What's wrong with the IITs

(Written originally in 2024, mildly edited)

I've been teaching for 30 years at a top old IIT in a top-ranked department. I can confidently say that the best students I have witnessed were between c. 1995 and 2006. The ones from my vintage (mid 80s) and some years later have done quite well academically and as entrepreneurs. Several things have made things go down.

There are many poor decisions made at IITs due to incompetent, timid and unimaginative leadership, but in the past, the faculty's ability, personal contact with the students and above all, the students' enterprise together were able to maintain a high-enough standard that was the envy of even top departments in top universities across the globe. (At least at the undergrad level in the top departments of the old IITs). [A Turing award winner whom I hosted in 1997 confessed to me that he thought CMU had great undergrads, but after meeting about 20+ of my students said he would have to revise that opinion.]

First, the media played up IITs to the extent that the number of candidates writing the entrance exam became too large to handle with a "subjective exam". In the name of making JEE correction tractable, they went MCQ ("objective" only in that no one objects to it). What this meant was that questions became tests of speed, less analytical and creative (think Berkeley series Physics), and much more formulaic. Pattern-matching templates gave a huge fillip to the already huge and powerful coaching industry. Kota became a bigger problem than the so-called ills that everyone blamed on "quota".

The students we saw within IIT, except a few in the top ranks, tended to be burnt-out, and often had to be deschooled (qv Ivan Illich). The motivation changed -- parents invested in their children so that they could get huge pay packages. And the pay for select jobs kept going up. What the outside world, and the world of WhatsApp Uncles did not know or want to know, was that such high-paid jobs only came to a few. But the media and IITs' PR machines only bruited the top-line numbers.

JEE aspirant numbers swelled even more, and the exam became a filtering MCQ exam followed by an old-style test administered to a more manageable number. This would in time morph into an MCQ test followed by another MCQ test. However, even at this point both stages of JEE were managed by the IITs.]

Then came Arjun Singh and the 27% quota for OBCs (quickly modified to be OBC-Non Creamy Layer). Simultaneously many new IITs were established, only 2 of which have done quite well in their first 15 years: those at Hyderabad and Gandhinagar, both because of locational advantages and visionary first directors. To protect the number of general category students taken in, the overall intake went up by 54%. This increase was effected over a 3 year period, but it nevertheless had several deleterious effects on the IITs.

Among the many problems with the sudden increase were that these were not planned in terms of resources. The old IITs were looking to invest in research programmes (and more high-quality PhDs). Instead they were doubly saddled with an increase in class sizes in their own institute (without concomitant hostel and classroom facilities) as well as teaching and mentoring duties in the new IITs.  

The situation with the new IITs was worse. Typically, the HRD bureaucrats did the ass-backwards thing of enrolling students first, then slowly hiring a director, then worrying about curricula, and then planning a campus, and then hiring faculty. There is another problem that is more touchy to discuss, and that is the distribution of students being taken in due to the nature of quotas. [This deserves a separate post]. The main problem is not the usually articulated "fairness" issue, which is just voicing upper caste privilege, but rather that an increasing number of students being selected are less and less prepared for a college education compared with their peers who have had many more privileges during their schooling years. (And given that IIT is now a "brand name" that can vault them to a much higher salary level, these less privileged group will never even consider foregoing the opportunities... and why should they?) The IIT faculty have scarcely recognised these huge changes in the intake, and not been able to modify their expectations or their approach in teaching. It is hard to change course, it is hard to change courses; it is hard to correct courses, it is hard to course-correct.

The pressures that these relatively disadvantaged students face (many are first generation college students, many come from modest backgrounds, and their parents and families have bet the bank on them) are huge, and the cause for many to suffer anxiety and depression.

Worse was to come. JEE's popularity had so distorted school education that many (well-meaning) activists decided that the school system could only be reformed by changing JEE. This narrow interventionist approach seemed to ignore societal obsessions, media stories of the huge salaries from international companies (mainly financial, information technology, and consultancies), the IIT "brand" story, the dwindling growth in high-paying technical jobs across different industries, and that schooling was deteriorating for other reasons.

Kapil Sibal's tenure brought more turmoil, when he proposed that Class XII exams would be given due weightage in the selection process. The JEE "mains" examination was taken out of IITs' purview (they anyway lacked the ability to run the exam at the new scale) and only JEE advanced (itself a far too big MCQ exam) remained in their domain.

Then came Mr Modi's EWS quota (EWS qualification was then pegged at Rs 8 lakh max salary of the parents) ostensible of 10%, but which translates to a 25% increase in student intake, to protect the number of general category students. The EWS quota is also perversely interpreted -- as non-SC, non-ST, non-OBC-NCL students. This was also accompanied by many more new IITs (now 23), and also a supernumerary intake of women students so that they form 20% of the undergrad population. From a societal perspective, each of these steps may be unexceptionable, in fact the stated objectives are laudable. But expanding good education and making it accessible to the relatively disadvantaged is perhaps not best achieved by thrusting it onto a few well-performing institutions that are struggling to keep pace with the top universities in the world (due to lack of funds, and a disastrous nipping, by the likes of MM Joshi during his tenure as HRD Minister, of alumni endowments for the IITs. Remember Bharat Shiksha Kosh, wound up in 2004 with a teeny corpus?)

The current malaise in the IIT systems is largely because of venal, spineless and pliable directors, who kowtow to the ministry, and allow all manner of third-rate bureaucrats dictate policy to them. Their role during the pandemic generally was unimaginative at the most charitable, to bordering on criminally negligent (if one takes a harsh look at their decisions). Anything to stay popular with the bureaucracy and political leadership for their next posting. And to appease a less motivated, less self-aware student body -- that believes, without any basis ,that they are the smartest people in the country, if not on the planet. But who can blame the students, when a nation of 1.5 billion is forced to take advice on how to excel in education from those who have barely passed an exam? Or have failed many times, and peddle dubious theories and advice daily.

After Nehru, Who?

 

(Photo by TS Satyan; discovered in my parents' files)

After Nehru, Who?

Well before the actual decision had to be made, Indira Gandhi, for one, felt it had to be LBS, since he had excellent connections among the senior cabinet members, the experience, the confidence of common people, and was more than acceptable to the rank and file of the party. Moreover , as Home Minister, he held the strings of power.

(Azad and Pant had passed on.)

Morarji never had a chance, despite his pretensions to seniority. Neither did Kamaraj (he knew it), and for all his experience, Babu Jagjivan Ram was not acceptable to many. Krishna Menon was loathed. And Nanda-ji was not the kind of person who could lead the party.

Indira Gandhi's endorsement soured when she felt she was being increasingly sidelined (while in his ministry) from functions that she considered were important in preserving the Nehruvian line.

How Now Brown Cow

 How Now Brown Cow

(Found in a draft note, ... updated to reflect it was from 2017)

I found the following passage in the writings of a distinguished scholar with whom I was interacting last year (but who unfriended me in a huff since our politics differed):

A pre-lingual child who sees a cow "knows" what she sees but cannot tell us what she saw. But an adult saying, "I saw a cow" is not safe from concepts and the ills they are heir to.

I would have blue-pencilled the last sentence, but I was in a generous mood. Given the bovine-related turmoil happening in my land, both then and now, I was inclined to respond:

Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo

His father told him that story: his father looked at him through a glass: he had a hairy face.

He was baby tuckoo. The moocow came down the road ...

(The story does not end well. It never does nowadays.)

Movies seen in 2026

1. 
   
2. 25.09.2026:  Krzysztof Kieslowski.   Three Colors: Red  (1994)  (seen on Mubi).  Story of a model Valentine and her interaction with a perverse retired judge Joseph.  Valentine meet's Joseph after accidentally running over his pregnant Malinois, Rita (who later has seven pups).   Joseph seems uncaring, when she returns Rita after taking her to the vet.  She discovers Josephs spies on his neighbours phone conversations.  There are many stories intertwined -- Marc and his unfaithful girlfriend, Valentine's relationship with her absent boyfriend Michel, a drug dealer, a married man who is having an affair with another, ... a ferry accident on the English Channel  (Manche( at the end, where 7 survivors are rescued, including Valentine (and the Juliette Binoche character from Three Colors: Blue)
3. 24.09.2026:  Krzysztof Kieslowski.   Three Colors: White (1994) (seen on Mubi)   The story of Karol, a Polish friseur who marries a Frenchwoman (Julie Delpy), but she divorces him since the marriage is not consummated, and throws him out.  He finds his way back to Poland, smuggled in his suitcase on a flight, survives, and then re-establishes himself in Poland, becoming a rich businessman.  And plots his revenge on his ex-wife.   Brilliantly done.  It is funny, and quite elegantly made. 
4. 12.09.2026: Jim Jarmusch.  (2025) Father, Mother, Sister, Brother. (seen on Mubi).  (Tom Waits, Adam Driver, Miyiam Bialik, Cate Blanchett)  --  Funny but cuts close, since the father mooches off his son while living it up.   One daughter is a liar about how well she is doing, and has a lesbian lover, which she hides from her mother (played by the incredible Charlotte Rampling).
5. ___.08.2026:  Christopher Nolan. (2026) The Odyssey   (seen on the big screen Dolby, but not IMAX) -- big spectacle. Well-made though a bit plodding.  Does not ask the big questions, but saddles Odysseus (Matt Damon) with a guilty conscience.  The movie is rich in special effects.  The gods play a smaller role than in the epic.  The Ithaca sequence is much better done in _The Return_ (2024) by Uberto Pasolini starring Juliette Binoche and Ralph Fiennes.
6. 15.07.2026.  Alain Resnais. (1959) Hiroshima Mon Amour.  (seen on Mubi). Brilliant film about a Frenchwoman in Hiroshima, who hooks up with a Japanese architect. 

Observe Reverse

A fantastic discovery. 

I inherited the beautiful KK Hebbar line drawing of a dancer from my parents (signed by the artist, 1962) My father had got the drawing framed ages ago. 

During a recent move, the frame had cracked. Also I wanted to frame it with non-reflective glass, since the faint black line of the dancing figure is too delicate to see against the texture of the paper, especially when light reflects off the glass surface.   

I went to my local framer, who does work to my specifications, with instructions to make a wooden frame with non-reflective glass, all dimensions given with millimetre precision.  I told him that I could not leave the painting with him, but to keep the frame ready and I would come with the painting and its cracked frame, for him to reframe it in my presence. 

Imagine my surprise at what we found whenwe took the line sketch out of it old frame:  these dramatic (unsigned)  studies on the reverse of the sheet. 

I used the old glass as the backing, instead of a wooden/composite board.   Every now and then I look at the dancers on the "other side". 

Moral: always supervise the framing of a painting; for its safety and for pleasant surprises such as this one. 

Peter Brook's Mahabharata at BAM (Majestic Theater) 1987

I have not written about Peter Brook's "Mahabharata", which I saw a month ago at the remodelled Majestic Theater in Brooklyn, spread over three nights (there also was a 9+ hour hour staging).    It stopped well short of greatness.   Arthur Bonner said it was awful! The reviews, too, were generally mixed.  I think it was greatly overrated and tended to become gimmicky.    The first two parts moved well (in pace) and were enjoyable.  The game of dice itself wasn't very well done, and the emotions involved just did not get conveyed.  The third part ("The War") left me disappointed -- there wasn't the vibrancy one expects, especially having been brought up seeing battle scenes in Yakshagana.  The Gita itself was reduced to one minute of whispering between two actors, followed by a cringeworthy one minute of Vishwaroopadarshan -- it was terrible because the actor who played Krishna had a rather pompous affectation (somehow RADA did not go well with Krishna here!).  The conclusion of the play was, to use a popular Americanism, "wimpy".

The play had its moments though.   The theater had been imaginatively modeled, left half stripped down, with a clay stage that had a canal at the back and a pool up front.   The best thing about the play was the sets -- the Indian textiles and handicrafts that were used.   A lot of the stagecraft was imaginative -- the use of space and the stage, but at times got contrived, especially the pyrotechnics.    It (the stagecraft) was fortunately not confined to second-hand renderings of Indian folk theatre and dance drama, but dipped into far-eastern theatre and possibly also African theatre.  

A lot has been written about the multi-ethnic cast.  Initially the variety of accents was  distracting, but I soon found myself enjoying the non-English tones far more than the English ones.  Mallika Sarabhai as Draupadi and the actress who played Gandhari were excellent.  Duryodhana, Karna, Yudhishthira, Bhima and Drona were well acted.    Krishna and, to a lesser extent, Vyasa, definitely not.

I haven't seen Carriere's text (the English version), but not much stood out.  The only scenes which transcended theatre were the scenes where Pandu is cursed by the dying doe, and when Yudhishthira answers Yama's questions at the lake.   The other powerful scenes, such as Kunti's revelation to Karna, come from the epic itself.

On the other hand , the depiction of  supremely tragic moments such as when Yudhishthira replies to Drona that Ashwaththhama (and sotto voce "the elephant") is dead,  or when Krishna breaks every rule of war, led to audience reactions which indicated that they felt that these were (Ollie North style) "neat ideas".  Maybe that is how the US society views war tactics in these Reagan years.

I really cannot recall anything remarkable about the music.  It was not as engaging as in folk Indian theatre, and did not seem inventive rhythmically or melodically. 

No, the play did not have more than "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead".

[Part of a letter to Shouri in 1987]

"Too much democracy"

 "Too Much Democracy"

In an online address the (then) NITI Ayogya CEO (Amitabh Kant) was quoted as saying "India had too much democracy". This caused consternation even in the docile press (also called Godi Media).

In fact he used this phrase twice.

The first time was when he said "Tough reforms are very difficult in the Indian context, we have too much of democracy... You needed political will to carry out these reforms (mining, coal, labour, agriculture) and many more reforms still need to be done." The implication one can draw from his formulation is that these "reforms" (or more accurately, "deforms") need a fundamentally undemocratic political will. Make what you will about whether these changes can be "reforms" in a democracy.

The second time around he used the phrase, Kant claimed he had been quoted out of context. He helpfully tweeted (on the Twitter handle @amitabhk87 on 8th December 2020): "This is definitely not what I said. I was speaking about MEIS scheme & resources being spread thin & need for creating global champions in manufacturing sector."

So if you see disproportionately many resources being lumped in favour of one or two "global champions", why are you shocked? This has been government policy, articulated by the CEO of its in-house "think tank".

(Minor edits to a note written in September 2022)

Sheila Dikshit’s Heart

(Written c. 2013)

»Delhi Chief Minister Arvind Kejriwal called on his predecessor Sheila Dikshit before her departure for France for an aortic valve replacement. Kejriwal tweeted the news of his visit, but did not add that he stayed for barely five minutes. If his visit had been slightly longer, he could have picked up some helpful pointers from a veteran like Dikshit, who successfully ran the Delhi government for three terms without any major hitch even though the NDA was in power at the Centre for some of that period. The 80-year-old Dikshit courteously came down to see off the CM and was taken aback to find that Kejriwal was accompanied by a long convoy of cars, including several police vehicles. Kejriwal, who joined politics claiming to be a man of the people, could have taken a lesson from Dikshit who crisscrossed the city most unobtrusively. People in Nizamuddin East recall that Dikshit frequently visited the colony when she was in power, as her sister lives there, but few got to know since she travelled without any fanfare.«  Coomi Kapoor, The Indian Express, 2 September 2018.

I would normally not quote Coomi Kapoor, who is after all not much more than a political gossip columnist. And I do not know whether or not Kejriwal was accompanied by a long convoy of cars.

But I can confirm that on the two occasions that I met her, Sheila-ji was not at all officious as a CM, especially when it came to using transport and the trappings of office. In 2000, after my father had received the Indira Gandhi award for National Integration, we were crossing the road to get to our car parked in a patch behind Shastri Bhawan. A white Maruti Gypsy stopped next to us, and the lady in the passenger’s seat rolled down the window and addressed my wife: “Young lady, you look like someone I have met before. Can I drop you and your family home or somewhere where you want to go?” It was Sheila Dikshit, Chief Minister of Delhi, seated next to her driver. (Her son Sandeep and my wife had been fellow students over a decade earlier, and knew each other in the NGO sector).

The next time was when she came home to express her condolences to my mother when my father died (ten years ago, almost to the day). A white ambassador pulled up, and the CM got down from the front passenger seat (she always sat next to the driver; this time there was one policeman who sat in the back). No airs about her. My mother told her that seeing her smile would cheer her up more than anything else.

The horrific rape of Jyoti Singh (I wish people will stop using the moniker “Nirbhaya”, possibly coined by Times of India) happened at a time that Sheila Dikshit was in and out of hospital for a heart surgery. Sheila-ji was in no physical condition to address the apprehensions of the public. One of those who gained advantage of her incapacity was her successor as CM, who would exploit that moment to its fullest.

As someone who will also eventually need an aortic valve replacement, I hope the surgery goes well and I wish her a speedy recovery.

Where there’s a will

(Written about 2020)

Where there’s a will, there is the weight of something to be done usually. But there are wills that embody a life style.  

I recently found two old wills written by my father. The first, dated 16 December 1983, is typed up on that yellowish paper of peculiar dimensions that used to be found with notaries and in government offices. It was witnessed by two of his colleagues -- his devoted assistant P Sethumadhavan, and Raju Korah. The later one is handwritten and dated 17 June 1990. The provisions of the two testaments are substantially the same --- leaving his small savings and modest flat to my mother, and expressing gratitude to her and to his sons, friends and colleagues. Both conclude with a desire that there be no religious rituals post his death. 

The first Will (of 16 December 1983), written before he was 60, begins with a bland statement that he retired from government service on 30th April of that year, and while he was continuing to work in the same position, “it is an appropriate occasion to think of a time when I shall not be around”. He goes on to write: “I have travelled light and do not have many belongings. The act of writing a will therefore becomes an academic exercise. But it is good to make things easier for those who survive.” Well, one could quibble that he did have a large number of belongings, in the form of nearly ten thousand books, but these are not the kind of effects that get listed in a will. In any case he spent the last few years of his life in the “academic exercise” of selecting and handing off those books to people whom he thought were appropriate recipients for them, an act he likened in an article to a traditional father finding grooms for his daughters. He goes on to write: “My father did not leave any immovable property. I have failed to follow his example, and am trying to acquire a house by becoming a member of the CIS Officers’ Cooperative Group Housing Society...”, listing the modest amount he had paid up till then. The rest of his assets, around a few tens of thousand rupees in various bank accounts and savings schemes, and some objects, books and a couple of paintings given to him by friends, were bequeathed to my mother. Having no belief in ritual, he wanted a plain, unsentimental farewell -- for which he depended on his wife and sons, who he says “meant much to me”.

The second Will, dated 17 June 1990, begins with “Wills are left by those who have wealth. I did not make money and money did not make me. During the forty-four years of my working life, I acquired a small flat <details elided>, and a car, which I bought twenty years ago, and saved about Rs 1,75,000, which I have deposited in <bank account details elided>. All these I leave to my wife, Kamalamma, the person who means most to me in life, who has shared my outlook and has helped me to resist ambition.” He goes on to write: “With my physical problem of a blocked carotid artery, my sincere hope is that I shall not become so incapacitated as to be a burden on my wife. She knows I do not believe in rituals, and I do not want any religious rites when I am no more.”

This desire was not to be, for he suffered Parkinson’s disease for several years, with my mother bravely looking after him through his physical ordeals. But his Will was done -- there were no religious rites at his funeral, at which several friends and colleagues were present. With my mother’s firm veto, we were able to quash an attempt from one quarter at performing some rituals.

In the years after he wrote these testaments, there came up two new major “claimants” to his legacy -- his grandsons. While he gave them little by way of material possessions, what he left for them was far more precious: his unconditional love and his integrity.

Shouri (a son's memories)

(written 15.04.2024)

“Shouri”, “Showrie”, “Shourie” — that was the name he was called at home, and by those who knew him well. My infant tongue could only manage “Thouduli”; my children called him “Dui”, sometimes adding “tata”. That a man of such distinction and achievement would happily let everyone, of all ages, address him so casually speaks of his self-assurance and inner confidence. He rarely talked down to people, no matter what their standing, treating even young children as equals when conversing with them.  

Paradoxically, this man of letters had a reputation for reticence, choosing silence over empty talk — if he was a man of few words, the words were carefully chosen. But when he was with his close friends, especially those from his college days, his conversation could be sparkling with witticisms and anecdotes.

To this day I miss the twinkle in his eyes that would show when he was enjoying something — food, music, a movie, a joke, a work of art, or the company of his grandsons. I never heard him raise his voice. I recall one occasion, when he was being rudely badgered on the phone by a junior colleague, his voice became extremely soft as he even more calmly and gently put the person in his place.  

Very early in his life did he seem to give up having expectations of people, which I supposed saved him from the toxin of resentment. He instinctively avoided confrontation and argument While he was an excellent teacher, he did not try to change people, especially if they did not measure up to a task, but just didn’t engage too much with them. If he came across as aloof or indifferent to some, it was perhaps for this reason.  

He had two workplaces at home: One was the round dining table with no fixed seats, where he read the newspapers marking them with a blue pencil, and ate his simple meals — vegetable-rich pulusu- or chaaru-annam, perugu-annam, or chitranna, with vegetables on the side. He was no autocrat at the table, and for him eating together was a way of communing. The other was his study table, to which he went when he needed the solitude to craft speeches or write articles. He also had an amazing ability to multi-task: listening to classical music, playing Scrabble with Kamalamma, doing the Herald Tribune crossword, or reading through the latest book that had come out. Despite his punishing work schedule, he managed to read through, and often review, at least a handful of substantial books a month, fiction and nonfiction.  

What amazes me to this day is how he, who lived as busy and demanding a work life as can be imagined with a fair amount of travel, seemed to squeeze time out to not only write very regularly to his parents, siblings, and a vast circle of friends, but to spend quality time with us. On weekends or holidays, he would drive us (and any visiting relatives and guests) to different historical sites across Delhi and take us to music concerts and art exhibitions, dog shows, libraries, public gardens, as well as regularly visit close friends and relatives in different parts of Delhi. He had an intimate and natural knowledge of all his hometowns — Bengaluru, Mysuru and Delhi (and possibly Bombay as well -- I never went there with him)— and the buildings, the history, the soil, the flora and fauna — trees, flowers, birds. This knowledge was not the kind that came from study and research, but was somewhat innate (like that of his dear friend Shivarama Karanth). 

Shouri and Kamalamma were both steadfastly self-reliant — washing their own clothes, doing the dishes, cleaning the car, dusting the house with its countless books and artefacts, cooking. This was very unusual in bureaucratic Delhi, with its absurd hierarchies. Kamalamma, of course, complemented Shouri with her expansiveness — she was lively when he was quiet, she was passionate where he was equanimous. Housework and word games — and dancing the kolaata — was how they bonded. (When Kamalamma passed away, a dear family friend sent me a most eloquent 1-word condolence message: “Scrabble”). 

Shouri’s love for his family was not demonstrative at all. Rather than expansive hugs, except perhaps to the grandchildren, his affection was expressed in the little things he did for us, or how he recalled small events from our childhood. His love for his mother ran very deep, his eyes welling up on seeing her photo just days before he passed away. Towards his father he had a sense of duty and a protective instinct. And he loved his siblings — which they reciprocated with sheer adulation towards him. Not that he was not cognisant of the foibles of all of us in the family, but he seemed to accept us for who we were. 

Shouri lived a simple life, making few demands on the world and people around him, caring deeply for his environment, but without any overt show of this innate concern. And yet that very simplicity embodied an elegant minimalism, an aesthetic exercise of choice — for the functional form, abjuring meretricious — in his writing, his clothes, his food, his manner, his values.

Books read in 2026

The Strange Library (Haruki Murakami) -- more a work of graphic art than a story.  The story is of a young boy who disappears into (for what may be a few days) and eventually escapes from a municipal library.

Flesh (David Szalay)  -- this review intentionally left blank

The Lazy Burglar (George Simenon)

The Hunchback  (Saou Ichikawa) -- story of a severely disabled but rich woman living in an assisted living facility who dabbles in pornographic writing, posts on social media.  Her strange desires.  Told from different viewpoints of the who the narrator may be. 

Desire  (Haruki Murakami)  -- a collection of short stories, 

• The Second Bakery Attack (Jay Rubin) -- quirky
• On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning (Jay Rubin) -- what may have happened
• Birthday Girl (Jay Rubin) -- What will be will be?
• Samsa in Love (Ted Goossen) -- imaginative
• A Folklore for My Generation: A Pre-History ofLate-Stage Capitalism (Philip Gabriel) -- poignant

Utensils

Plates

My parents’ stainless steel plates for every day (almost always South Indian) meals. 

The one on the left with the rim was my father’s. At the end of the meal he’d lift his plate and pour any fluid left over (rasam,sāmbār or the whey from yogurt) into his mouth. 

The one on the right, slightly deeper and rimless, was my mother’s. She’d run her right hand across the rim to scrape off any food sticking to it, and then scoop that residue up with her thumb into her smacking lips. 

I hated both “rituals with victuals” then. Now they are endearing memories of my parents. How time changes our perspectives. 

Glasses (or tumblers)

These are the two stainless steel glasses my brother and I grew up drinking milk or water out of. Every day.

The one on the right has a small dent in it. (Perhaps accidental, perhaps due to an outburst), By some unspoken convention in the family that glass was assigned to my brother. I once drank over-boiled milk from it, which tasted like
(brinjal/aubergine/eggplant) to me, so I henceforth would never drink from that glass. 

The one on the right has a little notch in its lip. This was mine. I swear I didn’t nibble into it to make up for some iron deficiency.

More tumblers

These were the ones my parents used. My father the marginally larger one, my mother the very slightly smaller one. To pour water, buttermilk, and other liquids, including hot fluids, into their waiting gullets.

Delhi Rape Stats (Written in 2014)

Following the December 16 2012 gang rape of a 23-year old woman (whom I will not call Nirbhaya or Damini, names concocted to protect her identity),  Delhi was branded in the media as the Rape Capital.  Politicians, including one in whose official residence a rape had taken place several years ago (let me clarify that he was not involved), were quick to latch onto this epithet.  That particular crime was horrific, and quite naturally caused outrage among our citizenry.  The media trotted out shocking figures of the number of rapes that occur every day/month/year in Delhi.  

In analysing crime statistics (as opposed to a particular crime), especially those such as rape  which raise emotions, what ultimately matters is not absolute numbers, since a large city is more likely to have more crimes committed than a smaller city. So it is sobering to take into account the numbers per 100,000 population.   To understand these in the Indian context, here is a link to an article that informs us about various urban centres in India, and what their rates of rape are:
http://www.thehindu.com/opinion/blogs/blog-datadelve/article5071357.ece

The December 16 2012 crime remains imprinted in our memory, and has served as a catalyst for reforms in crime against women, rape in particular. One positive outcome was the reformulation of the law, under the sage advice of the commission headed by the retired CJI Justice Verma.   Another positive outcome is that the reporting of rape and the registering of cases of rape since then has increased several-fold. Here is the situation for the year gone by:

http://www.indianexpress.com/news/in-97--rape-cases-accused-known-to-victim-police-data-reveals/1213573/0

It is a gut-wrenching read, and one which hold many lessons for us as citizens who wish our city to be safer and more secure, specially for women.  But one thing that seems to come out is that the December 16 rape incident is NOT the typical rape that happens in our city.   Which is not to say that we can ignore it -- it should always remind us of the horror of the "gang rape" (a base act of utter cowardice).

The truth is ugly.    Rape clearly is a crime of violence, the sexual nature of which is not primary.  It is often committed opportunistically, but always seems to involve an exercise of power.  And very often a betrayal of trust, very often of minors, and very often by a family member or a  friend or acquaintance.   Also very revealing is the socio-economic profile of the victims. (The Indian Express December 31 2013  article had an accompanying table in the print version, which showed that the victims were primarily lower middle class women, and upper middle class women formed a miniscule fraction.  We should also perhaps be sensitive to caste/minority demographics, which weren't given.   There was however a table  regarding the ages of the victims and perpetrators, but with the < and > signs mixed up).

What the figures in the article above also reveal is a shade of grey:  In nearly 40% of the reported cases, the victim was in a consensual relationship with the accused (and in about half of those, the victim made the complaint after eloping or being in a live-in relationship with the accused)  A friend who works extensively with gender issues and violence against women in a variety of contexts also remarked that in her experience, many young women believe that if a consensual relationship does not progress towards marriage (betrayal of trust) then it constitutes rape.

There is another issue that bothered me with the debates in the media when the Justice Verma Commission report came out regarding victims of rape, and whether the crime should be called sexual assault or rape. Some very passionate gender activists and lawyers whom I respect categorically that it should be defined as a gender-specific violent crime against women, and it should be called rape.  

I agree that it is gender-specific, but not in that of the victim, but of the perpetrator -- who seems invariably to be male. Spare a thought for the numerous victims of a violent act, which in all respects is exactly the same as the new definition of rape, but who happen to be male, especially hapless minors. 

(c) Sanjiva Prasad 2014