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Of late there has been a lot of brouhaha about the Americans spying on their European friends. Initially they denied but later admitted it saying that everyone spies on everyone else, so where is the problem? And it hit the fan when it was revealed that the US was hacking the personal mobile phone of the German Chancellor. Appropriate noises were made, protests lodged, and left-handed apologies given...and it is back to business for everyone.
Meanwhile our own establishment gleefully shared the news with us that our PM has neither a personal mobile phone nor an e-mail account. How nice! That seemed to reassure us that India is beyond the pale of vicious American spying...ha! What about the wives, brothers, nephews, and in-laws of our sublime politicos...they were the nemeses of quite a few of our bigwigs, no?
Of course everyone spies on everyone else. No doubt about it. I spy on li'l Ishani all the time to see that she doesn't come to any mischief with my nail file. My son spies on me all the time to see if I am concealing from him any serious ailment like my brain tumor...he little knows. His wife spies on him to assure herself that he is not over-speeding on the ORR...
Spying is as old as humanity...if not older...
In the jungle, monkeys, squirrels, and kakar deer emit their alarm calls whenever they spy a cobra, cheeta or tiger.
Spying was inbuilt in the closed campus of IIT KGP in its early days when it was a mere village. Every household had a maid...a gentlewoman's personal gentlewoman. And all maids came from Turipara on the periphery of the campus, and all of them were related to all by blood or bed.
One fine Saturday noon I was sitting under the Tech Market Banyan tree sipping coke and gathering wool. And Prof S, a soft-spoken colleague, came to me and announced shyly:
"I resigned last evening as Warden of Patel Hall after a terrific fight with the Chairman, HMC"
"I know"
"Who told you?"
"My wife"
"Who told her?"
"Her maid"
"Who told HER?"
"Your maid"
In the turbulent decade of the 1980s, Harrys was a small enough eatery with a large enough compound. And there was a nook at one end with a couple of cement benches and plastic chairs where senior professors gathered in the evening for their tea and snacks and smokes. It was all a quiet and dignified affair. We, the juniors, used to call it the Deans' Corner and sat far away. Because, entry to that Senior Ganymede was by invitation only.
Of course we had our spies on those spies.
Their chat starts with a sentence by Prof A running down the Big Boss in no uncertain terms tending on the personal. And every other prof in the club would deny it, like Peter denying Christ 3 times before the cock crew...only this time it was the Roman Emperor.
If any new or absentminded prof in the gathering happens to agree with Prof A, news would duly reach the Big Boss and suitable steps taken.
Otherwise, it would be the turn of Prof B to run down the Big Boss saying that he is the worst administrator ever seen anywhere...Hitler! And B would slyly look out for agreements, if any.
All this stuff was told me by my own spy, Prof C...
The advent of the campus intercom changed all that fun alas...
The Dean's Corner vanished and went online...with the wives conniving and speaking to each other what happened last evening in the Senate...who fought with who, and who was insulted by who and why...
The situation is vastly upscaled now, I am told. Apparently every student updates what happened in the class room of every teacher on their Facebook statuses.
Must be some big fun!!!
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Romans might have invented 'Facebook'
London, Nov, 9: Facebook and Twitter are simply the latest versions of social platforms invented by the Romans, according to a Mail Online report which quotes a new book...
... DC, Page 8, Sunday, 10 November, 2013
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'I was thinking of the Junior Ganymede, sir. It is a club for gentlemen's personal gentlemen in Curzon Street, to which I have belonged for some years. The personal attendant of a gentleman of Mr Spode's prominence would be sure to be a member, and he would, of course, have confided to the secretary a good deal of material concerning him, for insertion into the club book.'
'Eh?'
'Under Rule Eleven, every new member is required to supply the club with full information regarding his employer. This not only provides entertaining reading, but serves as a warning to members who may be contemplating taking service with gentlemen who fall short of the ideal.'
...PGW in The Code of the Woosters
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Of late there has been a lot of brouhaha about the Americans spying on their European friends. Initially they denied but later admitted it saying that everyone spies on everyone else, so where is the problem? And it hit the fan when it was revealed that the US was hacking the personal mobile phone of the German Chancellor. Appropriate noises were made, protests lodged, and left-handed apologies given...and it is back to business for everyone.
Meanwhile our own establishment gleefully shared the news with us that our PM has neither a personal mobile phone nor an e-mail account. How nice! That seemed to reassure us that India is beyond the pale of vicious American spying...ha! What about the wives, brothers, nephews, and in-laws of our sublime politicos...they were the nemeses of quite a few of our bigwigs, no?
Of course everyone spies on everyone else. No doubt about it. I spy on li'l Ishani all the time to see that she doesn't come to any mischief with my nail file. My son spies on me all the time to see if I am concealing from him any serious ailment like my brain tumor...he little knows. His wife spies on him to assure herself that he is not over-speeding on the ORR...
Spying is as old as humanity...if not older...
In the jungle, monkeys, squirrels, and kakar deer emit their alarm calls whenever they spy a cobra, cheeta or tiger.
Spying was inbuilt in the closed campus of IIT KGP in its early days when it was a mere village. Every household had a maid...a gentlewoman's personal gentlewoman. And all maids came from Turipara on the periphery of the campus, and all of them were related to all by blood or bed.
One fine Saturday noon I was sitting under the Tech Market Banyan tree sipping coke and gathering wool. And Prof S, a soft-spoken colleague, came to me and announced shyly:
"I resigned last evening as Warden of Patel Hall after a terrific fight with the Chairman, HMC"
"I know"
"Who told you?"
"My wife"
"Who told her?"
"Her maid"
"Who told HER?"
"Your maid"
In the turbulent decade of the 1980s, Harrys was a small enough eatery with a large enough compound. And there was a nook at one end with a couple of cement benches and plastic chairs where senior professors gathered in the evening for their tea and snacks and smokes. It was all a quiet and dignified affair. We, the juniors, used to call it the Deans' Corner and sat far away. Because, entry to that Senior Ganymede was by invitation only.
Of course we had our spies on those spies.
Their chat starts with a sentence by Prof A running down the Big Boss in no uncertain terms tending on the personal. And every other prof in the club would deny it, like Peter denying Christ 3 times before the cock crew...only this time it was the Roman Emperor.
If any new or absentminded prof in the gathering happens to agree with Prof A, news would duly reach the Big Boss and suitable steps taken.
Otherwise, it would be the turn of Prof B to run down the Big Boss saying that he is the worst administrator ever seen anywhere...Hitler! And B would slyly look out for agreements, if any.
All this stuff was told me by my own spy, Prof C...
The advent of the campus intercom changed all that fun alas...
The Dean's Corner vanished and went online...with the wives conniving and speaking to each other what happened last evening in the Senate...who fought with who, and who was insulted by who and why...
The situation is vastly upscaled now, I am told. Apparently every student updates what happened in the class room of every teacher on their Facebook statuses.
Must be some big fun!!!
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