Books
THE PENGUIN HISTORY OF EARLY INDIA: From Origins to AD 1300 by Romila Thapar. Penguin Books, New Delhi, 2003.
INTERPRETATIONS of early India during the latter half of the 20th century have in many ways been impacted by the writings of Romila Thapar, one of its most prolific historians. Early India as a mirror reflects these endeavours, but more emphatically, also captures in a decisive way the various other interpretations that have gone into the making of what we today understand as the history of early India.
Generations of graduate students and lay readers had found in the earlier Penguin History of India, Vol. I, written by Romila Thapar some four decades back, an incisive, synoptic and yet, a panoramic survey of early Indian history that became a ready reference for the initiate. The new edition, now entitled Early India, is a substantive revision of this volume providing not only new historical information, wherever available, but also projecting an interpretative dimension to early India that has become necessary due to the proliferation of revisionist accounts of ancient India blurring historical explanations. The essential aims of this enterprise have been well laid out in the introduction to the book. However, what is a consciously planned and exceptionally well executed is chapter I, ‘Perceptions of the Past’, where Thapar raises critical questions of how historians need to approach the craft of history writing today within parameters of its evolution in modern India over the last two hundred years or so. Before commenting on some of these points, first a brief idea about the organization of the book under discussion.
‘Early India From Origins to AD 1300’ is an authoritative and richly textured general history book. It is divided into 13 chapters, prefaced with a list of the chronology of early India and ending with a general bibliography on different subjects preceded by select bibliographies, extremely well-updated under each chapter head for further reading. Thirteen maps have been appropriately included to help understand the historical information within its spatial parameters for different periods. There is also an essential glossary of terms.
Thapar has updated the factual base on various aspects of our early history that have emerged since the publication of the Penguin edition. The book terminates at 1300 AD instead of 1526 AD as in the earlier version. In this there is a conscious effort to move away from demarcating periods based on political chronological fixtures to those defined more inclusively on broad social, economic and ideological parameters. Importantly, the revised empirical content of the book goes beyond an addition of new information on the facts and figures available from fresh research conducted by scholars in recent decades. More significantly, it has skillfully merged possible interpretative frameworks within which its potential reading can be effectively done. This is what makes this general survey of history so special.
The book covers the period from prehistoric times, following the different patterns that led to the rise of cities and civilizations. The rise of the great and small polities in different periods outlining the reasons for their emergence and decline have been detailed in-depth, beginning with the Mauryas and culminating with the Cholas. The ideological forces of change as reflected in the teachings of the Buddha on the one hand, and the content and context in which the heroic epics of India – the Ramayana and Mahabharata – emerged on the other, find their place as part of this thickly textured narrative. Political and religious history is further interwoven into the social and economic fabric of the times. These aspects are then placed in all their vivid complexity into highlighting simultaneously the artistic, literary, scientific, technological and material dimensions of the times. Each chapter gives equal importance to a discussion on the way ideological forces and the making of institutionalized religion on the subcontinent questioned, as well as reformulated, the changing identities of people. Hence one would have no disagreement with the blurb announcement of the foreign hardback edition of the book: ‘Thapar provides an incomparably vivid and nuanced picture of India. Above all, she shows the rich mosaic of diverse kingdoms, landscapes, languages and beliefs.’
It has often been the case in the general histories of India that the regions get totally marginalized, only emerging sporadically in separate compartments for discussion and description. Thapar’s present work has not only made discussions on the different regions of the subcontinent an integral part of her general framework, but has also included separate chapters where necessary. Perhaps the only part of the subcontinent that does not adequately figure for discussion is the extreme northeast. This is perhaps due to the fact that it still awaits work on its archaeological traditions. In fact, it is pertinent to note that literary and inscriptional sources for the regions beyond the Ganga and the Brahmaputra are totally absent for these early periods of their history. Nonetheless, Thapar has effectively woven into the structure of her overall narrative, information on regions especially from the Deccan and the South while, at the same time, drawing in empirical contexts from these regions to enrich the larger debates of interpreting the history of the country as a whole.
The chapter on Antecedents (pp. 69-97) dealing with the prehistoric and protohistoric environments, for instance, has a valuable discussion on the Megaliths, a culture that was unique to the regions south of the Vindhyas. Similarly two chapters (7 and 8) on the post-Mauryan period (200 BC-AD 300) provide a substantial discussion on the Deccan, in particular since these deal with the rise of trade and the role of the mercantile communities and the emerging political identity of the region as markedly different from changes that were taking place elsewhere in India. Separate chapters (10 and 11) focusing only with the South deal with the region’s history in totality from roughly around the 6th century AD up to the 14th century AD.
There is a set pattern in which history unfolds in these various chapters. An important aspect of this study is that as one moves from one period to another and from one region to another, Thapar’s narrative emphasizes elements of both continuity and change. She does not see, for instance, the important transition from what is generally called ‘ancient India’ to what has currently come to be called ‘early medieval India’ in terms of a disjunction or disruption. Thus a conscious effort is made to incorporate interpretative dimensions that would like to look at this period of Indian history in terms of the rise of feudalism while, at the same time, pointing to the features that she prefers to subtitle and designate as ‘emerging regional kingdoms’ (pp. 326-343) and the ‘establishing authorities and structures’ (pp. 363-392). These descriptions effectively bring forth a picture of how it is impossible to impose theoretical variables for explaining social change that do not take into account substantial local and regional variations. This is one of few general histories of early India that informs us how our deep-rooted social and regional identities are today reflected in tendencies that were being formulated way back in historical time. These are just a few signs and markers that illustrate how well Thapar is able to intricately weave historical complexities that must necessarily be handled in writing about regions that ultimately provide us with a well-patterned texture of time and space.
While one significant highlight of this book is about how regional histories must necessarily be located within the framework of interpretation for the country as a whole, the other, with which the book begins, is on how the various ‘perceptions’ of the past constructed within modern historiographical frameworks should be read. The latter also raises pertinent questions about the relationship of the historian with her/his sources. Given that the content of this chapter is more an analytical presentation of different methodological and theoretical frameworks that a modern interrogator of the past uses to write history, it is problematic that Thapar has designated this chapter as ‘Perceptions of the Past’. It is true that perceptions are rooted in narrative structures but the ones that Thapar foregrounds are those that are built around solid ideological foundations that seek to provide ‘explanations’ for what happened in the past and not simply provide ‘perceptions’ of the same. Historical explanations then, as Thapar goes on to argue, are built on ‘constructions’ – beginning with the various assumptive frameworks of colonial times like the Orientalist, Utilitarian and so on. Part of the process of these constructions was the making of sources that Thapar defines in terms of ‘Discovering’ the Indian past and positing it as the complete ‘Other’ (pp. 7-12).
By and large these explanatory models and methodological tools set the stage for a further writing of Indian history. Thapar moves on to critique the nationalist and communal historiographies of early India and it is clear from these arguments too that these are not ‘perceptions’ but explanations well-rooted in ideologies that wanted to selectively reclaim the past. The subsequent discussion on the influences of Marxist historiography and the debates it generated for reconsidering and refining the way early Indian history could best be written should also not be seen as mere ‘perceptions’ of the past. In fact, by titling the chapter thus, Thapar creates an impression that each of these points of view was valid within the historical contexts that they were written. Usually this is what is said of literary perceptions, namely, that they reflect the historical and social contexts of their time. Thapar ends this chapter informing historians that ‘texts’ are not ‘histories’ (p. 34) and, therefore, is absolutely clear about distinguishing ‘history’ from ‘literature’. In this sense it would have been appropriate to herald this chapter as ‘Historical Explanations’ or ‘Theories of Interpretation and the Past’ (p. 35).
This is suggested for no other reason but for what Thapar herself has articulated: ‘Theories of interpretation… are not intended as inevitably sequential, although there are causal links between them... Since they are not merely an extension or reversal of data, they are intended to explain complex problems, they have varied existences. Some theories decline or die out. Others persist, generally in a modified form. Some surface aggressively if their function as ideologies of political mobilization is more important than their function as historical explanation’ (p. 35). However, if we allow each of these so-called ‘perceptions of the past’ to reign then we would, howsoever unconsciously, be permitting ourselves to allow for equal validity to all as ways of perceiving the past. That is surely not what Thapar has intended in this chapter because for her history is as much about ‘facts’ as it is about ‘concepts’ (p. 33).
Nonetheless, it would be appropriate to suggest that the inclusion of chapter I in the present edition of the Penguin history of early India, provides added value. It is a necessary bridge that both informed readers and professional historians must tread before they enter into the domain of the past to which it is sometimes tenuously but intimately attached. Thapar firmly provides one solid link that, for many years to come, should prevent people from falling off into the realm of an imagined or caricatured past – something that none of us can afford to do in the context of contemporary concerns wherein the past is being used to define our agendas for the present and the future.
Aloka Parasher-Sen
HINDUISM IN PUBLIC AND PRIVATE edited by Antony Copley. Oxford University Press, Delhi, 2003.
THIS book attempts to explore the complex linkages between religious reform and the emergent dynamics of Hindutva. The volume is divided into two related parts under the headings – ‘Varieties of Nationalism’, and ‘Public Awareness and Private Spheres’. While the first part is chiefly concerned with the ideological appropriation of cultural icons like Swami Vivekananada and Aurobindo by Hindutva, the second takes a close peek at sampradayas, including contemporary groupings such as Mata Amritanandmayi Mission.
In his introduction the editor lists questions we all ask and are unable to answer with any finality. These include – Why does the Hindu majority fear other religions and behave like a minority? How far did the Hindu reform movements remain loyal to the catholicity [when did we all begin to agree on this] of Hinduism? What is the relation between traditional Hinduism and its Hindutva version which belongs so completely to the public sphere that its [Hindutva’s] personal aspect is now reduced to nothingness? The last is particularly poignant as there seems something seriously incongruous about the image of a Togadia or a Singhal in a state of devout solitude or even as a participant in a disinterested and peaceful meditation session!
But the essays in the book focus on a number of other questions, all of which are related to the contemporary anxieties around the future course of Hindutva – a fully developed ideology that is finding increasing allegiance through a series of growth spurts in unlikely parts of the country often among unlikely populations – unlikely till we find a suitable explanation of course. Some of the articles are around sampradayas such as Hiltrud Rüstau’s study of Sri Sarada Math, ‘The Hindu Woman’s Right to Sanyasa’, and may seem to slant away from the main focus. But here again the question is – ‘Can the realization of the right to sanyasa contribute to further progress on the equality of gender?’
While the anxiety (or even panic) around the future of Hindutva is easy to empathize with, it is difficult to go along with the assumption that secularism as a goal is sufficiently clearly defined in the Indian context and is for that reason even desirable when we are not even sure of basic neighbourly tolerance any more. As a student of philosophy I wonder if, in a given situation, people are not willing to follow basic human decency, is it right or pragmatic to pose ideals of a higher order involving complex concepts? Also, should all ideological analysis in such a situation be about gauging how far from secularism a given ideological dynamic is? It would seem that the simple journalistic idea of tolerance is adequate for the purpose of such ‘measurements’ and carries solid operative meaning even in extreme situations like communal riots.
One also cannot ignore the lingering feeling that the underlying assumption behind the studies is that the Hindu story is deviating from the familiar pathways to secularism after a long phase of conformity (Congress rule), and that such deviations are ‘interesting’ phenomena to explain. If such evolutionism has been firmly rejected by biology, why do we still carry on with it in social thought? Are our heightened anxiety levels a good enough justification? Why does it become difficult to admit that Hindutva is as ‘valid’ an interpretation of Hinduism as other enlightened interpretations, that the trouble with Hindutva lies in its anti-humanist stance and in the fact that the advocates of Hindutva are unwilling to even consider other possible interpretations of traditional Hinduism. We all know that tolerance (precious to us indeed) is just a part of the Hindu value system, which is why the proponents of Hindutva find it easy to jettison it, just as others choose to expand on the liberal aspects of the Hindu tradition.
To come back to shared anxiety, while the core idea of Hindutva itself has not progressed far beyond its sophisticated Savarkar version, it has managed to become more rugged and easy to use, embracing a wider population. What has however shown a great ferment and vitality, if you like, is the ‘idea’ of BJP and the NDA coalition. If Hindutva is seen as a part of the rise of BJP, as part of a larger story, the perspective would seem to change somewhat. The almost weekly fluctuations reflected in the utterings of the two leaders, Vajpayee and Advani, would indicate that the buoyancy of the BJP idea lies in its episodic (discontinuous) acceptance of Hindutva. Conversely, by being able to punctuate their rhetoric with Hindutva, the two leaders are forging something new, which is perhaps yet to take a clear shape. In this sense the BJP and indeed the NDA is the greatest appropriator of ideas. Given its brief track record it has laid its claims on every type of ideology except communism. The Congress mammoth on the other hand has shown tolerance for the left and kept its distance from the extreme right.
In her essay, ‘Secularizing the Sacred Cow: The Relationship between Religious Reform and Hindu Nationalism’, Therese O’Toole looks at the issue of cow protection, coming to the conclusion that there is no clear difference between the communalists and the secularists on this matter. Cow protection seems a deceptively minor political issue precisely because it has attracted a general consensus despite being a highly potent symbol, capable of transforming a peace-loving people into enraged demons. The author’s insight goes a long way since it allows us to fully register a new ideological process where the BJP looks more and more like the Congress as the days go by. The VHP and the idea of Hindutva give it a door of opportunity that the Congress will explore with great reluctance. But like Digvijay Singh, the former chief minister of Madhya Pradesh, the Congress too is capable of religious rhetoric in a somewhat less dedicated way. Let us not forget that Digvijay Singh has/d an impeccable record as a secularist, even as he showed a perverse strain when politically cornered. The question is – are BJP’s overtures a bit like Indira Gandhi’s flirting with the left, a flirtation which had such a soul-stirring impact on the CPI that it never recovered. The present problem with the Congress is that it is trying hard to be different from the BJP, which is not the same thing as being oneself. Mulayam Yadav on the other hand is rewriting the script of Lohiaite socialism, and one does not know whether it might converge with George Fernandes’ at some point of time. The truth is that the BJP’s ideological manoeuvrings have changed the map of political values and everyone is busy realigning their own signposts.
I carried out a small experiment before writing this review. Over a couple of days I watched the two major religious (Hindu) channels to carry out a quick impressionistic reality check on the middle classes. With one exception, not a single guru seemed to be concerned with the issues of Hindutva. This genteel private social aspect may be a bulwark against Hindutva as it does not align well with the VHP ideology, but there are no guarantees. Ideologies on the move are good at appropriating, as the two articles on Vivekananda and Aurobindo in the present volume indicate. If secularists are easily willing to brand these figures as non-liberal deviants, how can we stop the Hindutva advocates from using them as decorative symbols or even brands? Our problem seems to be that when we look at ideas we tend to chloroform them before dissecting them instead of looking at the lively tensions and ambivalences of figures like Vivekananda. The advocates of Hindutva do the same and reduce Vivekananda to a small list of held beliefs. In brief, how does one stop the appropriators from appropriating? This is the one anxiety that I am unwilling to share, since it all begins to sound like an intellectual free for all rather than a debate. It is much more interesting for example to note that even as the Arya Samaj has lost a great deal of its vitality, it has also provided sufficient moral space for a Swami Agnivesh, probably the most unusual and intellectually exciting swami of our times.
In a concluding paragraph, the editor admits that ‘…the inner links between Hindutva and the religious reform movements may remain uncertain and that the very character of Hindutva itself is difficult to define.’ Let us be clear. The different paths to Hindutva may be difficult to track, but we certainly know well what we fear most, and define most vividly, and continue to redefine the menace till we are fairly sure. The current elections have gone by and the Hindutva voice has been silent. Is it because there is a reversal of a common trend, namely will Hindutva become an issue after the election? That would be dangerous since the use of Hindutva to get votes is one thing, to apply it in daily governance is something else. Thus far it has been the other way round, something the VHP has long felt bitter about.
The coming months will prove if Hindutva continues to be a full-fledged ideology or is reduced to just an instrument in the ever-increasing ideological arsenal of the ‘shining’ BJP. In dramatic contrast the RSS has not produced a single new idea in the last fifty years, except the constant renewing of its waiting game. It is time to ask the question – why does the RSS not shed its pretensions to being a ‘social organization’ and come out in the open, if it really feels like a victor. Or is the RSS too utopian to be happy with the piecemeal actions of BJP or VHP, regarding them as huge compromises with reality? My paranoia about Hindutva would be considerably pacified if I knew exactly how opportunistic or principled the RSS is. Like the CPI/CPM, it won’t let on.
Coming back to the theme of instrumentality, it is a factor that can come full circle. Hindutva instrumentalized Hinduism, putting it to political use. Will something similar happen to Hindutva as well, in which case it would have transformed vastly in appearance and spirit. The current situation is interesting – Vajpayee is accused of betrayal by both – the liberals and the VHP. We are witnessing an interesting dialectic between promise and betrayal. What is the end game? An elaborate ideology is taking shape through default, not through clear definitions and avowals, but through omissions and silences. This carries its own dangers and Vajpayee-Advani-Fernandes trio are accumulating a pile of unspoken, but implicit ideology. Democratic, liberal values require explicit commitment and not playful, coy silences, glances and gestures.
It is tempting in the interim to make predictions, and indeed when the BJP shows its ‘true colour’ (given the coalition, will it even get a chance to show its true colour?), there will be those who might say, ‘I told you so.’ Also, given the voter’s continued insistence, will the BJP demote Hindutva from a solid principle to a sentiment we may not even notice for a long time? In which case, will religion again be religion, life as usual! That is the one thing that seems unlikely, as BJP or no BJP, Hindutva is here to stay with us, like many other extreme ideologies. Indian politics has always provided space for sideshows that have no apparent relation to the core business of politics, such as separatist movements without desire to separate, film stars, sports, celebrity events, even marriages. When Arun Jaitley makes available his house for Virender Sehwag’s wedding what do you call it? Wedding? Politics?
The above book engages with a number of questions which are far from academic, and its sense of seething urgency makes it a readable volume. When academic writing gets businesslike, good ideas follow, and this collection, including the editor’s introduction, will be a pleasure to both who agree or disagree.
Ratnakar Tripathy
ASIAN CYBERACTIVISM: Freedom of Expression and Media Censorship by Steven Gan, James Gomez and Uwe Johannen. Friedrich Naumann Stifung, Singapore, 2004.
THIS is a volume with a comfortable mix of issues spread geographically and thematically. Co-edited by a journalist who has suffered being ‘spiked’ by his editor (Steven Gan), ‘a writer and an activist’ who wrote ‘Self-censorship: Singapore’s shame’ at a time when it has been wisest to toe the disciplinarian establishment line (James Gomez), and a Regional Director at the Southeast Asian desk of the Friedrich Naumann Foundation (Uwe Johannen), the essays move sprightly through a significant part of the Asian continent. Malaysia, Philippines, Indonesia, Singapore, Vietnam, China, Sri Lanka, Pakistan, Cambodia, Korea, Burma, Thailand, India… the list is like reading the index of an atlas, and the volume sticks to its promise of a continent wide spread. And, interestingly, the focus is on the politics of cyberactivism and censorship in Asia.
The International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), which affirms the right to freedom of expression in article 19, has been ratified by many Asian countries. This article also allows restrictions to this right ‘for the protection of national security or of public order.’ In many Asian countries, this has been used to justify, and assert, censorship and political repression. Judith Clarke in ‘Democracy and new communication technology: the Asian struggle’, begins with an early recognition that ‘the fledging governments of post-colonial developing countries sought to control the media in the name of nation building’ (p. 3). She provides a graphic account of developments in communications technology in Asia and takes us on a journey through the telecom and internet growth in Asia. Her final assessment that ‘the status quo of the "fourth estate" will be unbalanced by the media products of the new technology because of lack of verifiability of content’ but may be balanced again by providing ‘plenty of material for comparison.’
Indrajit Banerjee in ‘Cyber democracy in Asia: issues, challenges and prospects’ builds along the premise that we cannot expect that new technologies will achieve greater democratisation. He concludes that in the backdrop of limited reach of the internet in Asian countries, and the extent of internet control and censorship, ‘Internet alone cannot be an isolated and decisive process of democratisation.’ In contrast, Geoff Long (‘Why internet still matters for Asian democracy’) makes a case for the significance of internet as an instrument for bringing about democratic change in Asia. He cites Mongolia in illustration, and how e-learning by a rural nomadic population contributed to control of government spending, as a potent use of the Internet.
Post 9/11 when the United States of America declared its War on Terrorism, one of the many frontiers on which the war was declared was the cyber world. Alex Pabico’s ‘New Media as big brother: the Philippines after September 11’ draws attention to legislations enacted to deal with cyber crimes, and the initiatives of civil society groups who sensed surveillance in these proposals. In a clear move sacrificing privacy for national security concerns, the National Security Council (NSC), the country’s intelligence policy-making body, proposed to Congress that judges be allowed to authorise the application of Carnivore type programmes to read email messages and trace addresses for intelligence gathering. Lukes Luwarso’s concern (‘Manufacturing control: new legislations threaten democratic gains in Indonesia’) is that security legislations may undermine the internet’s potential for providing free space for civil society. Terence Lee’s ‘Emulating Singapore: towards a model for internet regulation in Asia’ demonstrates how even authoritarian regimes can preside over countries with high internet penetration and digital communication tools, without losing links to the global economy. However, Lee cautions that the Singapore model of media and internet control may not yield the best results for other countries, what with Singapore being a ‘young society’ and ‘small country’.
In recent years, the Chinese government has increased its control over information on the internet, including blocking anti-government websites and the Google search engine in September 2002. Many laws have been enacted to govern internet activities in China. Li Xiguang’s piece ‘ICT and the demise of propaganda: China’s internet experience’ shows how, in closed regimes such as China where new communication technologies have been harnessed by the public for the purposes of freedom of speech, internet provides space for cyberactivism to flourish. Robert Van Koert in ‘The internet in Vietnam: party propaganda or infotainment?’ suggests that the internet in these strictly regulated societies can also be used as a means of achieving economic success.
In January 2003 offices of the internet news agency Malaysiakini were raided by the Malaysian police over the contents of its website. During the raid, the Malaysiakini editor was detained and interrogated by the police, and office computer equipment confiscated. In part four of the book which deals with ‘alternative media’, Tong Yee Siong discusses how the survival of Malaysiakini is undermined by the difficulty of keeping the portal economically viable rather than by threats from the government. Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff in ‘Fateh.Com: challenging control over Malay/Muslim voices in Singapore’ shows how alternative media becomes vulnerable when government takes political and legal actions to silence them. We do, however, miss the mention of other regional developments such as with Tehelka.com where governmental reaction of the exposé by Tehelka of corruption in arms deals in the country forced them to close office.
Susanna George and Luz Maria Martinez (‘Digital advocacy and women’s movement: global success, grassroots challenge’) highlight the potential of the internet as a medium of mass communication for dissemination of information relating to women’s movement at a global level, but at the same time recognise the minimal access to internet at the grassroots level. Prangtip Daoreung’s ‘Thai civil society and government control: a cyber struggle?’ explores, at the government level, the problem in the form of contradicting policies regarding the country’s IT development. Zafaullah Khan in his piece ‘Cyber jihad: fighting the infidels from Pakistan’ starts with a quote from www.azzam.com which reads, ‘We strongly urge Muslim internet professionals to spread, disseminate news and information about jihad…’ The chapter elaborates on how cyber jihad continues to defy the global war against terrorism. The paper maps the development of cyber jihad in Pakistan’s virtual world (p. 442, 448).
Part six on the ‘Diaspora communities’ opens with an essay by Kasun Ubayasin where she introduces us to the struggle of Sri Lankan Tamils for self-determination which has lasted for over quarter of a century. Kasun explains how the diaspora informed the world of the Eelam struggle through an elaborate propaganda and information network which relies heavily on the internet. Internet in the Burmese struggle has been explored in Zaw Oo’s paper ‘Mobilising online: the Burmese diaspora’s cyber strategy against the junta.’
India features in the last section. Seetha’s ‘Incompatible systems: information technology and policies in India’ would have it that the political culture in India has proved to be the main barrier in the use of information technology. She sees an irony in a country which is one of the biggest manufacturers of software in the world, but which has such a limited utilisation of technology especially when it comes to politics (p. 571, 575). Men Kimseng’s ‘Online opposition: the Sam Rainsy party website in Cambodian politics’ maps the development of websites by political parties. The paper takes the illustration of the Sam Rainsy party, the main opposition in Cambodia, and explains how the website was used to influence voters overseas during the 2003 elections. ‘Democracy @ work: the 2002 presidential elections in Korea’ by Eun-Jeung Lee is an optimistic statement that how online politics can positively influence the motivation and participation of citizens (p. 629).
Yet, possibly cyberactivism might become an influence in the politics of the region. A caution: this is a book on technology as much as it is on the social science of the internet and its control. A familiarity with cyber terms will make the read smoother.
Rajat Khosla
