GLC!

It takes time to sink in that I was part of an institution that is almost half as old as a turtle! Certainly, the carefully preserved dust in the annex library and the fans that hold office at pleasure, compel you to believe that it is much older. It’s age remains a mystery for someone who’s been a student of it while it celebrated its 150 years for three years in a row! But that doesn’t take away the similarity that the Government Law College has with James Bond- both are names taken with reverence by those in the profession! Of course, for the layman, as Chintan discovered one day while he was hiring a cab, it is a “sarkari kaalej”! For us, it has and will remain, GLC, unless someone asks with a puzzled expression, “huh?” and we would unwillingly unmask the trendy name to reveal its association.

GLC is indeed, as all committee correspondences mention, a “distinguished institution with illustrious alumni”. Its non est campus, a fictitious gymkhana and the overflowing second floor notice board are but just a few of its distinguishing traits. Not to forget classrooms the size of a football stadium that are maintained untouched and in their erstwhile pristine condition by students religiously, barring exceptional circumstances like daswani, GP or pitha’s lecture. The form filling days are of course a fundamental change in circumstance when all hell breaks loose! The form enquires about details of your tenth standard even after you’ve got a BLS degree and just when you are reconciling with that fact you realize that the guy behind you has actually, er…notionally, been in your class for the past four years. Until the last academic year, when form filling days meant a 9-6 day, they were designed to instill patience and tactfulness- virtues that are the hallmark of a successful counsel. We now know the secret behind our alumni being so illustrious!

For someone who’d spent all her life pre-GLC in school, GLC was ironically, the college life! In keeping with its trend, it has a remarkably committe(e)d college life, for at least until the second year, and for those who refuse sanity, the whole of their life as a GLCite, one’s status is defined by the number and kind of committees they are a part of! Committees are self-proclaimed foundations of the GLC culture, the mascot that guided the life of most GLCites at least in their pre-law years of boredom. Typically, they are our TV9…seemingly sensational and exclusive until you realize that that’s balderdash! But in an institution that would’ve otherwise seen visiting students, committee’s have commendably done what the institution has, to my mind, utterly failed- to ensure that it has at least an iota of college life!

All said and done, life at GLC would remain incomplete if it were not for the excitement that MU provided. When I walked out after the banking paper, I promptly called my mom and declared that that was the last time I exited GLC as a student and then I quickly added, “hopefully…! One never knows with the MU”. Having been under the MU has had it’s own perils and advantages. For one, there will definitely be rumors of exams getting postponed and being a student, unless you are Nithya, the very thought of any postponement is great to begin with, although you’d wish it were not there once the exams begin. But then you have the ULC in land laws long after it’s been repealed and the redundant case laws in history of courts as part of our portion. The results of course are just that...the result, although ‘m yet to find, of what!

The note would remain inchoate if I don’t mention two things that I‘d always cherish GLC for, the mooting opportunities it offered and its library. I must admit ‘ve been lucky to have done moots with some of the best mooters GLC has and a huge thanks to all of them for having made each moot a memorable experience. The GLC library is perhaps the only place one can perhaps hang out! :P And I for one, have hung in there for quite a long time before exams...thanks to my patient study partner, sagar...whose calmness should be seen to be believed!

Thanks guys...mallika for being a lovely friend; prathamesh for being a nice bro; shreyas and dhvani for the lovely jessup experience; mandar for his il guidance; nithya and khush for the memorble stetson and life at glc and thereafter; mana for her unmistakable diplomacy and some really smart jokes; neo, aman, dhaval,shai, pulkit and adke for having made mag a fun experience, vikram and everybody else who's not been named for having been part of my GLC experience.

Terms of Association


1. The initial implementation period proposed for the project is six to twelve months. The Cell reserves its rights to terminate the project on an earlier date if there is a violation of the terms contained herein or for any other reason tendered to in writing to _________. It is clarified that the termination shall be effective from the date of tendering it and is not subject to its acceptance by the office of the __________. Upon mutual agreement, the term may be extended and the relation between the Cell and ____shall be governed by the terms recorded herein or as varied by them on such later date.

2. The ____________shall be responsible for convening and/or organizing any workshops or any other citizen interface for resident associations, citizen groups or other entities whether organized or otherwise. The Cell shall be responsible for conducting such workshops or other citizen interface organized by the _________by means of suitable presentations specifically designed to cater to the needs and problems of the group and focus on the practical utility of Right to Information Act for the said group.

3. The __________shall be responsible for providing the ______ a deskspace for a mutually agreed time, at _________________________, the public/____ office of _____________ to facilitate the project. The Cell shall, upon such space being made available at the time as mentioned hereinabove, clarify queries of any member of the public approaching it, pertaining to the Right to Information Act including any personal query pertaining to the filing of an RTI application. The Cell or any of its members shall not be liable for any action/claim that may arise on account of any advise imparted by it.

4. The Cell shall at all events be an independent body with a distinct identity. It shall be represented as a separate entity and shall not, whether orally or in writing or otherwise be represented to be affiliated to ________ except as recorded herein.

5. The association between the Cell and the ______is strictly apolitical. No political affiliation shall be attributed in any manner and on any media to the activity undertaken by the Cell in its association with the ___________. The Cell shall at all events be represented by ____________ as a non-aligned student organization of the College.

6. The Cell shall remain contactable at its email-id, and any emails pertaining to the Right to Information Act queries may be forwarded to the same. The same contact email and details may be presented at the website of the _________ and other willing related entities and on public forum, subject to the same being represented to be that of the Cell in conformity with the terms recorded hereinabove.

7. This Project shall be strictly without prejudice to the all and any other activities of the Cell and any other partnerships and/or projects which the cell undertakes.

1. Was the last time you graced the RTI cell meeting when the bard called it a day and descended into his grave?

2. Do you often stare at a message that informs you of a RTI cell meeting and go like...duh! not again...i have to waste a buck on replying to this and i have to choose from my numerous excuses...or something to that effect?

3. Do you remember the RTI cell in the first place?...no no it is not the one organizing moots... nope! we don't go mountain climbing and bungee jumping either...not even the one doing plays! sigh! to refresh your memory...for the want of better words- Right to Information Cell that's what it is! Viola! now pls don't get down to asking what Right to Information is...let's say...that is what we are exercising right now!

4. Do you think the RTI cell is a bunch of jokers preparing for the next big circus and circuses do no interest you?

5. Do you earnestly strive towards getting the best non-performing asset award?

6. Do you believe that you have what it takes to be the epitome of laziness and/or shirk work quite callously?

7. Do you reckon that you are smart enough to understand the purport of the mail?

8. Do you think the Cell should shift its activities to more interesting things like screwing around with defaulting members or even better...give them hell?


If your answers to 1-7 are in the affimative singularly or jointly, we believe you know where the door is.
If your answers to 1-7 are in the negative then, we beg to differ because we think your conduct justifies a presumption to the contrary and there is no reason to suggest otherwise from any work done by you.

THIS IS NOT A SHOW CAUSE NOTICE...THIS IS A SHOW THE DOOR NOTICE. YOU CAN CHOOSE TO SHOW CAUSE THOUGH AND IT SHALL BE AT THE SOLE DISCRETION OF THE CONVENOR TO EVEN DECIDE AS TO WHETHER SUCH REPLY SHALL BE TAKEN NOTE OF!

blog by anjana is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.

Palimpsest

The paradox was palpable. The officious edifice evoked no string of emotion in the thousands that justified its being. They swarmed in thousands in the faint anticipation of the earth skipping the next ten hours of her itinerary; yet, there was a certain fitness in the geometric integrity its shadow commanded-everything crammed to fit itself within the symmetry; the late birds stood gauging the elasticity of the umbrae devouring the colossal principle of even a fleeting glance. The modest surroundings echoed the cacophony of the intercourse between conflicting ideologies of acceleration. She loved the dynamics, in a moment she could translate the chaotic traffic into its components and get lost in one of its most neglected facades.

The office building looked no different from across the street than from within. When she usually walked in, life deserted the place leaving the furniture in disarray and floors mauled with dirt. As she let the liquid flow over yesterday’s reminiscence she felt the power of the creator- the power to invigorate life into the inanimate, the power to restore order and yet remain invisible to the myriad. When all was done, she would let the place breathe the air cooler, conditioned by the trail of the cleansing liquid and walk out with the air of a deft executioner.

She felt no need to change her clothes for the job. ‘Those that did’, she often mused, ‘were the amateurs’. She’d not liked them- the mediocre who’d gossip in hushed tones while she passed by; they thought she was insane. She did not care to differ. She had the job and she paid the cost to the guy who’d managed to give that to her without probing much. He had asked her what her name was, ‘Geeta’, she had said. She was called Geeta, she clarified to herself. She did not know if that was her name, she’d never felt any sense of belonging to it.

**********

The features were blurred- the painted faces of the lipstick clad women who changed costumes every other minute- the colour had faded on her side of the screen but nevertheless, there was colour, it was the same colour of her thatched roof. She did not see the roof again after that night. There was a woman to whom she clung. The woman was telling her a story of some people who needed her home and how they gave another home, some sarkar. She was happy because suddenly she got to eat and see colour she had never seen. There were people all around her with bulging rags that clanked each time they rubbed, they were walking.

The new place was no different, it didn’t have the roof though, she wondered. Others whose faculties co-ordinated better found they had to start life from the scratch on the barren land. The food was over, and the grandeur of the colour had grown faint. They knew it was hoping against hope, but they assured each other that their new found money would buy them some land; they actually did not know what to do with it otherwise. They were again on the move. Few of them did not last the length; the woman to whom she clung did not. She had not liked the woman, her mother, very much. The more hunger stung, the more closer her mother cuddled and looked longingly at her, impressing her barren breasts that had nothing to offer. But she wailed when shoulders changed, though stronger shoulders held her this time, shoulders that did not yet bear the weight of six children.

It was a new group of people whose newness wore out fast acquiring pseudonyms evidencing relations. She was a quick learner- love did not satiate hunger, laps did not keep one warm in winters nor did nomenclature assure privacy. These people were unlike the woman; they scrapped off food and some brought in food while it was still edible. The place she had shifted to was bright and busy, the surface was rough. When the bulk of a body hit her in sleep, she just felt suffocated. But then, she assumed, that was how so many people could sleep together. She was fine, she reassured herself, for three nights. Then she ran.

**********

She was not very concerned what they did with the stuff, she knew it made them feel nice. She did not attach benevolence to her job because it didn’t matter. But she would not herself buy one of it, they acted funny, and their limp bodies flopped over after having it- just as the woman to whom she had clung to. She’d been waiting for quite sometime now. The consignment had to come about an hour earlier and was still nowhere to be seen. Instead she felt something more firm around her wrists- handcuffs.

People in there did not bother with each other’s privacy except for the daily routine and the pesky female. This was no paradise, there was a liquidity crunch- she knew all of that. The female wanted a sob story; she said she was convinced all was just plain goof up- mix up of people. The pest talked a lot about release, dearth of evidence, sentence…- mere words out of rote memory. Geeta would not bargain with apathy, even if it meant her ticket to freedom. She despised philanthropy that stared into the begging bowl reminding each time how indebted it was to them. She was in there because she earned a livelihood; she didn’t care how the pest took that.

When she had first walked in here, she was afraid of being in jail, just because it was called jail. Perhaps her mother would have liked the food and roof the place offered, even if social mores despised it. The inmates acknowledged the power within each other, the power of deception or perhaps of taking a life. There was no fate- they were it. Life there was passionate, in love, laughter, fight or play – there was a wild streak about it. Every one of them felt secure with the other - their windcheater against winter. But no one spoke about the winter that awaited them when they walked out– that was an unwritten dictum. When it came they did not look back at what they had left. Perhaps the winter would not last long and they would be back here shunned by those who’ve remained snug all winter, those who thought people out of jail had no right to live outside it. When she walked out, it was dark; the rain drenched her tears. Although she didn’t know why, she had promised never to come back.

**********
She loved looking at the building from her shanty across the street; it was her way of getting used to her new life. It was sweltering and she was tired that day. A yawn interrupted her thoughts and she gave way to the comfort of slumber.

There was a lot of commotion, quite enough to wake her up. The night had made its presence felt by now. Yellow bulbs glowed from solitary poles and life flew around it. The city had been on usual business, cars zoomed past her abode on the footpath, bikes raced and tired bodies carried themselves homeward. But something was not quite right. Cluttered speech intercepted the smooth rumble of the engine.

Something was different about the building today. She couldn’t at first glance tell what it was. But, for six months that she entered there it had always a deserted demeanour, like someone waiting to confide. The watchman for the first time since she could remember was out at the gate and suddenly the building acquired the import of officiousness that was expected out of it. Her heart almost leapt out of her when they asked for her id “perhaps he’d found out that she was a convict”! This was something else, she guessed, as they checked her id and let her go. For once, she wanted to run to the changing room. Whisper suddenly seemed alien to this place. They were talking- loud and clear. Yesterday evening they found, they said, a bomb in the building- diffused and dead by now except for the trail of terror it left behind. There was intended some sort of a search.
“Obviously, we would be the ones who would be targeted. They think only money can drive people to do these things”, a spontaneous voice remarked.

The voice from the far end of the corridor grew subliminal. The breeze did nothing to stop the sweat that broke out. She felt breathless for a moment, as though the barren breast had fallen over her again, as though the shoulder had been changed again. She saw it all- they would come back into her life, she would be the obvious person- aloof and cold. What would matter the most would perhaps be her reluctance to divulge. She wanted to talk to them, all of them, she wanted to tell them how she hated them, how she loved herself, how she did not know how to like others…..anything that would stop them from pointing to her… that would make them feel that she was a just one of them. But she could only hear herself heaving. She walked- her pace increasing with each step that she took. Her winter had just set in but she was sure it would be long and she was not prepared for it. She was afraid that if she were to stop, she would not have the strength to walk ever again. Darkness crept out into the sky and she gave way to the intruding breeze. She had found her way out- the way to never have the winter. People around were busy to hear the splash that sucked her. All that could be heard that night was the sound of the crashing waves.

So on 3rd December 2008, people walked like never before, the traffic halted but slogans subdued impatient horns; people peeped out of buses and walked out of their cars. The crowd technically, as I gathered, was meant to gather at the Gateway of India. Mostly, people got stuck at Regal and to make matters worse, network of most mobile operators was pathetic and the gateway to the gateway was jammed with a cross movement of the mob!

The next day, the only slogans that were seemingly remembered were those that called for Justice, Action, Solidarity, Accountability and transparency! Well, I was there from around 5 45 to around 8 pm and the most often heard slogan was -"Pakistan chor hain"! Either I was hallucinating for no reason I can fathom, or people just did not want to mention such stuff to GP on his first lecture!

My idea of going there was never debated before but pondered and badgered later. I just went there because I did not want to see the glorified version of the march on the Television. I was angry at what happened on the 26th but I did not go there, not in the slightest, to express that... I did not think shouting of a few slogans could make a difference. In fact, my primary concern was that such a public gathering could be a soft target, a not so open jalianwallah to be precise, especially with bombs replacing the rifles, the same impact. For reasons I thank, the night was only fuelled by anger.

But anger to imply what? I was reminded of Birbal's fabel where he tries to cook with the pot hanging up above and the burning hearth below. I'd heard Shobha De say in one of television programs that the chief minister should resign, the home minister should resign...we need accountability (they did, of course)! I think that when the defence and security of a country is at stake, resignation should have been a secondary issue -mandamus should have been the first. If you have not done your job well, then here's the show cause, do it...there is no 'if you don't' because we did not elect you for that. Perhaps 03/12 was an attempt at a mandamus but was somewhere lacking in one voice. Yes, we are angry and we want you to do blah blah blah like, may be include compulsory practical disaster/terror management in our curriculam (frankly, i presume casualities increased to such numbers also becuase people really did not know what to do...whether it be CST, Taj or Oberoi), have regional NSG groups; like in times of emergency, have a unified body to take the decision....something like that! But there was not one placard telling us a practical solution to vent our anger.

Well the pak part. I do not think that we have any right to comment about pakistan's credibility when we ourselves do not have a credible governmnet. Secondly, I do not think that Pakistan, if it is, the only haven for terrorists. Thirdly, I quite agree with what the pak foreign min said that those fuckers don't have any religion, any nationality. Thoughts apart, if ISI indeed is conspiring against India then, our job is to ensure we are safe. I think it would be more economical to secure your house rather than have the robber killed!

The fire brigade cannot fight fire with fire.

....................

My phone invariably rings at 7pm, though amma knows 'd not be anywhere near home, just to hear a familiar voice at the other end. I cannot casually wait for my friend at the turning- suspicious person with suspicious object...why this self-doubt? Well, why not? May be someone passing by has dropped something into my bag, may be, for the perpetrator 'm acting as a sheild, may be....i really don't know! All i know is that i don't know why i shouldn't be afraid?

History records Hitler's reign as one of the most Barbaric. Surely, a senile charismatic wolf was a reason to be afraid of! What's my reason to be afraid of and what exactly am i afraid of? I don't know! They are somewhere out there..somewhere, even those whom we trust to warn us don't know. I may get shot or even blown up the next moment...may be not...may be tomorrow. If self-respect prevails, i can't even commit sucide...what if someone saves me at the nick of the moment? Of course public policy must be upheld immaterial of whether you live in terror or die at its cost at the hands of some rotten fellow.

'Why' is no longer my worry; 'm sure that's neither theirs. Those that print out those "alert" messages expect them to turn up in overalls covering their faces and holding huge boxes over their heads, preferably labelled RDX or that they would be lingering around for a long time so that someone might just get suspicious. I think expecting the obvious is just pretending to be yourself-stupid! Afterall, camouflage is an inherent function, whether it be of opinions or conduct. Frankly, i don't think they give a damn about planning...they'd have as many dead, preferably themselves also killed- end of story.

Surely, this is not the first time that this has happened but this time they did not wham! bam! vanish and brag....they shot..on and on...at who ever they saw...human life in a matter of seconds lay splattered on the tar. For those panic-stricken people trying to get home, trains were hauled up and they silently cried over the phone praying that the line would not go dead or they...those that will come out alive will tread the trail of terror this night has left behind.

I don't understand when people talk about the spirit of Mumbai...to me it's a calculated indifference bred out of a greater motive in life- to eak out a life in the moment you are alive for the next one.

the most callous response to a gift(assuming even that the gift is the worst possible one given by someone whom you abhor)-

how much did you spend/waste on this?