The Unwritten Journeys: 2025

 

For me, 2025 marked the "Year of the Journey." These trips were not solo; I was accompanied by my wife. I believe these travels are one of the little comforts the legal profession can offer a spouse, given the long vacations we have. Court vacations, being a hangover of the past, could soon be phased out as many remnants of the Raj are wiped away by successive governments. Therefore, let us enjoy the moment for the present.

Our travels began with an extensive tour of England and the continent—spanning the Netherlands, France, Luxembourg, and Germany, before circling back to London. The true highlight of this expedition was not just the destinations, but the method: every leg of the journey was planned and executed entirely by us, without the aid of agents. The year is concluding on a high note with two domestic trips in December. The first took us to Delhi for the launch of my book, The Unwritten Conundrum - Cracking An Implicit Code, released on the sidelines of the Society of Construction Law India’s 5th Biennial International Conference. The second is our current journey to Calcutta, where I am writing this now.

In Calcutta, we are the guests of a high-ranking government official—a privilege made possible by a close friend who arranged for our wonderful host. This status has afforded us several luxuries, most notably the waiver of entry tickets and the ability to bypass long queues. Among the many sites we visited, one captivated me the most: the Victoria Memorial. I must confess, the storyteller in me was drawn to it because I encountered two distinct narratives during the visit. There was the official account—detailing the memorial's history, architecture, and philosophy—and then, a far more personal narration from a Bengali girl.

The Bengali girl, dictated to be our guide, was obviously not pleased, as she had strict rules to follow. She escorted us to the administrative entry, addressing us as VIPs. It was there, standing in the administrative wing, that she asked a fundamental question. Pointing her finger toward the main monument, she noted that while the memorial was clad in glorious Makrana marble, this administrative area where we stood was constructed using cheaper materials—mere brick and mortar. She asked: Was this because the British, for all their grandeur, did not actually have the funds to build it? It is a known fact that the Raj had to solicit donations from Indian subjects to finish the project, perhaps proving that while the Empire desired the glory, it could not always afford the cost.

She then led us into the heart of the monument: the Queen's Hall. Here, dominating the space, stands the statue of Queen Victoria, with the Royal Proclamation declaring her Empress of India engraved nearby. It was here that our guide dropped two more "bombs"—revelations that stripped away the dry history. First, she asserted that the statue is not merely central to the building, but sits at the exact geometric epicenter of the entire estate—a subtle but powerful assertion of dominance. Second, she drew our attention to the Proclamation itself. It is inscribed in Urdu. She explained this was no accident, but a tribute to the Queen’s personal affection for the language, which she had been learning in her later years—a human detail often lost in the grandeur of Empire.

Our tour continued to the Princes Hall. Here, she pointed a sharp finger at the statue of King George V, Queen Victoria's son, and voiced a distinctly Bengali outrage. Her grievance was historical yet raw: his decision to shift the capital of the Raj from Calcutta to Delhi, stripping this city of its crown. As she spoke, I turned my gaze to the statue of Queen Mary, standing there in all her majestic finery. It struck me then—our history textbooks may have diligently described the expensive dresses and jewelry worn by the King and Queen, but here stood a young girl offering a completely different narrative of that very history. It was a version not of pomp, but of pain.

She then led us to the Royal Gallery, unveiling two final curiosities: a massive painting she claimed was Asia's largest portrait, and another detail she playfully described as the "world's first selfie." Whether these anecdotes were part of the official script or her own embellishments, I cannot say, but her energy was infectious. For me, however, this became a moment of reflection. I realized that my book, The Unwritten Conundrum, is fundamentally a record of a journey taken with a guide—in my case, the legendary Professor Menon. This realization sparked a spontaneous addition to our itinerary: a pilgrimage to the National University of Juridical Sciences (NUJS), Kolkata.

If there had been a guide to escort us at NUJS, I imagine their narrative would have opened with a historical twist similar to the one we heard at the Memorial. They would likely have begun by stating that this prestigious institution was originally destined for the soil of Kerala. It was only due to unfortunate events and shortsighted individuals there that the opportunity was lost. Instead, Professor Menon found the privilege to establish it here in Kolkata, owing to the vision and support of the scholarly Chief Minister of West Bengal, Comrade Jyoti Basu.

My mission at NUJS is specific: to personally hand over a copy of my book to the Vice Chancellor. In doing so, I intend to convey a crucial message—that within these pages lie several of Professor Menon’s unfulfilled dreams. I plan to seek the Vice Chancellor's collaboration, urging the university to undertake the deeper research and study necessary to turn these visions into reality. It is a request for the institution to finish what its founder began.

As 2025 draws to a close, I realize this "Year of the Journey" was defined not just by the miles traveled, but by the narratives we uncovered. From the self-guided paths of Europe to the hidden histories of the Victoria Memorial, and finally to the academic corridors of NUJS, every trip was an exercise in looking beyond the official story. The court vacations may be a "hangover of the Raj," but as long as they remain, they offer us the precious time to explore, to question, and to keep cracking the implicit codes of the world around us.