Taking Ponytail's class

Let’s create a world class institution, he said. We’re listening, they said. One where students will be drawn for *nothing* but the pure love of learning. Sounds good, they responded. One where the degree is *not* what people come for. Wow, is this possible, some asked. Let’s make it fun! Air conditioned classrooms in tall towers of learning with a swimming pool and a computer drome! Really? Some asked. Pfft. Doubters. One where the teachers are drawn by *little else* but passion for the subject. Amazing, they chorused. One where there is *little or no* government interference, he said, checking his phone periodically, for updates on that damn courier he was waiting for. Give it to us baby, they sang. The Ponytail flicked his hair off his face, adjusted his spectacles, and posed for the cameras. Ten years later, the kids emerging have discovered the true meaning of fine print. No degree, no qualified teachers and no UGC recognition. Oh and yes they paid for the air conditioning through course fees with which their moms wouldn’t let them put up air conditioners in their rooms back home to run all day through. Ten years of successfully evading both parents and the law, not to mention gagging bad press, in-your-face advertising campaigns, while continually raking up admissions and signing yourself over to top corp private partnerships as a cliffhanging survival strategy... That in itself is the finest course in corporate skulduggery and counting your chickens before they are hatched, and having your cheese before anybody moves it, to be found anywhere in the land. The lesson was never in the class, it was the class. And if that doesn’t make your kid the most successful salesperson in this country, nothing will.