AMU VC Naima Khatoon is facing questions from ‘bearded elite’—Smashing glass ceilings daily

Naima Khatoon has taken charge of Aligarh Muslim University at a time when many in India are viewing the words 'Muslim' and 'minority' with suspicion. But also when AMU itself is changing.

File photo of Naima Khatoon | Commons

Aligarh: Over four decades ago, Naima Khatoon’s family gathered in a room to discuss whether she should be allowed to cross state lines. Her brother was doing his PhD at the Aligarh Muslim University, but it was entirely unheard of for a young, college-going woman to make the trek from Odisha to Uttar Pradesh. Her uncle dug his heels in—insisting she couldn’t go. But her mother persevered.

AMU was a massive culture shock. Odia Muslims speak Urdu differently, and she was mocked mercilessly for her accent, her pronunciation, her constant mixing up of masculine and feminine words. But like her mother, she too was determined. And like her uncle, she dug her heels in.

Now, Naima Khatoon is the new Vice-Chancellor of AMU. And it hasn’t been easy this time either. There were no uncles. But, today, there’s the “bearded elite” of AMU who question her capabilities, faculty who spread canards about how it isn’t her but her husband who is the real VC, and those who say she is a sell-out in hushed whispers.

It’s taking her mind back to the first moment of rebellion against her family in Odisha.

Last week, after living many lives at AMU—student, scholar, union member, provost, principal—Naima Khatoon took over as Vice-Chancellor. She sits in an ordinary leather office chair, in an airy room. Adjacent to her are a row of sombre black and white portraits—all her male predecessors. After over a hundred years, a woman holds the reins of the institution that’s seen not only as the beating heart of Aligarh but also of the Muslim community. For some, it’s not a feminist victory—she’s rumoured to be a symbol of Modi’s outreach to Muslim women. Jamia Millia Islamia’s last VC was also a woman, and so is JNU’s.

A wall in Khatoon’s office with portraits of previous VCs. All of them are men | Antara Baruah | ThePrint

She has taken charge of the storied institution at a time when many in India are increasingly viewing the words “Muslim” and “minority” with suspicion. But also when AMU itself is changing. There’s a volley of challenges ahead for Naima Khatoon; and tensions at AMU almost always transcend the classroom these days. And there are questions about how much change she can actually bring about.

“70 to 80 per cent of the university is run by the ‘system’. Within the remaining 20 per cent, a person can implement changes,” says AMU proctor and professor of law Muhammad Wasim Ali. “Work needs to be done at a grassroots level and difficult decisions need to be made.” The system comprises the university’s various ‘stakeholders’: bureaucrats and politicians, the alumni network, and the gargantuan scale at which it operates. There are 10 colleges, about 30,000 students and over a hundred years of history to contend with.

The “bearded elite” of AMU question her capabilities, faculty who spread canards about how it isn’t her but her husband who is the real VC, and those who say she is a sell-out in hushed whispers.  

And some believe Naima Khatoon isn’t up to the challenge. But she knows that women are always up against some system or the other when they aspire to higher positions. In November of last year, when she was recommended for the position, according to those close to her, she was greeted with social media posts that cited the Quran, using it to say that a woman couldn’t hold the post. “All kinds of people spoke out against her. It’s still a religious, highly conservative society. She’s not simply breaking the glass ceiling, she’s smashing it,” said a family member who did not want to be named. She was accused of having political connections, and of working in tandem with political parties, especially the BJP.

There’s another complication—Naima Khatoon’s husband, then interim Vice-Chancellor Muhammad Gulrez, chaired and voted in the meeting of the university’s 27-member executive council, the body which shortlisted five names for the post; leading to suggestions of nepotism and a conflict of interest. She recused herself and didn’t vote.

Learning to say no 

Naima Khatoon sits behind a desk that’s too high and on a chair that’s too big. She’s surrounded by files which often make their way home. Her hair is styled into a neat bob, she’s wearing a starched beige sari, and even in the antiseptic white light—her delicate gold jewellery glistens.

It’s only been a week, but her office is already a fortress. Visible through a broken wrought iron doorway, cops refuse to let most people enter. But when someone of importance marches through, their demeanour changes.

All kinds of people spoke out against her. It’s still a religious, highly conservative society. She’s not simply breaking the glass ceiling, she’s smashing it
– Naima Khatoon’s family member

Naima Khatoon has traditionally followed an open-door policy, allowing students and faculty members to simply walk in. That has changed. She’s known for being “too accessible” and “too available”, and now she has to learn how to say no.

She’s barely finished her cup of tea when her secretary rushes in to inform her that the Director General has arrived—N Zaheer Ahmed of the Central Council of Research in Unani Medicine, an organisation under the Ministry of Ayush. Unani is a traditional medicine system, similar to Ayurveda, practised largely in Muslim nations. An MoU was signed between the CCRUM and AMU to “make a lasting impact in the field”. Outside, the cops usher him in, suddenly efficient. AMU already has a Faculty of Unani.

“Going by personal experience, she doesn’t believe in hierarchy. One could always go to her for complaints, suggestions, or any kind of advice. Regardless of whether she had taught you or met you,” says Shivangani Tandon, a history professor at AMU, who joined in 2017. “You just needed to go to her office.”

Tandon moved from the women’s studies department to the history department in 2023, and that’s when Naima Khatoon became her direct supervisor. Prior to taking over as VC, Naima Khatoon was principal of the women’s college, a position she held for a decade. Tandon recalls attempting to organise a guest lecture with a Japanese professor who’d come to Aligarh from Tokyo. She was wary—but Naima Khatoon ensured she had every resource at her disposal, not the easiest task in a government-run institution.

Abdullah Hall at AMU’s women’s college. Naima Khatoon was both student and provost here. | Antara Baruah | ThePrint

ThePrint spoke to a number of professors, all of whom spoke highly of Naima Khatoon’s administrative capabilities and the finesse with which she manages people. What works in her favour, they said, is her training in psychology. It’s made her exceptionally perceptive and communicative, leadership skills that are often glossed over. “She’s refined. She’s not just a teacher of psychology, but also understands the psychology of people. She sees the demands of the time,” says Orus Ilyas, a professor in the department of wildlife. Naima Khatoon and her are old family friends, and she refers to her as Naima apa.

Going by personal experience, she doesn’t believe in hierarchy. One could always go to her for complaints, suggestions, or any kind of advice. Regardless of whether she had taught you or met you
– Shivangani Tandon, history professor, AMU

She solves conflicts through counselling—“it’s excellent for men,” says Ilyas. She holds meetings, sits people down, and insists they talk it out. “There are a number of students notorious for bad behaviour, with whom other professors don’t want to interact. Also, sometimes male professors don’t want to deal with women students,” she adds.

Back in the day, about forty years ago, Naima Khatoon was elected to the AMU student union. She was an outsider in a space where social lives were dictated by state lines, with students sticking with their own kind. It was difficult for her to make friends, but she used her academic prowess to carve a space for herself—helping out international students who hailed from Iran as well as certain African nations with their English. She became known for being extraordinarily helpful and realised she was well-liked, which she then used to her advantage, and was eventually elected to the union.

While Naima Khatoon’s past attests to her capabilities, as well as her feel for administrative work, there are also concerns—there’s the prospect of her husband’s lingering influence, and the dubious selection process has left a bad taste. “He [Gulrez] shouldn’t be calling the shots. She shouldn’t be getting dictation from him. But we know she won’t,” says Obaid Siddiqui, AMU teachers’ association (AMUTA) secretary. “she’s proven to be responsive when it comes to individual teachers. She’s far better, and that’s why we hope she’s also less stubborn. She needs to have an iron fist.”

The AMUTA campaigned extensively against the vacancy, questioned the ethics of the selection process, and is now ready for a meeting. It has also sent Naima Khatoon a letter, acknowledging her as Vice-Chancellor.

Outsider problem

Naima Khatoon’s tenure comes at a torrid time. The nearly 120-year-old institution is facing a slew of problems. For starters, students aren’t attending classes. According to a law professor who did not want to be named, in a class of 137 students, about 40-50 show up to class—a meagre amount. “Students are lazy and lethargic. It’s bad for their careers. Even in engineering and medical colleges, students aren’t in the classroom. The quality of students is deteriorating day by day,” he says. “There’s no alternative to classroom teaching. This is a failure of the system.”

Before the Covid-19 pandemic struck, an attendance policy was in place, with students requiring a minimum of 75 per cent attendance to take their exams. Once the pandemic ebbed, the policy evaporated. Professors say that for students to get back into the classroom, “a strong leader” is the need of the hour.

People are dismissive of the women’s college and its students. That’s why it’s such a big deal that a woman is the VC. It means she’s thinking about us
– Neetu Baghel, a postgraduate mathematics student.

In certain ways, Naima Khatoon has hit the ground running. Summer vacations have begun, and after many years, the hostels are going to be vacant. Students will not be allowed to stay on. It’s an attempt at “weeding out the illegal elements” who live in the densely populated hostels. Not only AMU students, but a number of outsiders have found their way into AMU lodging.

“We’ve held a few meetings with her. After the summer, we’re going to reallocate all hostel students to figure out who’s been staying illegally,” says the university proctor, Ali. “She’s taken charge, and reallocation is a practical decision.”

Previous VCs were aware, but tried to brush the issue under the carpet, says a professor who did to want to be named. At the very least, the administration is now acknowledging the problem exists, they add.

And it’s not just the faculty members who see ‘illegal’ students as an issue. “Both the Baba Syed and the Centenary Gates [the campus gates] are always open. Outsiders can enter whenever they want, and create a nuisance on campus. It’s difficult to differentiate between legal and illegal students. She should look into this matter seriously,” says Waseem Akram, a PhD scholar, grey hair creeping into his beard. There’s also the question of temporary teachers. There are currently more teachers than vacancies that need to be filled.

Hopes of female students

The stakes are high. And a lot rests on Naima Khatoon’s shoulders—particularly the hopes of female students, who believe they have been sidelined.

“People are dismissive of the women’s college and its students. That’s why it’s such a big deal that a woman is the VC. It means she’s thinking about us,” says Neetu Baghel, a postgraduate mathematics student. She can’t help but compare her college to the female-only colleges of Delhi University, and the positions of prestige they occupy.

Students at the juice shops in AMU’s women’s college | Antara Baruah | ThePrint

A few students are confused about who exactly the new Vice-Chancellor is. “The one with short hair. I heard her speak once,” says a student quizzically. But even then, they’re thrilled it’s a woman. Tandon, the women studies-turned-history professor, was pleasantly surprised to see how curious her students were. And excited.

“They didn’t even know AMU’s first chancellor was a woman. They were inspired. I could see it in their eyes,” she says. “For most people, it’s just AMU—just a central university located in a small town. But it does make a difference.”

Always in the news

What makes AMU particularly unique is that there are no boundaries. The city of Aligarh seeps into the campus, and it’s hard to discern where Aligarh ends and AMU begins. It makes administering the university all the more difficult.

It doesn’t help that it’s always in the news cycle. A couple of months ago, an FIR was registered after a student complained he was “heckled” for celebrating Holi. Religious fault lines, palpable in and around the state, were making their way onto campus. However, all professors with whom ThePrint spoke said it was an isolated incident—Hindu festivals have always been celebrated at AMU. Also, the incident didn’t necessarily have anything to do with AMU. It was an example of the university being used for political gains; before the general elections began.

This isn’t the first time. In 2018, there was furore over a portrait of Muhammad Ali Jinnah in the students’ hall. When MP Satish Gautam was re-elected the following year, he said his “first priority” would be to get the portrait removed. However, the AMU student union stood their ground and refused. Five tumultuous years later, there’s no student union. Elections haven’t been held since 2018. But AMU made it to the 2019 elections in UP with the ‘ganna vs jinnah’ slogan between Samajwadi Party Akhilesh Yadav and BJP CM Yogi Adityanath.

Dwindling brand value

AMU’s status as a minority university is presently in limbo, with the Supreme Court reserving its judgment. There’s currently only a 50 per cent internal quota at AMU, which operates regardless of caste or religion. If its minority status is repealed, the doors will open to SC, ST, and OBC reservations—effectively Hindu reservation.

AMU and BHU (Banaras Hindu University) are the only two universities referred to in the Constitution, which according to SG Tushar Mehta, makes them institutes of “national importance”.  And therefore, by definition, they can’t be of a “particular religion or religious domination.”

“He [Syed Ahmed Khan] was anxious to push new education. He was in no way communally separatist. Repeatedly he emphasised that religious differences should have no political and national significance,” wrote Jawaharlal Nehru in  Discovery of India about Khan, the founder of AMU, regarded as a crusader for Muslim education and progressive thought.

The ‘golden years’ of AMU, when illustrious and formidable alumni like historian Irfan Habib and former Vice-President Hamid Ansari walked the halls, are now over. It’s no longer the only incubator for Muslim success stories.

“There are good universities everywhere now. Wealthy Muslims can send their children abroad. AMU is not the only option,” said a professor who did not want to be named. However, a number of NRI Muslims still send their children to AMU. Among the 18,782 undergraduate and postgraduate students, 6,472 are from outside Uttar Pradesh and 233 and from outside India. Out of the total students, 39.3 per cent are women. There are also 2,778 students currently pursuing their PhD.

Only engineering students get jobs with high-paying salaries. The rest are caught in a rut of low-paying jobs and menial salaries. According to AMU’s National Institutional Ranking Framework Report 2024, the median salary drawn by AMU graduates in 2023 is 5.6 LPA. The biggest recruiters in 2022 included Forbes Marshall, an energy efficiency MNC, and Ramboll Group, an engineering consultancy.

But even if the Aligarh Muslim University’s brand equity is in danger of running out, in Aligarh at least, Naima Khatoon is still the talk of the town. From the rickshaw puller to the butcher, everyone knows AMU has a new Vice-Chancellor.

“I’ve been here since 1999. I’ve seen many teachers come and go,” shows off Chanderpal Singh, who runs a tea stall inside the women’s college. The sultry afternoon is the last working day of the semester and most students have left. The remaining prefer to get juice from a neighbouring vendor. “Of course, I know her. Her name is Naima Khatoon.”

(Edited by Theres Sudeep)