This one is not so pleasant. In 1982, I was involved in an agitation in my college of employment, Ramjas. It had to do with the victimisation of the college gardener, Sita Ram, on whose behalf I had sat on a nine-day hunger strike. It’s a long story, but on February 16, I was followed (I rode a scooter to work), and on a lonely part of the journey adjoining Qudsia Park, a car suddenly screeched to a halt in front of me and four men with iron rods got out. I tried to turn around but skidded and fell. In seconds, they were upon me, hitting me on my legs and face. It lasted less than a minute, because a vehicle drove by, and the men ran away. My leg was fractured and my face smashed, with many teeth knocked out. I lay there bleeding, when a policeman on a scooter stopped, looked at me, and asked a pedestrian whether there had been an accident. He said no, this man has been assaulted. Both then disappeared.