Perfection

I walked down a lonely road.

The snow made muffled noises under my boots. As surely as I walked, fresh white flakes covered my footprints as if they were determined to hide my whereabouts. Quite a few times during my walk, I had looked back and watched my footprints fading into the snow, like magic. I hugged my jacket closer to me. My face had become almost numb from cold, but I didn’t mind much. I knew I would be home soon. Plus, I had always loved the snow, since I was a little boy. It looked so magical on the Christmas cards that we got, or in the scenes from movies. Back then, I would satisfy myself by imagining what living in that picture would be like. Years had passed, and the little gingerbread houses had been replaced with real ones, but today, the picture was the same. And it was perfect.

The moment I thought of perfection, a sharp pain erupted right in between my shoulder blades. I cringed. The pain wasn’t real, just a memory. Many memories actually, but I pushed them aside. My father had been a hard man to please but I would like to think he’d be proud of me if he saw me today. 

It was flawless.

As I walked down the winding lane of this little town, nestled between the hills, I marvelled at the sight before me. The street lamps glowed orange, the lamp shades covered with powdery white snow, some lined with icicles. The houses were quiet, giving an impression of the entire world sleeping peacefully with their blinds drawn. It was so quiet that I could hear my heart thumping against my chest as I climbed the road. I exhaled and my breath briefly formed a smoky pattern against the icy air, before the wind erased it. As I trudged up my driveway, with the cold creeping into my bones and thoroughly exhausted, I looked back one last time. I watched as the last traces of my boots disappeared under the snow. I saw the sloping roofs of houses, covered with snow, the light from some of the houses falling across their porch, filtered through the blinds. It was like everything my young mind had ever imagined. But this was better because it was real. It wasn’t just a perfect theory or an image anymore. It was reality. I smiled to myself and entered the house, closing the door behind me.

A Few Months Later

I sat down at the dining table, my morning coffee in one hand, the newspaper in another. The last few months in this otherwise quaint and safe town had been pretty eventful to say the least. It all started when the police found a dead body.

It had snowed very heavily during the winter and after the snow melted, the police recovered a body from a remote corner of the town. Apparently, the man had been murdered. The citizens were shocked and scared for days as the police turned over every stone for clues. But they found none. The snow had preserved the body, they said. So the time of death could not be confirmed. No weapon was found, no fingerprints and no witnesses either. They tried to collect forensic evidence but any DNA from the killer had already been destroyed by the snow. For a month, the police tried knocking down every door they could think of.

They came knocking at my door before the first week was over. I was a very well-known, albeit recently retired, criminal psychiatrist and Officer McGee all but begged me for help. I happily obliged. Officer McGee wore the most genuinely flabbergasted expression as he handed me the file for the first time. “We’ve never seen anything like it”, he exclaimed, “Can you help us put together a psychological profile?” I reviewed the file and agreed. But to no avail. I attempted to read what kind of a person would be capable to doing this but I could give them nothing. Nothing much, anyway.

“The killer is probably male, because he easily overpowered the victim, though I can’t completely rule out a woman of considerable size and strength. He doesn’t torture. He just kills. So, certainly not a sadist. He is clearly smart, left no evidence at all. It’s all about the precision.”
That was my official statement to the police department. Officer McGee read my report and looked at me in despair.
“So, my suspects are every able-bodied man and woman, with absolutely no special physical or psychological marker?! I thought you were supposed to narrow it down, Doctor. But what you’re giving me is...Ugh... Even you fit the bill!”
I smiled and said, “You never know what a person is truly capable of, Officer. And I have a feeling your suspect is banking on that.”
In the days that followed, Officer McGee often dropped by, keeping me updated on the case, though the updates never had anything new to them. Even though they had managed to trace the victim’s family, they had absolutely no clue about the murderer. Finally, they decided it was nothing but a wild goose chase and probably a robbery gone wrong.

Today, the news headlines proclaimed in capital letters ‘DEAD BODY IN THE SNOW, CASE GOES COLD’.
I read through the article sniggering at the choice of words and sipping my coffee. My eyes paused over the statement given by the police commissioner. He said that his department had been meticulous in their investigation. There just wasn’t enough evidence to go on. In closing, he had termed the case as being a ‘perfect crime’. I put the coffee down and smiled. In spite of myself, I could feel pride swelling up inside me. My mind wandered back to a particular day in the office when a man had told me something that had always stayed with me. He was a serial killer, and was caught only after he had put at least 17 women to rest. And I had been given the task of his psychological evaluation. When I asked him how he got caught, he looked me straight in the eye and said, “I slipped up, I knew I would eventually. The ‘perfect’ crime is only a theory.” The clarity of his thought had rattled me initially but I could never stop thinking about it since.

The perfect crime. An improbable theory. A remarkable challenge.

 I went through the article one more time.

A little voice inside my head said, “The perfect crime isn’t a theory anymore.”

The next day, Officer McGee sat on my couch, his face sullen, and his body sagging unconsciously under the defeat. He had just finished his third drink while I was well onto my fourth one.
“You act like it’s a celebration,” McGee said, indifferently.
“Why not? Officer, I have dealt with enough horrific crimes to last me a lifetime. So I always find a reason to celebrate when a case closes.” I smiled. I didn’t know whether it was the scotch or just exhilaration that I was feeling, but my throat felt warm and my fingers were tingling.

“But we lost this, Doctor. I have no reason to celebrate.”

“You do. You have come across an unsolvable murder. A perfect crime. It’s a first. You should be honoured.”

McGee grunted. I felt the tiniest spot anger rising in my chest but I clamped down on it.

“Don’t you see?” I continued earnestly, “He figured out a way to make this perfect. For him, it’s not a murder or a crime. It’s perfection. That kind of surgical precision with a Persian knife is almost impossible. It’s art! So, let’s drink to that! You worked a case so early in your career that most detectives can’t even dream of!” I raised my glass towards him as a toast.

Officer McGee sat very still, frozen in place. He had the most unreadable expression plastered to his face.

“I never mentioned anything about a Persian blade,” he whispered.

Off-Duty

The dinner party was over and I was more than happy to clean up. I had strict instructions regarding the correct way of loading the dishwasher, the exact amount of food to throw into the disposer at once, and I also had very vivid descriptions of the fate that awaited me had I ruined any of our wedding china. I finished up, with Mary frequently calling out random advice, and finally went over to the open window.

It was a clear night, a pleasant breeze blowing through the quiet by-lanes. I took a deep breath and smelled the roses in our garden outside. Oh, how I missed it. This. The peace and quiet. The smells and the view. A cigarette glowed red between my fingers, smoke rings slowly wafted out of the window. A neighbour out for a jog passed in front of the house, waving to me as he did. Yet another smiled as he drove by. I waved back and turned away, threw the stub into the dustbin and settled down on the sofa with a magazine.

“Are you done?”

I looked up to see Mary at the doorway.

“Just like you said,” I smiled. She ducked into the kitchen.

She was going to cross-check everything anyway. I chuckled.

“It smells like smoke in here.”

 I bit my tongue. Damn!

“Honey, it was the only one I had all day.”

“Kevin, you promised.” Mary reappeared carrying a glass of water. She didn’t seem angry. I let out a sigh of relief, I wasn’t in trouble. Mary laughed.

“Hon, I really appreciate you trying to quit...”

BOOM!!

“...What the hell...?”

It was an IED. Our humvee had passed right over it. The car overturned.

“Kevin...!!”

What ...? where... I looked around. I must have blacked out on impact.

“Kevin?!”

“Yeah?!! Ryan?? Peters?”

“Kevin, Rogers’ tyre just blew, right in front of our gate. Mind going out and giving him a hand?”

My ears were ringing. I had to help him... yes, I did. But where was he? My mind worked sluggishly. “Calm down,” I told myself, “and think. Start moving!”

I pushed myself off the ground and felt a searing pain in my side. I checked quickly. There was blood, probably shrapnels, but I could still move.

“What are you looking for? Your toolbox is in the garage...”

I looked around. Our guide lay a few feet before me, only half his body intact. His face was turned towards me and eyes, wide open. I forced myself to look away, quickly crawled behind the vehicle and grabbed an automatic.

“Kevin? It’s okay if you don’t want to go...  Honey?”

“Peters?” No answer. Bullets were flying from every direction. I set up my rifle and fired at the hostiles.

“Kevin? Honey? Whoa... wait, what are you doing?”

“Ryan? Are you hurt?”

“I can’t feel my legs. Peters is gone.”

I sprayed some more bullets into the fray. A grenade went off about a hundred metres ahead.

“Ryan???I’m coming for you...”

“They must have heard the blast... They’ll come. You get to the trees.”

“But Ryan..!”

“Kevin, it was just a tyre..! You don’t have to...”

“I have Andrews with me. We are covered. Go.”

“Kevin! Look at me...wait, I’ll call Dr. Keller...”

I sat up, and wheeled around.

“I’ll cover you Kevin. Go go go!”

I rushed forward, firing continuously. A bullet grazed my arm. I ran through a line of trees and ducked behind a thick tree trunk. I aimed at the hostiles and fired a round.

“Ryan?”

“Kevin, I’m here, look at me! You’re home, you’re safe!... Hello? Dr. Keller? I’m...”

“Ryan!?”

“Kevin! Behind you!”

I wheeled around. The man was almost on me. He shot at me, I jumped aside and knocked the gun from his hand. I ducked and kicked his legs away from under him. He fell down, clearly not very experienced. Here was my advantage.

I quickly twisted his arm around and caught him in a headlock. He struggled furiously. He rammed his elbow into my ribs. The hit was surprisingly soft, didn’t hurt at all. He was weak.

“Honey please... please... listen to me...”

Something fell from his grip, bounced off my shoe and onto the floor. A phone.

A phone?

“Honey! Please Kev...Help... Help”

“Not so brave now, are you? Planting bombs on the road is so much easier, eh?” I breathed venomously. I increased the pressure on his windpipe crushing it.

She gasped and tried to scratch my face. She...? But...

I let go of his dead weight.

She fell down in a heap.

I felt the cold creeping through my spine. I looked around... Where was the back up? No one was coming.

“Ryan?” I called out, shakily. But he was gone too. I felt sweat running down my face.

 I spun around... No humvee, just our coffee table...in our living room.

But... the man I just...

I looked at the floor.

Mary lay sprawled at my feet.

Honour

“I found you.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

He turned his eyes away, but didn’t move from his place.

“Don’t say that! I wanted to see you,” I pled, trying to catch his eye.

“Why?”

“Because... just because,” I sighed. There was nothing more I could say.

“I get it. You wanted to see if I was dead or alive. Well, I am alive. Happy? Now leave.” He started to get up from the table when I clamped down on his hand and held it there.

“Stop, alright? You forget; I helped you. I was the one who saved...” I checked myself. I suddenly became aware of the pressure I was putting on his wrist. It must hurt. I withdrew my hand.

“Sorry...” I mumbled as Rudhir rubbed his wrist.

“No,” he replied, his mouth taut, “I’m sorry... I was... forget it. So, how are you?”

He asked as if he didn’t care about the answer. Maybe he didn’t. He actually didn’t.

“You’ve grown so thin... you are just skin and bones... are you not eating properly? Your eyes... when was the last time you slept?”

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

“I’m fine, father. I had exams and... Aashu doesn’t sleep easily.”

“He is restless,” I observed.

Rudhir nodded, staring at the table.

But his eyes softened when Aashu wrapped his tiny fingers around his. He peered through his glasses lovingly and smiled when the child pulled at his tie. He twirled the metal batch on his chest. It was shiny and the child cackled with amusement. It was music to my ears.

He likes shiny things. Much like Rudhir when he was Aashu’s age.

 I just sat there, watching them. I was ... enchanted.

“He has grown so big,” I exclaimed quietly, “He is beautiful!”

Rudhir nodded, “Yes he is. He looks like her.”

I sat up straight, and ran my fingers over my mouth.

“He misses her,” he continued, “we both do.”

I felt my stomach lurch. I didn’t reply.

“How is mother?”

“She misses you.”

“Good.”

I watched the child... my grandson... play with the tie for a while.

“Where does Aashu stay when you are in class?”

“They have a crèche here. It’s for staff but they made an exception for me.”

I nodded and watched my grandson, who now sat on his father’s lap tracing a tattoo on his forearm. Aashu’s father. I barely recognise him as my son anymore.

“Son, you are too young to be doing this alone. It’s been two years! You have been attending classes, working part-time and raising your son. Let us help you! You don’t have to do this alone. You are almost a child yourself for God sake!”

“No. I will raise him alone. And you have helped enough. I don’t need anymore,” Rudhir replied quickly, wrapping his son in his arms, as if afraid I would take him away.

I sighed and got up.

“I know you still blame me, son. But there was nothing I could do. She was too young. You both were...”

The baby had been born. It was boy.I had a grandson. The other doctors and nurses had left. It was just me now. The girl was critical but stable. I stood staring at her for a long time. So young. Very pretty. No wonder my son loved her. But they were young and stupid. What did they know of life? Had they known the way the world works, they would have known this would never be. Rudhir was only 20. Too young to know right from wrong.

Rudhir kissed the child and held him closer, tears silently rolling down his cheeks.

“... Giving birth at only 17 is risky for the mother. Her body was too weak to survive it. I did everything in my power to save her.”

He nodded. Aashu looked up at his father and touched his tear-streaked cheek with his tiny hand. Rudhir quickly checked himself, wiped his face and smiled at his child. The child giggled back, his attention now taken by Rudhir’s shiny glasses.

We were Rajputs. I had to protect our honour. Had she been of higher birth... even slightly respectable... maybe if she wasn’t an orphan...?

 With steady hands, I picked up the empty syringe and injected air bubbles into her IV channel. In her weakened state, an air embolus would be enough.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“You are a good father,” I observed, my voice heavy. Rudhir tickled Aashu. The child giggled hysterically, the tears sliding down his father’s cheek forgotten.

“You will always do what’s best for him,” I said.

That’s what fathers do. That’s what I did.

“I hope Aashu thinks so too,” Rudhir replied, quietly.

I started walking away.

“Thank you”.

I turned. “For what?”

“For saving my son,” Rudhir said.

I smiled, waved a small goodbye and resumed walking. I felt my sight blur with tears.

My heart jumped with a start. She was awake and staring back at me. There were tears streaming from her eyes.

“I have to protect him. Our family. You have to understand. I wish it didn’t have to be like this... I’m sorry,” I whispered, pleading.

“Please don’t kill my child,” she whispered back, closing her eyes.
  She never opened them again.

Yes, I killed her ...

Yes, I killed her and I don’t have any regrets. She was in pain and she asked me to. She said I was being kind. I was. I ended her pain because no one else would.

Yes, I killed her. I didn’t mean to hurt her, but she cried anyway. When I closed her eyes and wiped away her tears, she looked peaceful.

Yes, I killed her. She just wouldn’t try to understand me. I wanted her to believe me. I tried, I really did.

Yes, I killed her. She wouldn’t even listen as I pleaded. I didn’t want to force my will but she left me no choice. How could I let her walk away from me? I knew she didn’t want it either.

Yes, I killed her. I had warned her of the consequences. She said she’d take her chance. That chance didn’t turn out so well. She was back by my side by nightfall.

Yes, I killed her. I loved her. She slapped me and drew blood. She was feisty like that; liked it rough. Her eyes remained open through it all.

Yes, I killed her. She refused to believe me. She pretended like she wasn’t happy to see me. She had to, she was being watched. I could see the terror in her eyes. I had to free her.

Yes, I killed her. I still remember how her eyes grew wide every time she saw me. I never understood why she would deny our love. I asked her. She didn’t answer.

Yes, I killed her. She was very still. When I asked if this was truly what she wanted, she cried. She wanted relief from the pain and begged me to deliver   her. In the end, she thanked me.

Yes, I killed her. What else could I do? She was a witness.

Rashid’s stomach lurched. His spine gave an involuntary shudder. His jaws were set tightly, partly to keep the nausea away. The metal tabletop felt ice-cold under his fingers. He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. The tiny room seemed to be closing around him. He looked at the man sitting across from him, both hands chained to a little hoop at the centre of the table. The man looked back at him with a steady gaze, without the slightest bit of emotion and waited. Rashid flexed his fingers, trying to prevent them from going numb. Then he reached back into the envelope and pulled out a picture of a woman. The man took one look at the photo and nodded.

Yes, I killed her...

Rashid sighed, his breath trembling under the cold, emotionless gaze.

He had forty more photos to go.

Yes, I killed her...

She

She walks down the corridor, one hand clutching the strap of her bag slung across her shoulder. She walks with confident steps, facing straight ahead but quickly scanning the crowd, although absent-mindedly. Laughter reaches her ears, she slants a glance towards the source and sees two of her classmates laughing, sharing a joke. She catches one of them staring at her.

Maybe they are discussing her, laughing at her.

She recoils within herself. Maybe it’s the weight she put on recently, or the dress that she’s wearing. Or maybe it’s something she did earlier which is being shared; she continues walking like nothing happened as possibilities flit through her mind.

Maybe it has nothing to do with her. After all, why would they be discussing her? They hardly ever noticed her.

She relaxes, but can’t resist pulling her hand through her hair and smoothening out her dress once, making sure nothing is amiss. She judges that she looks fine by the eyes that surround her. She waves and smiles at the people she knows. Most of them reciprocate, like it’s a reflex; some of them in their hurry to get somewhere, miss her. She doesn’t mind. After all, she is only the most ordinary girl that no one would notice. She exits the corridor, still unnoticed.

The teacher announces a project, divides the class in groups to stage a play. She looks around to find herself in a group of twelve. Some of them are good students, who start throwing around ideas, getting ready to work. Some of them, hardly interested, sit around with bored expressions. She keeps quiet; trying to figure out what to say, what would be accepted. She doesn’t want to stay something that would get brushed away, so ends up quietly listening.

The next day, decisions are to be made. She looks around to see that ideas are already clashing and egos working up. She keeps quiet for sometime before she finally speaks. At first no one even hears the words coming out of her mouth. When they do, they look at her with surprise, not accustomed to having her speak. She recoils, again, fearful of being slighted. When the group waits for her to speak, she gathers her courage and does so. She traces out her idea, carefully designed to incorporate the best of all the ideas thought out aloud the day before. She does it carefully making sure she doesn’t upset anyone along the way. Her group likes the idea and breaks into conversation with new energy, ready to work. One of them gives her a pat on the back, announces her name as the leader. She eyes the girl in amazement even as she basks in the glory. Days go by; the group works in close proximity. She works hard making sure everyone was doing well, pulling their weight, solving problems, always more than ready to adjust around the others. Her unwillingness to upset others gets appreciated as leadership skill and tact. She is more than happy to let them think so.

The final presentation comes. The play is huge success. The teachers love the performance; say it is commendable for a bunch of high school students to be able to think this maturely. The principal herself is impressed, says a few kind and encouraging words to them. She smiles all the way. Her group pats her, shouts cheers and congratulations to each other. It’s a happy day for her, a very special day. Any other day she would be sitting in her corner, clapping for someone else; and much like her, the ordinary gesture would also go unnoticed.

One of the girls shakes her hand and says, “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Of course, you didn’t. No one ever does!

But she doesn’t say it aloud. She smiles graciously and shakes her hand.

Next day, their class teacher calls the group forward, intending for the class to give them three cheers. She is sitting at the back, her friends busy talking about their recent shopping exploits. She is bored so she just listens. When the teacher’s voice reaches her ears she stands up. Her friend just moves the chair, without looking at her. She tries to go out into the isle but finds her path obstructed by bags. The rest of her group is already standing at the head of the classroom, the clapping starts. Her friend can’t hear her voice as she asks her to remove the bag. By the time she stumbles to the front the sound of clapping is already subsiding. Her group pulls her to their side. Smiling happily she joins them. 

One of them clutches her arm and whispers, “Where were you?”

She smiles, “Right there, you probably didn’t notice.”

A Kiss of Controversy

So, Jadavpur University has managed to rake up more controversies, yet again. This time it was the Kiss of Love protest; in solidarity with Kochi as well as a blatant, and much needed, statement against moral policing. While the #HokKolorob movement continues to trend on social media and in dinner-table conversations, the REVOLUTION has ruffled more than just a few feathers from the very onset. Over the past two days I have heard enough about the "Indian Culture" and "Decency" to last me a lifetime. But I did not sit down to write this as a means of lashing out randomly. I decided to put pen to paper so that I could address some of the major concerns that seem to be doing rounds.

First up, lets talk about Indian social code. Indian culture is not one single person's reality but it is an idea that stretches over many communities and religions. Not one person can suddenly say what Indian culture should be and shouldn't be like. As for what place love, or the public display of affection, holds in our society, I think the sensuous sculptings of the southern temples have already been cited in more than one discussion. Our current social code, isn't dependent upon the "Indian culture" but it is based on a series of judgmental Do's and Dont's. Our social code is actually a very weird combination of archaic British laws and narrow minded restrictions enforced in the name of  'culture'.
Take kissing for example. If kissing is such an 'indecent' thing to do in public, then why did the newspapers pick out only pictures of protesters involved in liplocks to publish them on the front page? There were many people who kissed on the cheek and many more who simply held hands or hugged. Why weren't those pictures published? Simple: Because a kiss is great for publicity.
Why are most films marketed on the basis of the number of kissing scenes in it? I am not just talking about Emran Hashmi's films, but any film in general. If the movie has a kissing scene in it, the scene will inevitably find itself in the trailer. If it doesn't make the trailer for some reason then the entertainment sections of every newspaper will at least run one page on the said kissing scene, analyzing it, discussing about it and making sure that the audience is well aware of  it. Even a movie like Jab Tak Hai Jaan publicized that it featured Shah Rukh Khan in a rare on-screen liplock. It also helped that the actress was Katrina Kaif.
Why? Because it garners more interest. Basically, Indians are okay if the kiss becomes a carefully thought out marketing strategy, but they are not okay with the kiss being an expression of love between two consenting individuals. Doesn't that reek of hypocrisy?
It doesn't end here. While we are at it, lets take a look at our attitude towards people who are "afflicted" with alternate sexuality; for those who are sarcasm impaired, my choice of word is beyond your comprehension. Our society is perfectly alright with watching a film like Dostana (entertaining as it is) which has gay characters and even a liplock between two men, as long as the film makes it clear that the characters are only PRETENDING to be gay. Doesn't that make you think of all the gay men (and women) who have to pretend to be straight, just so that they can get through the day without being spurned by everyone they know? Even if all the pretending kills them, the family finds comfort in knowing that their son died a straight man (albeit a fake one). Doesn't that insensitivity scare you?

Which brings me to my second point. Kissing and hugging in public and any display of affection concerns only the two people involved in it. Onlookers may find it jarring, or awkward, which is fine. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. But just because the comfort level or intimacy that exists willingly between two individuals makes a third person uncomfortable, it can't be punished! I have heard many say, that if such display (of kissing in public) is an individual right, then the next time a boy tries to force himself upon a girl, it should also be considered well within his rights. That view, by all means, is ridiculous! Any display of affection depends on the willingness of BOTH the parties involved. People can hug/kiss in public as long as they both want to, and that should be completely acceptable; whereas a person trying to hug/kiss an unwilling person must be punished. That's the simple rule and if anyone thinks it's unfair, well, the world has been known to be a pretty unfair place.

Thirdly, and very importantly, it is said the Jadavpur University has a habit of turning everything into a sensation. Now that we have found our voice in protesting, we will protest against everything to keep seeing ourselves in the news. Again, that is not true. You wont see us protesting against the arrests made in the Sharada scam. You wont see us protesting against the banishment of a certain strongman from the ruling party. You will, however, find us protesting when a girl is refused entry into a movie theater for wearing a skirt. You will face our music when a woman is denied entry into a restaurant for being a rape survivor. You will hear the voices rising in protest whenever people are wronged and this wont be limited to one university or state or even one country. This clamoring protest will be heard, time and again, from all over the world. And these protests will continue for as long as it takes the government to truly understand WHY we are protesting. Till then, we will keep trying.
And for those people is high places who continue to sit and watch with an expression that closely resembles Mr Bean caught in a sticky situation, I would humbly show you, what we call, 'the finger'. If that offends you, I'll atone for it with a Kiss. :D :P

Rants of an Angry Student

Over the past one month, many things have been said, for and against the student movement, some people have insulted and disgraced our professors and our university nine ways to Sunday, but we have managed to persevere. While we have received overwhelming support from all quarters of the society, we still continue to face opposition from a section that believes in political suppression and thinks that constantly imposing their "discipline" on us will eventually give them a win. I can't begin to emphasize just how wrong they are!

Before I go ahead with my rant, I have to trace the events that led to the student movement for the benefit of anyone who actually reads my blog (which I am sure is very few).
It all started on 28th Aug, during the university fest held by the Arts dept. A girl was dragged into the hostel (which stands literally about 10 steps from the fest venue) and molested by 10 boys. Her male friend was beaten up. No one knew what happened, and the fest went on, undisturbed even as the girl went home and tried to deal with the trauma, all alone. The victim's father asked for the VC's cooperation in this matter, only to be told to "come back two days later" and "don't send your daughter to college for a few days" and even "I can't take responsibility of their (girls') safety" by our 'honourable' VC. We students only came to know of this entire incident three days later, and then started a movement for the safety of the women on campus. This was not the only instance of violence on campus and the students were getting tired of these repeated incidents where the perpetrators went about scot-free. The student representatives repeatedly ran into various walls, trying desperately to get anyone to listen to them, but not many did.They started a sit-in demonstration in front of the administrative building, demanding an impartial probe into the matter, only to be told by our 'honourable' VC that it was beneath his dignity to talk to students, and that he wasn't getting paid to negotiate with students. That it would hurt his pride. In spite of this blatant insult, the students persevered and the sit-in demonstration, which was utterly peaceful, stretched upto 150 hrs. Then finally, when after the EC meeting on 16th sept, the VC and the EC did not even take up the molestation issue for discussion and instead branded the agitation as the "indiscipline of students", the student finally resorted to the only thing they knew that would put some pressure on the VC. They resorted to a gherao (i.e. refused to let the VC leave his office). They demanded that the VC come out of his air conditioned office and face the students and assure them that he will look into the matter and set up an impartial panel for the probe. The VC, who is a very 'honourable' man, flatly refused to give the statement. The professors who were negotiating, finally left the admin building at 1:45 am, after promising to come back and start negotiation where they left off. As soon as the professors left, completely unharmed by the students, who were singing songs outside the building in protest, the VC called in the police and Rapid Action Force (which is called upon only in cases of communal riot) to "release" him, claiming that the students were going to kill him!
Then he turned off the lights so the students couldn't flee and had the police brutally beat them up at 2 am in the morning. Many girls in that crowd were molested, one even had her dress torn off her back. Following this police brutality, 40 students had to be hospitalized, 2 were critical and one was in a coma for two days! 37 students were arrested and taken to an undisclosed location (which later was revealed to be the police headquarters) and released on personal bonds only after the students demonstrated outside the police station.

That's when the students, after having suffered for days, been humiliated, hurt, beaten, molested and finally accused of attempted murder by the VC, started the movement against campus violence and demanded the VC's resignation. The movement started trending on social networks... #Hokkolorob, meaning 'let the voices rise'. The country suddenly woke up to this clamour and this apolitical student movement found support pouring in from every corner of the world.
Moving on from the rather tiring narration of the outrageous turn of events, I would like to put forward a few questions that have been tormenting me for days now. Ever since the news broke of this assault, the situation has been made worse by our ministers and govt who shamelessly paraded in favor of the VC, throwing their weight behind the criminal, as is becoming their trend now.

But why?
Wouldn't it have been MUCH simpler if they just fired the VC and sided with the students? They would have earned some brownie points for standing up for what's right, and God knows, they desperately need any good publicity they can get right now. But by being the egotistical idiots that they are, they decided to show their powers (of muscle flexing and idiocy) and came down hard on the students, trying to crush them in every way possible. All I can say is, by doing this the govt has ensured that they will never score any votes from 99% of the student community, ever again.
What made the governor think that this pathetic excuse of a man was fit to be made the permanent VC of JU?
If anyone figures out the answer to that one, do let me know! The Governor is also probably  playing his own game. He lets the situation go from bad to worse as he enjoys the show and then before the 2016 elections, his party swoops in with a very strong campaign, and the deliberate destruction of an university as reputed as JU becomes one of the major issues. If you want to be a saviour, then you need something to save, don't you? *sigh*

We, the students, haven't given up. One month on the students are still protesting, still sloganeering, still demonstrating and all the while being very peaceful. We may have lost some battles, which is inevitable when one is up against the entire state machinery, but we wont back down. We have seen just how low people can sink, and more importantly, we know just who those people are. The next election, we will have our sweet revenge. And for the university, we love it too much to let it slide into disintegration under this incompetent and cruel VC. We will take back JU, it belongs to us, Its our home and if we don't take the responsibility of keeping our home beautiful, then who will?

LATHIR MUKHE GAANER SHUR, DEKHIE DILO JADAVPUR!

#Hokkolorob