Remembering Dr. C.T Kurien: A Teacher Who Thought and Taught Differently

It was a cozy Wednesday morning, an engaging Macroeconomics class where we were relishing the idea of causal ordering. Just a minute after the lecture, our professor conveyed the sad message about the demise of Dr. CTK and asked us to attend his memorial service in one of the old gallery classrooms in MCC. While the sun played hide and seek behind the clouds, we were busy creating chaos—fixing cables, correcting the PPT, searching for connection boxes, carrying a friend’s bag, and finding a place in the front row.

After condolences and prayers for the eminent economist, we finally got to hear his life story from Prof. Arun Koshy. It felt like time travel into the baby boomer generation. If there were a few things that excited me about Dr. CTK, it would be these:

 “There was an MCCian who got into Stanford.
There was an MCCian who worked with Kenneth Arrow.
There was a Stanford grad who had the courage and wish to return to MCC,
Who surmounted brain drain,
Just to train
The Indian brains.”

That might have been a commemoration speech, but Prof. AK’s words sparked something in me. A few days later, Prof. AK summoned me to the department and gave me a book: On Markets: In Economic Theory and Policy. I flipped through the first few pages, thinking I would discover the kind of economist Dr. CTK was. Instead, I discovered a teacher who thought and taught differently. He conveyed more in the first chapter than two years of high school economics ever did. The book began with a common confusion among students—the differing languages of discourse in economics. It explored the views of Adam Smith, Karl Marx, Karl Polanyi, and J.R. Hicks, before trying to bridge the gap between theory and policy. As an undergrad, it was a refreshing and eye-opening read.

For Dr. CTK, economics was for the lay man—it had to be presented in that language. He critiqued the over-mathematisation of economics. What inspired me most was his passion for teaching—especially at MCC, and especially beyond the boundaries of the syllabus. As the Head of the Department, he organized exhibitions and student-led surveys with the college’s Planning Forum. That was real economics—active, grounded, and connected to society. Sometimes, I feel guilty that as Gen Z students, with so much technological advancement, we fail to exploit resources and learn things practically.  His teaching legacy stands out in the curriculum he developed for undergraduate economics at MCC. Though implemented in 1978, after MCC gained autonomy, the curriculum itself was revolutionary and placed MCC on the national map. The critiques it drew are for another discussion—but creating something so bold requires both courage and conviction.

Interestingly, while we were working on the calendar, both the Vice-Chairpersons of the Tamil Nadu and Kerala State Planning Boards were his former students. One detail that struck me was his early interest in complexity economics—back in the 1990s, when complex systems science hadn’t yet gained traction. When asked by the World Economics Association which school of economic thought he considered the best, he responded that none were. Instead, he believed that approaching economics through an interdisciplinary lens—particularly complex systems science—could help solve real societal problems. He dealt with problems that were people’s problems, not those of a typical armchair economist. Even while managing his responsibilities as HoD, he ensured that he continued to teach undergraduate students.

As a teacher, he extended grace and kindness to his students beyond the classroom. I remember getting a surprise call from Dr. Suresh Dhass after he received the calendar. He warmly recalled his student days and the 4 a.m. conversations he used to have with Dr. CTK.  Prof. AK once shared an incident from a meeting with Dr. CTK at the International Guest House, where they had an insightful three-hour conversation. Dr. CTK spoke at length about his experiences in teaching and learning at MCC. That blend of principle, empathy, and openness—that’s rare. It reminds us that Dr. CTK wasn’t just an economist—he was an educator who believed in real dialogue, gentle boundaries, and deep, human-centered thinking.

Gratitude

I extend my sincere thanks to:

Prof. Arun Koshy, for always making time for meaningful and thoughtful conversations, for generously sharing all the works of Dr. CTK in his possession, and for his continued encouragement and guidance in helping me explore the kind of economics my heart resonates with.

Dr. Suresh Dhass, for his unexpected yet heartfelt call, his kind words of appreciation, and for sharing his personal memories and time spent with Dr. CTK.

Dr. Marilyn Grace Augustine, for granting us access to the College archives and supporting our efforts in preserving and reflecting on Dr. CTK’s academic legacy.

For further insight into Dr. CTK’s thoughts and contributions, refer to his interview with the World Economics Association:

https://www.worldeconomicsassociation.org/newsletterarticles/interview-with-c-t-kurien/

By Sreya.

Ambition, Rejection, and Resistance: Turning 20 as an Indian Woman

What Does an Average Indian Woman Live For?

Today, I turn 20. 

This milestone should feel simple—it marks the start of adulthood, ambition, and independence. But instead, I am filled with questions. 

Years ago, I flipped through a few pages of Chetan Bhagat’s *What Young India Wants*. He began with a question: "What should an average Indian citizen live for?" Now at 20, with more experiences, more wounds, and deeper questions, I ask: *What does an average Indian woman live for?*

Ambition Under Audit

After facing rejection—from Ivy League dreams to unspoken love—I started to wonder: What are we meant to live for? What defines a woman's ambition? What will people say about her when she’s gone? What should she be remembered for?

Turning 20 in India as a woman doesn’t feel like a new chapter. It feels like an evaluation. Of your ambition. Of your obedience. Of your worth.

My story might feel personal, but it’s anything but uncommon. It resonates with the lives of countless young women across the country—shaped by expectations, resistance, and the quiet violence of being underestimated.

Growing up, I was always motivated to study. My parents wanted me to succeed, and I did. As a state board student in a school that welcomed children from all backgrounds, I saw what diversity looks like. That environment grounded me in reality.

I dreamed of studying at the London School of Economics. Then Harvard. I worked tirelessly. But chasing dreams in India isn’t just about money. It involves access, awareness, and cultural acceptance. I faced rejection from every Ivy League school I applied to. When I finally received an offer from the University of Melbourne, my parents said no.

Not because they didn’t love me. But out of fear. Fear that tightly binds every Indian girl’s future: safety, judgment, cost, reputation. These fears aren’t unfounded, but they create invisible barriers around our hopes. That rejection wasn’t just about a university—it was about a life. It took me eight months of counseling to find myself again.

Strangely, I encountered more resistance from my family than from the outside world. A much older cousin often seizes opportunities to undermine my ideas. Once, during a conversation about gender equality, I mentioned that modern men also share kitchen responsibilities. He couldn’t argue, so he walked away. That silence wasn’t a loss. It was dismissal.

Somehow, the men who have the least to say often feel the most entitled to be heard.

But their contempt only fuels me. The more they doubt me, the more I trust myself.

The Economics of Suppression

We frequently hear about unpaid labor and invisible work in economics. But how do you measure the emotional cost of being devalued? How do you assign value to *lost potential*?

Women in India are getting educated in record numbers. Yet, our participation in the workforce remains alarmingly low. We are trained to be suitable for marriage, not prepared for the market. Our success is tolerated—not celebrated. Our ambition is always conditional.

Economics is about making choices under constraints. For Indian women, those constraints are cultural, psychological, generational, and deeply tied to gender.

Economics teaches us how to measure value. Society teaches women to give it away for free.

And this isn’t just about income. It’s about having choices. Without financial independence, a woman’s ability to make decisions shrinks. Whether it’s escaping a toxic marriage, starting a business, or even just traveling—everything relies on whether she can afford to say no.

And most cannot.

 Solitude: My Greatest Inheritance

Today, I walk alone through corridors. Not because I dislike being with others, but because I carry dreams few comprehend. My solitude isn’t sadness. It’s resistance. It’s discipline. It’s power.

Even today, on my birthday, I was alone. Quarantined. No crowd. No celebration. Yet, it felt right. I take pride in that silence. It’s honest. It’s mine.

My Story Isn’t Unique. That’s the Problem.

In college now, I study economics with the same focus I once reserved for my Harvard dreams. But I carry that past rejection with me. It taught me how much harder girls have to fight—not just for opportunities, but for *permission*.

People sometimes describe me as outspoken. Sometimes they try to silence me. And often, I think of all the girls who didn’t even make it this far.

 So, What Does an Average Indian Woman Live For?

For approval.  

For survival.  

For maintaining peace.  

For being "good."

Rarely for herself.

This needs to change. Not with slogans. But with structure. With support. With systems that see women not just as caregivers or dependents, but as individuals with economic value, professional ambitions, and personal dreams.

Maybe we need a new equation. One that counts her time, her choices, her voice. One that stops asking her to prove her worth and starts asking what she *wants*.

Here’s my answer:

An average Indian woman doesn’t live for survival. She survives so that one day she might live—truly, freely, and fully.

And until that day comes, she walks alone.

Not out of weakness.

But because that path, though lonely, is finally *hers*.

By: Sreya