taliban, Bush or the war on terror. In short, the story is like having a peek into other's life led in a country about which a lot of misinformation goes around. 

                  During the course of my thesis research, I unraveled the deep ties that the north-western part of the Indian sub-continent has had with Central Asia. I have written this down also that for places like Jaisalmer and Amarkot, Kabul or Peshawar were as close and important as were Agra or Lukhnow. After reading this book, this contention is further bolstered up in my mind. Rushing through the pages of this novel, there were moments when the narrative made my sub-conscious level feel as if all that was described is a part of me.  

               At times, the words and nouns used in the story remind us of the long forgotten Indo-Islamic syncretic culture which once dominated much of Hindustan or northern India. The food, the dresses and the mentalities are all in tune with what we undergo in our day to day lives. Personally, the most striking resemblance that I felt was the barrenness of the landscape and its openness. 

79

Dear Readers,
              It is highly amusing, inspiring and fascinating to hear about the tales of the glory of an institution as grand as the University of Rajasthan. I am in the habit of talking at length to veteran officials, clerks, peons and gardeners of RU and during the course of our conversations, so much light is shed on past anecdotes, events, traditions and high benchmarks set up by great people. I would like to share a few stories that I heard today.

                  When RU was at its peak and was one of the foremost Universities of India, every nook and corner of this palatial campus was spotless clean with neat trimmed loans, gleaming buildings and pristine green cover. There was a handsome dress-code for special workers like the chaprasis would wear starched saffron turbans over dark sherwanis with buttons that had the University emblem embossed on them and the gardeners would wear blue or khaki colored uniforms.

                As told to me, It once so happened that during one of the convocation ceremonies, President V V Giri, the Maharaja of Patiala and other distinguished guests were highly impressed by the welcome speech delivered at the function. They later found out that the  person who spoke was Mr. Giriraj Singh Hada who was a peon in the establishment but was none the less, educated at Mayo College, Ajmer.

            I also heard stories about legendary higher officials who made this institution what it was: diligent, genius Vice Chancellors such as Prof G C Pande, Prof Unnithan etc and also many other efficient Registrars and HOD’s. Ahhh!! Even before I catch my breath my heart pounds with the inflammable zeal to trod in the foot steps of these giants….   

                      

78

Dear Readers,

                    After ages I laid my hands on a brand new bicycle today that I can now call as mine. The whole experience of going to a cycle store, selecting a model and then finally owning it sent me back to my childhood. Twenty years ago, my father and my mother took me on a similar shopping spree and purchased my first mode of transport for me. 

                          As soon as I entered the bicycle dealer's shop, that strong smell of bicycle tyres and tubes and other accessories rung a bell in my head. I remembered that evening when my parents fulfilled a promise that they made to me on my birthday. On the day we were supposed to go to the market, I was in my best behavior and had become a paragon of virtue and discipline looking down upon my 'disobedient' brother who thus, stood vindicated for not deserving any such similar gift.

                        After finishing off my homework dexterously ( along with flaunting the 'V. Goods' in my notebooks awarded a day before), I hopped into our car's rear seat fully aware of the fact that one awry step may scuttle me away from my prized gift. By God's grace, all went well and we reached the spot. There I got lost in the world of shining metal, nice smelling rubber, a shimmer of colors, imported electronic horns and memory of TV commercials which glorified the same machines that stood before me. 

                        India in those days was quiet different from what it is today. Liberalisation was about to yield its results and we were living in an economy which was  still, by many standards, closed. Cash was not free flowing. I had set my eyes on a very expensive kids bike but had to ultimately contend with a lesser option because my parents said they could not afford it. On our way back home, my papa and ma taught me to be happy with what you get and forget about what you cannot obtain. While they were delivering this lecture,  I was least interested and was holding on to my new steel firmly but today, I realise that the dint of their lesson guided me through many lows of my life....... 

                        

77

Dear Readers, 

                    A colleague of mine recently lent me a book to read which has come as a shocker. The book is entitled Javednama authored by Mohammad Iqbal. The name rings a bell, doesn't it? Yes, as we all know in India, Mohd. Iqbal was the man who wrote "Saare jahan se accha", yet later full-heartedly supported Jinnah and his two nation theory.

                     The book is a translation of the original work of poetry written in Persian expounding Iqbal's fine maneuvers with words and ideas and philosophy. It is a dramatic depiction of a long journey into interstellar space by important thinkers and prophets. What came as a surprise is that this great and prolific "Islamic" ideologue included in his list the likes of Vishvamitra, Gautam, Zarathustra/ Zoroaster, Tolstory etc.

                      We realise that we know so little when we learn about thoughts which seem to unshackle the mind from petty restrictions that limit its functioning. The charm of philosophy and its gratification lies in the fact that it uplifts you from the mean baseness that is called mediocrity or the 'general'. It is beyond the laity to grasp, leave alone practice. Suffice is to repeat Iqbal's idea about love :

            "Ishq yun kamil shavad adamgareest" 

            'love culminates into humanisation'

                   The love that he is alluding to here is a special feeling lying beyond the flower valley of gender. In fact, it is through the metaphor of love that he explains and differentiates between religion, philosophy and prophet-hood.  

76

Dear Readers,

                   Here is an excerpt from a letter I wrote to my VC recently.

Hon. VC Saheb,

            The regular interactions that we as faculty had with you and our peer, have not only instilled confidence and a new zeal among us but have also inculcated in us a familiar feeling towards this grand institution gearing up to reach higher destinations. On this note, I take liberty to write a letter to you expressing my genuine views. 

                 Two thousand six hundred years ago, Gautam Buddha visited a specific place in Bihar during the course of his extensive travel. This specific location was called Pavarika amravana or the Pavarika mango forest and under one such tree, the Buddha delivered sermons to the Sangha. Many centuries later, the great Nalanda University developed at the same site and Buddha's values were spread universally by bhikshus and bhikshunis like Asvaghosa, Vasubandhu, Nagarjuna and Silabhadra.

                Sir, there are several mango trees in our campus and a big one is situated right behind the Humanities Hall. The purpose of narrating this story is to assure you that the opportunity that you have given to scholars like me will be fully utilised with full devotion and dedication. We all would strive hard to make University of Rajasthan an institution as profound as Nalanda....

                        The Vice-Chancellor was kind enough to send a warm reply. A reply which further bolsters up one's grit and passion for the goal set to achieve........

                                 

75

Dear Readers,

                     Mystery and serendipity awaits you at every turn along the road through Rajasthan where history lies strewn across the landscape. Recently, I encountered one such gem on my way from Jaipur to Degana, a small village-turned-town in the Thar desert. The reason I was traveling down to that place was to attend a function organised to mark the 308th anniversary of the legendary Maharaja Surajmal of Bharatpur. This prominent figure of India during the eighteenth century would be discussed in the next post as his achievements and contribution are far too numerous..

                      As for now, let us return back to our small garhi (the Rajasthani word for fortress). Perched on a lofty hillock lies this castle with a commanding view of the vast landscape around. It was the seat of the local thakur or lord who belonged to the Sultannot sub-clan of Meria Rathors of Marwar. We met the present scion of this lord's family who exhibited medieval courtesy and showed us around his property. We learned about the architecture, the important wars that this castle saw and temples in and around. The castle was an exquisite example of rain-water harvesting. 

                    

                        On my way back, Tameghji, a colleague of mine and I, pondered over the fact that so much of our history lies trapped in such remote and inaccessible corners of the country. It is an urgent need for us to properly register, document and study such monuments before they are wiped out completely by the reckless and cruel forces of the market and political expediency.... 

  

74

Dear Readers,

                     Last Sunday I took my students at the Centre for Museuology and Conservation, deptt. of History and Indian Culture to the ancient site of Chandravati near Abu road in Sirohi district of Rajasthan. The levity that one feels while travelling with students is amazing. The journey was a combination of zest and quest for knowledge. All of my co-travelers were responsible, mannered, inquisitive and in short, not a menace. The trip was also a picnic of sorts with long sessions of chatting about the subject and its nuances. 

                     The site was a marvel. Dr. J S Kharakwal is conducting excellent excavations at this once-upon-a-time huge metropolis that reached its peak glory in the early Medieval period. This rich city once was spread over an area of 42 sq. kms. For the reason it was situated on the ancient route connecting Gujarat with Delhi, this city was ran-sacked by several expeditionary armies marching across the landscape. All around the present site lie scattered remains of structures that were once grand temples of handsome style and proportions. 

                      It was for the first time that I was at such close quarters with archaeology. The feel of the tools in your hand and the burning desire inside to keep on digging to find some valuable clue lost in the sands of time is so strong that one looses oneself and all notions of time. The mystery and beauty of this lost city augmented with those serene hills standing aloft nearby, paves a path that connects you to those lost inhabitants of this place and to the warmth of their homes. For a moment, you look around and find yourself in the midst of a chirpy , busy, boisterous city somewhere in the eleventh century CE.....

73

Dear Readers,

                    Its barely a week since the great Jaipur lit fest got over and the aura of intellectual fervor can still be felt all around the pink city. I attended the event like always but this year I reveled with the peculiar assurance of being a Jaipur-vasi. Otherwise, on previous occasions, I had to travel from one place to the other on cold, chilly nights in order to hear one of my favorite figures speak. 

                   It was awe-inspiring to attend the opening keynote lecture of Prof. Amartya Sen. His tongue-in-cheek humor was  brilliant and his erudition matched with charming simplicity converted me into becoming his most staunch disciples. It was a pleasure to hear Maya Jasonoff from Harvard and a bigger honor to have met her personally. The opportunity of meeting and speaking with other historians of note was made good use of which is the most intoxicating experiences of this gathering.

                 On my way back home on the second last day of the event, as I strutted down to the parking lot, I overheard a bunch of chauffeurs chit-chatting. I was mesmerised to hear them debate and argue over the issue of the several versions of Ramayana and Mahabharata that have been composed till date. For a while, the tone of the discussion resembled one of those "high-browed" sessions of the fest. I could not help but admire the 'after-effect' of this grand gathering of the literati which brings out the thinker from within every soul that comes here......

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Dear Readers,

                     This week the University of Rajasthan witnessed its 68th Foundation Day celebrations which happens to be on January 8th. The ceremony was one hell of an event and we all (the newly recruited academicians) were left spell bound. Meira Kumar, the Honorable Speaker of the Lok Sabha was the chief guest and the Governor, H.E. Margaret Alva presided over the function. Kudos to our beloved and revered VC for pulling off such a spectacular and concerted event. 

                      One part of the celebrations included inauguration of a photo exhibition displaying rare footage of the glorious yester-years of this institution. It was awe-inspiring to know about diligent fomer VC's, Principals, Professors and the like who devoted a life time in shaping up and building this great institution. Also, the galaxy of personalities who were associated with the University at one point of time or other gave us a glimpse into the rich past. The list includes C. Rajagopalachari, Maharaja Man Singh II, Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, Mohunlal Sukhadia, Maharana Bhupal Singh of Mewar, Maharani Gayatri Devi, Indira Gandhi, Duke of Edinburgh, Prince of Wales and many more. 

                    At the end of it all, a sense of duty and commitment also struck me. It is an uncontested fact that the University is going through a rough patch and a lot needs to be done to drag it out from the murky slush that it has fell into. To begin with, the only focus area is quality teaching. I believe that by imparting consistent and quality lessons, we would be able to groom our students who are the key to the future......