While we were post graduate students at the Kerala University’s Department of Economics in Karyavattom in the late 1970s, the Centre for Development Studies (CDS), perched on a small hill in the neighbouring Prashant Nagar, was like what is the holy Vatican to the Catholics. And, of course, Prof. KN Raj, its revered head, the Pope. To our small Agriculture/Industry/Labour batch, a weekly pilgrimage to the awesome library at the hallowed CDS was almost mandatory in the final year. Even the least studious among the group, like this writer too, loved these trips for many reasons. The opportunity to spend some “quality time” off-classrooms with friends; the collective trek through what was then a narrow, dusty, pothole-filled village road from Ulloor, where the university bus dropped us off; the leafy and cool ambience of the unconventional, Laurie Baker-built, brick and stone building which appeared the most romantic edifice I ever saw; the enormous treasure of books and periodicals in the seven-storey library tower with its jali-walls and spiral staircase; the breathtaking view of Thiruvananthapuram from the top; the newness of the North Indian thali at the CDS canteen.

We often sat jaw-dropped and wide-eyed at the canteen, seeing living legends of economics in flesh and blood—figures we knew only from textbooks. Joan Robinson, Amartya Sen, Ashok Mitra, A. Vaidyanathan, Krishna Bharadwaj, Sukhamoy Chakraborty, I.S. Gulati, T.N. Krishnan, Prabhat Patnaik, and many more we didn't know. They engaged in informal chats or serious discussions, sipping tea or sharing cigarettes. Among them were also younger scholars like Sudipto Mundle, Thomas Isaac, K.P. Kannan, Mihir Shah, and Michael Tharakan, who would later rise to prominence. The star of this vibrant scene was undoubtedly the venerable Raj, the economist Prime Minister Nehru had tasked with drafting India’s First Five-Year Plan. His laughter was disarming, his eyes sparkled behind thick-rimmed glasses, and a huge dimple graced his........

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