Sunday, June 18, 2023

 

A Requiem for Education

It was time for reason to flee

When Jaggu took over UGC,

For his well-timed exit from  JNU

Saved him from the falling debris,

Of that now- scrunched up university.

 

Everyone’s heart was in their mouth,

Knowing   twas DU’s time to go south

That is when in stepped HERA Pheri

Plus other practices jo Jaggu ne en route gheri!

Promoting questionable exams, benefitting neither meri nor teri !

 

Those were tiny shoes he had to fill,

 Vacated by previous VCs who had made DU ill

One had even opined that a little plagiarism was good,

This Jaggu at UGC speedily understood.

 Hence Michigan’s protocols have now become DU’s staple food

 

Our university years have lengthened,

And our specialized syllabi have shrunk!

 "No, don’t get into a funk,"

Jaggu declares, much strengthened:

 "In the new economy student fees will form a huge chunk."

 

 We asked :” What about ethics and equality and research standards?”

 He replied :” On such overloads,  why  must  energy  be  squandered?”

 “We promise ease of reduced teaching and guarantee pleasure

 Over four years you will be granted much more leisure.

 Why does such immanence worry you in undue measure?”

 

“ Our leaders, they are our national treasure,

 We must  not subject them to any more pressure,

 At all times, the university, student and teacher

In the leader’s diminishment must not feature

The ill educated leader is now an iconic creature.”

 

 “All education must take a hike,

So everyone go pedal your bike,

let us whip up the froth and fluff

 let no one dare to call our bluff,

 Less must be in fact, much much more than enough.”

 

Thus will NEP trip,  nip and rip education,

 Pushing students onto an overpriced  vacation

Under this new policy of Ignorance,

Education will forever be in a trance.

See how our politicians jump up and prance.

 

Meanwhile let us iterate as we so heavily fall

Know this: The anguished writing on the wall

  Higher education was not built by chance

 All those of you continuing to look askance

At innocent minds speared  through  mischance.

 Will you not end, this relentless,  macabre dance?

Wednesday, March 22, 2023

 Of Newspapers and New Mornings


Every morning in the cold season, as I stumble out of bed and into living, I focus on getting my limbs in readiness for the day. With a tall mug filled with a hot beverage, I ease myself into a comfortable sofa  and in the light of a lit  table lamp surf through newspapers. Invariably there is little to read. The world is falling apart; we've destroyed as  many institutions as could be destroyed and  damaged as much of the environment as we could, although grand national plans continue to march on relentlessly.  Meanwhile everyone in power is turning upon  anyone  out of  power, while much muscle flexing and badgering continues  between  those who occupy high offices, as part of the bid to worry people who stand outside them. 

So I quickly shift from dismal  news to stuff that is more diffuse, because  my brain cells  demand to be  fed some stimulation that will  keep Alzheimer's and dementia at bay, before I succumb to  the coup that macular degeneration  will achieve in due course. My solution to postpone  ageing and to contribute to a better world is now focused on solving word and number puzzles. 

I spent a considerable part of the previous year sucked in by wordle and its multiplying kin quordle and phrazle and so on, deeply enmeshed in a combination of propelled speed and power. until one morning, while I lay in bed a little longer, it struck me that this addiction to various cults in the wordle family had given me a grasp on floating alphabets and all I did was to place one letter next to another until my moment of revelation arrived. I got the correct combination and the page revealed a green light, almost florescent, that told me I had  conquered, in other words, mastered the word of the day. I felt powerful for a long time, and turbo-charged as well. I usually got wordle most days, at least by the third try, so as an indicator it suggested that my gray cells were ageing well. My success  with Quordle was about 75 percent. I got three of the four words right, but my moment of octane filled pleasure came from phrazle because I got the entire phrase  very very quickly on most days. So the adrenalin flowed on and on for  months on end.

To go back to the morning of the reckoning, I  had written very little of note and lacked  motivation to write altogether. Worse, once I ran through the quordle clan, I tackled the spellathon next and followed it up with three sets of  sudoko, I felt  my brain cells had had a workout  that left them in a great state of health and that therefore I might as well as  idle the rest of the day away.  So that fateful morning I looked  carefully at the five letter wordle in front of me: It was probable "strip,"  and in the meanwhile the phrazle for the day announced  "Break a Leg." I puzzled over both,  wondering at the subliminal messages. Normally, my brain would race over the multiple meanings encrusted around the word  "strip" and search for synonyms and then try and figure out the history of the expression "break a leg", which has little to do with an actual incantation  for bodily injury, being an expression  used to wish good luck  to actors staging a play,  .

 I reflected  that in an earlier time, people often opened religious texts written in the older languages of the world and accepted the first phrase or sentence their eye fell upon as the message for the day. They dwelt upon it and explored and examined that particular idea at great length.  A version of such engagement became  a set  practice in middle school as well, wherein the thought of the day, would be put up on the general notice board and would be copied out by the class prefects on the black board of each classroom.

 I thought back to the debates we had over " honesty is the best policy" and  the conclusion we reached about how "make hay while the sun shines" discusswed both opportunity and expediency. There was also the practice of the local community that listened to the Hari katha being read or went off to listen to an exposition of the Ramayana Epic.  For those who wanted something more modern, there were LP records, with a range of music and  readings of plays and poetry. How had I exchanged all those diurnal  spaces to engage with  a single word and phrase? It seemed a very slight transaction altogether, in retrospect.

 I was overwhelmed with the feeling  that I could do more for my gray cells and  for the pink cells in my heart as well as  the silver cells in  my soul. The gray cells are the one that occupy my brain at rest and become golden when illumined by ideas. The pink cells live in my heart and inhabit my emotional life, while the silver cells of my soul help me to process and think through ideas and make me examine closely the choices I opt for. Since then, I have signed off on all the wordle and phrazle Whatsapp  teams I was a member of. Now new wordles no longer serve as clickbait. 

 I have gone back to doing spellathon in the daily newspaper. and the odd Sudoko. However, I  have figured out why I had graduated to Worldle Inc  in the first place. The daily newspapers that set up a page of quizzes, cartoons, crosswords and sudokus and spellathons  have now collectively concluded   that mindful pleasure is not to be offered  as a premium to the interested reader.  For those of us still buying newspapers, the cover page is a shout out to IAS aspirants and those in search of coaching classes. However, the entertainment page has been shrinking year by year, column by column, inch by inch,  word by word and alphabet  by alphabet. The crossword squares are miniscule, the crossword clues themselves, grow smaller by the year. The spellathon has also shrunk, but the font can still be read by the naked eye. With the exception of the Hindu which has a decent sized sudoko, doing the crossword and sudoko  in other newspapers  causes severe eye strain. The other curious  thing is that newspapers offer easy and cryptic crosswords, but provide a  solitary black and white square  for writing out the answers. . The logic seems to be as follows :  You can either do the easy crossword or the cryptic one. We do not believe in choice. This is odd, isnt it? As the buyer of a newspaper, surely I have the right to do  both the  easy and the cryptic crosswords? How do I write down two sets of answers in a singularly marked square?

" No, you cannot have such a choice;" the newspapers seem to chine in unison. "We are developing unidimensional  proto-types. Proto-types, who need not strain to read the small print, literally and figuratively." 

" Could you not have larger fonts and illustrations and  provide  the easy and the cryptic clue crosswords their own individual black and white boxes?  Surely such an act will not put newspapers in the red?" 

 Undeniably,  nothing newsworthy has been  published in India of late. So  this is not a clarion call for an increase in the size of the font for  the  Editorial,  Opinions, Letters to the Editor or Report page.  All I want to know is this: What  is this malice  that has gripped the jugular of entertainment?  Surely, the  entertainment page can provide more joy by the use  of larger fonts?  Are we not to be allowed any mindful pleasures at all? Are we being made to  follow the Kartavya path, whereby  all pleasure and laughter must be relinquished? Small wonder then that newspapers, without any real news, without any arguments, without any legible infotainment and with  diminutive  fonts aggravating reader-discomfort are losing out to the digital world. The font size in the digital world and the material for viewing  continues to be attractive. I can watch Pathan on Prime TV and  amazing, award-worthy documentaries such as The Air We Breathe on You-Tube. If newsprint is losing out to the audiovisual film, it is  not because "the times, they are a changing," it is because the fonts of newsprints, they have "been  a shrinking," along with news and views for a long time now. 



Tuesday, January 3, 2023

 Clamouring Clerodendrum


Delhi is a city of extremes... It swings slowly between  between opposite ends of the spectrum over a period of twelve months, but continues to give us glimpses of its incredible beauty through its flora and birdlife, both of which are diverse and proliferating.  I love its trees and creepers , many of which have travelled from exotic climes ,  armed with flowers in  incredible colours , names, shapes and sizes. I love the wild rose, the thin pink-tipped jasmine, the plump mogras, the passionflower,  the shankh pushp, the madhumalti, the wisteria and the trumpet flowers, to say say nothing of the multi-hued bougainvillea  that can climb trees and walls and electric poles and street wires and then send down thorny leaf-curtains  well-loved by sparrows, but for me the creeper that embodies the spirit of Delhi is the clerodendrum, a hardy creeper that I have seen  densely populating  walls around homes, schools, colleges and public institutions. Most creepers in fact are gregarious, they are nature's climbers after all, and reach new heights  and newer destinations more often than not. 


When a small spot opened up in front of my house, several years ago, I planted a clerodendrum creeper that was eaten alive by an itinerant cow before it could get its act together. In recent years, since cows are now schooled in goshalas and are seldom allowed to stroll down colony roads, unless bedecked in a heavy embellished sheet and patrolled by an attendant,  I embarked upon Project Clerodendrum again by purchasing yet another creeperling from a nearby nursery. I planted it in the same spot , but a giant mulberry tree which was now lording it over the section of the street shut out the creeperling's sun. Listless, it  took on a grass like identity and grew at the rate of  half an inch every year, but couldn't really put a foot forward because it got  very little sunlight. For a while it straggled, living and partly shrinking, until last year,  a newly appointed maali used  a long string to lead the clerodendrum up the walled path.  I  wondered howthe attached string would help if  we did not chop off  the overhang of the mulberry tree.  When I broached the subject with Rakesh,  my not- newly-hired-anymore maali, about trimming the  mulberry branch, he announced that the clerodendrum required no such assistance. Puzzled l began to  trace the movement of  the single vine  climbing up the wall of my house and discovered to my delight that it had  leaped and bounded to a height of 17 feet  and then spread itself out atop the mosaic platform  that sheltered the wardrobes in  our first floor bedroom. 


 Laying down a nest-bed of leaves, the clerodendrum had burst into  several floral clusters and was preparing to  bloom. This  unexpected, magical moment, showcasing  an incredible event, slowly began to  sink in. I have been watching the flower-buds emerge for about a month now, and  continue to marvel at the tenacity of the clerodendrum, and the alacrity with which it  has created a space for itself, traversing a long distance from its roots. 




These are two pictures, one taken from the ground floor, and another captured from the second floor terrace, that document its  climb. The dark steel gray leaves, often seem to me to have drunk of the  summer sandstorms and the winter air of Delhi,  and gained in strength, feeding on a tough soil that nourishes stragglers and survivors enabling them to  thrive and flourish. When  clerodendrums bloom in New Delhi, they radiate warmth and energy  in  brilliant red clusters,  in the cold wintery months, allowing us to draw succour from their  rich vibrancy. Truly, the "flaming glory bowers" of the clerodendrum  epitomise the life- blood of this city.

Thursday, December 29, 2022

 Hornbill Homecoming




This is the first-time in my life that I spotted  pied hornbills; four of them, having their morning sun-raiser, as they prepared to fly out to meet the requirements of their day. It was a typical  Corbett morning in late December, cold and misty,  but by 8am, the sun does make a grand  appearance and wash the  gray off the skies, unveiling the beginnings of a  baby blue.  The hornbills sat on a Jacaranda tree, finished with flowering and having dispersed  all of its seedpods, retaining  only a few  petioles with fernlike pinnate leaves. Its tall, spread out branches provided the hornbills  with a wonderful overview  of  possible flight routes. I know nothing of the habits of the pied hornbill,  having only stumbled upon  one solitary gray hornbill  at IIC and another  in Jaipur. Both these birds had flown away, showing little desire to linger and introduce themselves.

 This time round, I could gaze at these pretty robust-sized birds, much larger than the magpie robins, mynahs or pigeons I usually encounter, and continue to admire their beaks and plumage because their backs were turned to me. They sat calmly, unlike the usually garrulous and restless babbler crowd. Initially, all the birds gazed out into the horizon, but  the two  birds on the right began to gaze over their shoulder, responding to some commotion  in the  neighboring mango tree. Lo and behold,  a trio of sand coloured baby monkeys  were climbing up the leafy branches of the mango and  steadfastly  making their way up to the Jacaranda.  The bird sitting on the lower branch took off, without a backward glance. The two birds to the right continued to watch for the  baby monkeys speeding up to the jacaranda, finding footholds on the trunk and on  thinner branches and when they felt the monkeys were too close for comfort, turned, clutched their perch  in the manner of  race-worthy cyclists, dived off the tree and were airborne. One hornbill continued to wait, doubtful perhaps that the baby rhesus could reach a branch that was so high up.  In a matter of seconds one little rhesus stood at the intersection of the trunk  with the branch. So hornbill number four hastily sprinted off its perch. The other two little macaques, following the leader, decided to jump back to the mango tree, break off orange green leaves and chew on them.

The jacaranda tree emptied out and became a silent spectator. The macaque troops had swelled with the  addition of  older siblings and an indignant parent; all of them began to frolic and  forage amid verdant mango foliage. Watching this live-show from the sidelines, ensconced on a sofa behind enormous french windows,  provided  a stretched  hotspot of joy. Were the  little monkeys playing  a game with the hornbills? Is this the way that different species communicate? Nadeem, who drove us into the forest mentioned that  monkeys  often broke leafy branches for the deer to partake of. A  birdwatching stroll the previous evening had drawn attention to the nest of a pair of hornbills atop a tall fish-tail palm, near the Tree Top restaurant. Possibly they flew down  from there to this tree every morning. I found them on the Jacaranda tree again the following morning, but they flew off  before the charge of the primates began. Not finding the hornbills at their perch, four tiny primates peered into my room, pressing their forms against the glass and standing on the narrow wooden frame,  trying to make sense of a slow moving dormant  species.  When I tried  to take a picture with my cell phone camera, hoping to preserve  near human expressions digitally,  they scampered off, returning with an older sibling or parent, to subject me to yet another momentary scrutiny. After a few minutes of this, they left in search of more promising adventures.

  

Wednesday, July 13, 2022

 Obliterating Reason and Dismembering Learning 

 It is a truth universally acknowledged that newspapers are not the bearers of good news, especially in these days of dismantling, wherein ideas  and speech are under threat,  people are being pulped and  places,  things and institutions are being pried open, torn apart  and reduced to rubble.  At Delhi University, we celebrated our 100th year pretty much in mourning, because intent is afoot to levy even more damage upon this venerable institution, after what has been almost two decades of ill planned expansion that had little thought for the students being inducted into the system. There was  simply  was no attempt to ramp up infrastructure, physical, material or human,  in terms of  level playing fields, classrooms, libraries, laboratories and  an adequate body of well-cared for  teachers. 

 To add insult to injury, or (drawing out an appropriate metaphor from our ancient past), to add  ghee to the sacrificial fires in which the university's ethos  has been flung, Departments at  Delhi University whose powers have shrunk and  have being continually muffled decided to adopt  the national mode of dissemination which operates on the following algorithm. 

1,  Decide upon something

2. Never bring it up for discussion or debate

3. Implement it with the greatest urgency and secrecy  as  work  that must commence immediately, come hell or highwater.

 The   3 step  algorithm  above reveals how decisions are  taken by one power-centre  with utter disregard of  due process, and the rights of others,. Such decisions when taken, clamp down upon  ideas and  put both  human beings and  the institutions  they inhabit in grave danger. At the end of Step 3, invariably disconnected hell is allowed to  break loose, and this is pretty much what has been happening at Delhi University.

 I  cannot pinpoint the exact  moment when  this happened. I can only provide  approximates because now for some time I have been living in a silo, brought on by Covid, death,  loss and ill health and have kept at my job pretty much like a blinkered horse in harness,  lumbering through hours of internet teaching.  Meanwhile  the university has been beleaguered for well over a  decade now and its woes have increased in arithmetic and geometric proportions.

  Perhaps the  credit for the maximum damage  in arithmetic progression done to the university rests with the DU VC, who, in hindsight one realizes,  was probably given the mandate to introduce the semester system.  When the VC asked colleges for their opinion on the semester system, a majority of colleges voiced their misgivings about the unsuitability of the semester system for DUs and gave detailed reasons for the same, including the fact that such change  could not be brought in overnight, without protracted deliberation. Nevertheless the VC persuaded  Departments of Science to implement semesters forthwith. Heads of Science Departments turned cartwheels and obeyed. Science Departments in undergraduate colleges once served as as proxy waiting-grounds for students with ambitions in the realms of medicine and engineering. The semester system with all its modular data churning worked effectively for the  science departments and  now the dropout rate is much much lower ever since the semester system was put in place. Once roped in, students who enroll in the sciences are ambushed by the time crunching of the semester system. The  flourishing Humanities  which faced no enrollment problems on the other hand were arm twisted into semesterisation, a year after,  the  Science Departments.

We managed to avert the ill planned four year program then. Relentlessly hemmed in by the semester system that provided no academic break from modular teaching,  zero review of the academic schedules, no   analysis nor discussion that could lead to any academic evaluation of pedagogies across disciplines and its impact upon students; colleagues across departments struggled with the new curriculum and programs that were pushed in by the state and across disciplines tried to beat in method and meaning into  truncated and ill-designed courses.

 The semester system  also cut  short vacations for students and teachers alike. We were all on the great wheel of progression where we dealt with ideas. The system decided that  therefore teachers and students did not require  any kind of break. So for ten plus years now, Delhi University follows a punishing calendar, with a minimal autumn break  that is barely for a week, followed by a    week long winter break that starts with Christmas and has teachers reporting to work on the Second of January.  Covid has further exacerbated the schedule where the university now  follow different academic calendars for all five undergraduate and post graduate years. Long summer vacations are now unheard of. In fact this year again there has been no summer vacation.

 The rise of regulatory bodies such as NAAC, and HERA and  the introduction of the NEP2020, in the interim , not merely reduced and diminished the UGC but also gave short shrift to any balance or reasoning.  The Covid pandemic's disruption of   every day life at the university also allowed for the implementation of  all kinds of regulatory mechanisms and systems to be set up, without  any discussion with general bodies of teachers, academic associations and disciplines, and resulted in the formulation and  implementation of  policies injurious to students and university and intellectual life in the short and long term.

   Czar Jagadish is at UGC, fresh from his JNU rampage. After , shredding  academic life at JNU altogether,  he is now in hot pursuit of Delhi University, since this is an older and  larger university, and will take more time than JNU to be disbanded. Meanwhile syllabus framing of university curriculum, semester by semester, in all the disciplines is afoot. The plagarized proposals, copied and  pasted from foreign university schedules, and pointed out by concerned academics  from Delhi university has not sent shock waves or even shame waves through the corridors of control and power brokering. Such syllabus making, semester by semester, without any inputs from the teaching community  is unheard of. No university in the world has ever  dared to carry out such an absurd project.

 Facelessly Department Heads carry out orders that are issued and work to implement them. The adhoc  teacher's work force that  the university has nurtured again for well over a decade has been pushed to the brink, because it is an unfortunate narrative about innumerable young people, who battle for job security despite the years spent in education and training.. In most instances, these young citizens have put their personal, academic and professional lives on the slow burner for no fault of their own. In innumerable college departments, across disciplines , including my own,  the number of permanent teachers has shrunk.  Most Adhoc teachers are a harried lot, constantly subject to intimidation by a system that grows feudal and regressive by the day and refuses to speak to them and address their pain. 

 Meanwhile, the university continues  to experiment with academics. The mantra it flirts with is perhaps one of the many  reportedly mouthed by the premier, namely, "Hard work is better than Harvard."   There is also the issue of  young students whose 12 plus years of schooling is to be  soon rendered irrelevant because now a CUET test will declare their suitability for university education. These youngsters are going to enroll in a university where their  teachers are clueless about the curriculum. Not only were the teachers  not consulted , the plan has been to turn them all into unthinking  functioning units, implementing orders, and obediently drafting syllabi.  In any case, how does  replacing one central examination with a competitive examination level the playing field? It only makes everything  far more arbitrary and also sets up the process for the teetering and tottering of the schooling system. This is not reform or repair, which is always welcome but a large scale unconstitutional demolition of education through the length and breadth of India.

A few years ago there was a plan  to project Delhi as a UNESCO Heritage City. This was shelved and  Ahmedabad was projected in its stead. Today, English, one of India's many  modern languages and the language that houses innumerable disciplines  and allows us to have global connectivity in every discipline is being driven out  by the new syllabi. Students are not to be taught or trained in the English language at any college in Delhi University, because of the new orders that have been issued. This is a far cry from a scenario in which literature and language has been taught by English teachers to every student  at the university. Generations of students from other disciplines have been enriched and improved by the exchange that the English syllabi provided and have been thankful for their empowerment.

  Colleagues in the English Departments in colleges  continue to express their anguish, but we need everyone from every other discipline and every walk of life : colleague, parent and student to grasp the enormity of this fundamentally flawed premise. We  need to allow the fatal  implications of such arbitrarily imposed dictats to sink in. In a multilingual nation, instead of ensuring proficiency in English, this attempt  to erase it from the curriculum, deeming it  the language of the colonizers  is an illiberal and ignorant attempt to put the clock back, and  will only jeopardize our local, regional, national and international strengths. Such erasure and renaming, is much much more pernicious than the changing of names of roads, places, and cities.

Into that abyss of atrophy, dear citizen, let not our country be pushed.  We must awaken to the crisis that has befallen us!

 Footnote: How is it that newspapers report that   the teaching of English  is to be implemented  in primary schools in Gujarat under the NEP? why does an ill wind   continue to blow through the portals of  Delhi University? 

Thursday, May 5, 2022

Mothers of Languages

Maaen Hazaar-chaurasi!

 Morning has broken

the home minister has spoken

 "No more English in the North-East, or the West

 East or South,  Hindi is the best!!"

 "Macaulay left but his grandchildren still linger."

 Venkaiah shouts: "Why let the English tongue malinger??"

 Did Venkaiah say this in Hindi? We do not know. 

The  English newspapers  recorded the  show.

  Ajay Devgan fired his volley 

and such a Drishyam it was. 

Out came Kangana with a rally,

This Hindi Queen, she made Sanskrit the cause.


These are our principal stakeholders, 

who without perusing files or folders, 

 Think they measure the national pulse

 And  issue decrees on impulse!

 Ours is a nation of  believers in  the mother tongue

 who  have  ostensibly of   tongues and mothers  sung


Look at the lesser Minister of State.

 who  declares without debate 

the expulsion of  sons and daughters,

 into  the stagnant cess of non Hindi waters. 

 Meanwhile the Don from the Planning Commission,

with a partner in crime from the  D O Science  Mission

 In smooth English enunciates the  New Education Program

Which makes it clear why all of this is  such a sham!


Every policy,  strategy, every rule and  bit of learning

 is framed in English from the previous century's turning.

Each mother tongue has been snipped and curbed and tied

For    masculine men can do unto mother tongues little beside,

 what continues to be  done to mothers and daughters worldwide??

 Mother tongues were treated very badly, 

Shredded , pierced,  ripped, snipped  and now,  sadly, 

 Our mother tongues are starkly bereft.

 for  their literatures have been ravaged and left,


 Our macho leaders know not this

and  a unisize mother, seek amiss.

Blinkered, patriarchal,  atrophied  and brutal.

 Such men  rule that a  myraid tongues, fetal, 

Add up in  their math to  one mother in total.


They forget , these myopic males

 about  mothers, the multi-form females.

In our subcontinent, a thousand tongues bloom 

carefully nurtured by loving mothers,

 Away from the  hostile  paternal fume

they gently lilt and sway like feathers.

 Ratna Raman


 


 


Wednesday, February 16, 2022

  Driving Stakes Into Our Heart : All  Hail (Hell?heel? Heil?)  Delhi University!

For a few years now, the expression 'stake holder' has begun to bother me. Possibly because I grew up in a simpler world where language was not so complex. What are the various meanings that the word stake connotes? 

At its simplest it seemed to be an active noun dating back to ancient times where  people  sharpened long sticks and then skewered whole animals on it. In one of the poems of Robert Browning that I teach, Fra Lippo Lippi speaks of the Christian martyr who was being roasted over an open fire and asking to be turned over to cook on the other side. So the stake when I visualized it was a sharpened stick , used for cooking no doubt, but  capable of injuring  living species, both animal and human.  Oddly, if we tweak the word  stake a little "steak"  or packaged meat is what we arrive at, with the same pronunciation, with an altered spelling. Perhaps the spear and the harpoon, were metallic versions of the stake  that could impale and injure. These  weapons of war, from the iron age were intimidating, to say the least, and  humans eventually continued  harpooning whales and seals, endangering them and pushing them into extinction.


The word 'stake' could indicate that  a wager that had been struck and was often associated with gambling, frowned upon by both religion and culture. I read Thomas Hardy's disturbing novel about Michael Henchard who staked his wife for drink and sold off both his wife  and their child  for a meagre sum in The Mayor of Casterbridge.  Since  I had  also been acquainted with the Mahabaharata, I couldn't help thinking that  poor Yudhistra, even if he allowed himself to be tricked by the conventions and forms in play, was staking his brothers, himself and subsequently his wife  Draupadi, while being goaded on by Sakuni , for recovering all manner of material, animal and human wealth, his kingdom, siblings and spouse. The word stake by implying that the loser was required to pay an enormous price, economic or emotional, left me with a sense of wariness. 

Meanwhile, modern life  was definitely a race, and the stakes were high, and you could be a holder of many hopes and aspirations, nightmares and disappointments.  Then of course, gambling was replaced by stocks and shares and companies, who had stake holders , investing in the finances.  The stakeholder, in this case, the investor, small or large became the person who earned a few rights and a lot of money because of the financial investment. All this made the world of commerce  transactional and attenuating and the  market  for stocks and shares that recorded bull runs and bear crawls ( humans turning into  aggressive animals here ) was very risky too. It seemed to  allow a few to gamble with money that belonged to the many.

 Imagine my surprise when from this gray, shadowy world of aggression and capital generation, this word was introduced by a former vice chancellor  almost ten years ago, when he spoke of stake holders in the university.  Disturbing enough to be a stake holder in a dog-eat-dog world..but why bring this term in to discuss  a central university comprised of  students, teachers and karamcharis?  Dinesh Singh was the cog meant to smoothen out the process of the corporatizing of a publicly funded  central university. It was no long about higher education, but the business of higher education. So keeping to the spirit of this sentiment, he ignored students and teachers and karamcharis and announced that he had invited stake holders to discuss the future of the University. These stake holders, had little or no investment in the university, but they had succeeded in the rat- race of life and were summoned, well -heeled and of considerable girth, to participate in the process of driving wedges ( also small sharp pieces of wood, meant to separate) between the real people who studied , worked and taught at the university and their relationship with university life and higher education.

 Teacher, student and karamcharis protested and succeeded in stopping the mayhem that was being unleashed for a period of time. However, remember the old adage about drawing  blood(for those with strong constitutions) or about stealing honey from the bees? The dismantling of  central universities  has been an ongoing process, too heady and too profitable to be scrapped.

The  scrunching of the academic calendar was followed by a bowdlerization of the syllabus. This led to the flight of seasoned intellectuals to  greener pastures(read Private Universities, in India and abroad) . Then a lockdown was instituted on teaching posts, so that while the old retired, there would be no fresh inputs into the system, only Adhocs,  dwindling in perpetuity as they got four month stretches. What else can you call such a period of employment , relentlessly forced on to our bright  young who wanted to teach and could have been trained to become better than the best? 

That history repeats itself and we do not learn  any lessons from it has been proved yet again, by the words uttered by the current Vice Chancellor of Delhi University. 

The stake holders (read the state, and its willing officers),  are now reinventing the first principles of the university. Turning it into an enormous production unit, since the time of the semesters, time, that precious unit of learning and growth has been pulverized and there are no  vacations for students, teachers or karamcharis. Terms are brutally short, although we seem to teach twice as much. Yet, given the paucity of time, students only absorb half of what they normally would, and forget quickly as they move to the next module, what they learnt in the first.

 The pandemic  has only added to our woes. Despite the abysmal shrinking of  vacation-time,  colleges are busy running add on courses and mentoring students as they hurtle out of online classes into online  examination sessions, so that they do not need to take a breather. The university is no longer the grand old space that invited hopeful students and teachers and nurtured them in its environs once. It is now   the site of frenetic activity, and students and teachers are jumping through all kinds of hoops, because the stakes have been set very high.  Now students can get credits from NAAC approved colleges and breeze in and out of one on line course into another. Even Dinesh Singh could not  have foreseen this, when he initiated the process of  dismantling   the university as a centre for learning and for debate, discussion, ideation  exploration and holistic growth.  Now, courses outlined by academics and experts in their respective disciplines  can be summarily rescinded, because the stakeholders do not want it. Who are these stakeholders? How have they usurped the freedom so central to academia?  Private universities were once a troubling space, because there was anxiety about the freedom available to the academic.  That has been sugar coated with the creature comforts that private universities provide to both students and teachers. Private universities take very good care of students who can afford them and of the teachers they successfully cajole to join  forces with them. While central universities seldom collect comparable funds, stellar learning was available to anybody who wished to avail of it, at a very moderate price.  All this is now up in the air.

  The Newest Vice Chancellor overtook Dinesh Singh in the  mendacity of his address to the capital at the  Indian Express Adda, when he assured an unknowing public that all the stakeholders have been consulted on NEP and the four year program. Nothing could be further from the truth. The majority of teachers in the university have ad hoc jobs, and continue to be subject to the whims and fancies of administrations that respond to the whip wielded by university officers, who act upon orders received from elsewhere. Permanent teachers who have job surety are currently skirting their way amid  NAAC forms and Promotional Avenues, that in the manner of the golden apples Melanion threw at Atlanta, keep them in thrall. The stakes are high for the state since it hopes to control the business of  higher education. The stake holders are the senior  officials of the university whose cudgeling of the university has broken its back and left it barely conscious. The  stakes are being driven through the heart and the mind of the university, and the holders of these stakes are not teachers, students or karamcharis, but a brute authority that is in control of the game.

After almost two years of a pandemic that has spurred on the grand dream of online education, with the budget declaring the opening of 400 e-universities, Delhi University's students and teachers are straggling back to interactive learning and teaching in a three dimensional world. This is going to be tough. Classrooms and corridors in colleges could possibly provide photo options for journalists who show us crowded marketplaces and streets  in order to scare us in the time of the pandemic.

 Have we as a university planned well for the post pandemic period.? No, not at all, because in a humane university shaping future citizens for a better world which has been reeling under the pandemic, some planning to reopen the university gradually would have been put in place, involving teachers and students in active conversation.  However we are back, largely from tomorrow and for a while we are going to be buffeted by the lacunae that will continue to  dog the university in its daily functioning. Yet we need to overcome , because it is not  young lives that are at stake. Career trajectories of young teachers have the four month old sword of Damocles hanging over them, in college departments presided over by lame duck professors who are watching their disciplines de-materialize while academic rigor goes up in smoke. This  Grand Old Central University,  cringes and shudders because instead of a celebratory  run up to its hundredth year, it  has put up on the stake, and roasted over the semesters  to such a sizzle that  the possibility of  becoming  altogether unrecognizable,  now begins to loom large.