Saket Rajan

I haven’t got Saket Rajan out of my system. I read an article last week and my mind is again full of him.

Twenty five years ago, we were students together: I was studying electronics, he was in the arts. Our meeting ground was Manasa Gangotri in Mysore, at the debates. I have forgotten who his friends were. Until I read the news about him some months ago, and even now, my memory of him is that one day he stood on stage and ridiculed a topic that had been set for debate. I didn’t like him after that though I know that he didn’t know that I had set the topic.

There were stories: his soldier-father was too disciplinarian and Saket Rajan hated him as much as he loved his mother. His time at home would be in the kitchen helping mother. Not wanting to burden the maid, he kept only two sets of clothes and washed them himself when father was not home.

I must tell: Saket Rajan was brilliant, popular, a man of fine character. He didn’t look the sort who would one day die in the wilderness, in the dark, rifle in hand, half his brains blown off, in a police ambush.