Apart from the sense of outrage at this wanton attack on my privacy and reputation, I was filled with shame and helplessness. In the 40 years that I had worn the colours of my country, not once had I been so disgraced. And what was my crime?

That I wrote a book about an intelligence agency that is funded by the Indian tax payer but feels it has no obligation or responsibility towards him or people who represent him. That I pointed out aberrations that were more funny than serious, such as government officials sulking like school children when denied a promotion or refusing to vacate offices when transferred. That I pointed out the misdeeds of some crooks who masqueraded as spooks, keeping their own interests above that of the country or organisation they were serving in. That I exposed before the public some men who walked tall but had feet of clay, making up with bluster what they lacked in leadership. Surely, these were not crimes, least of all in a nation that takes pride in its democratic ideals, one of the most important being the right to free expression. Of course, the right to free expression does not give one the right to sully someone’s reputation or make unwarranted allegations. The laws in our country have adequate safeguards against libel, and I wish those who were cut to the quick by the contents of the book had the courage to sue me for defamation, rather than take recourse to the Official Secrets Act.

... contd.