The acronym AMU stands for Aligarh Muslim University, but to all intents and purposes, it stands for Allah Miyan’s University, that is, a divinely ordained sanctuary where the mere thought of reform is considered sacrilegious. Understandably so, since it is effectively a Succession State of the Mughal empire, much on the lines of Oudh, Bengal and Hyderabad. The descendants of the Muslim conquerors, the thousand years old ruling class — the Ashrāf — have been endowed with a principality of their own to wallow in the nostalgia of their imperial past, and to fantasise about its revival. These lotus eaters are maintained by the Indian State, which pays for their reverie from the Consolidated Fund of India. The AMU Amendment Act 1981, Section 5(2)(c) says that the purpose of this university is “to promote the educational and cultural advancement of Muslims of India”. Though the money is supposedly sanctioned, released and spent in the name of Indian Muslims; historically, the Ashrāf Muslims of Uttar Pradesh, mainly from its western part, have exercised the right of ownership over the institution. No wonder, in its hundred years old history, every vice-chancellor, except one, has come from the small group of Ashrāf. Majority of them from western UP, some from eastern UP, and three from their southern cousins, the Muslim aristocracy of Hyderabad. This is no coincidence. There is a pattern. It’s a result of how the institutions of power in this principality are structured. Its Executive Council, Academic Council, and the Court are incestuous clubs where everyone is everyone’s someone. If the Indian State spends hundreds of crores on the university in the name of Indian Muslims, why should the Ashrāf of UP have all the fun? Why shouldn’t India’s diversity get reflected in AMU’s power structure by the inclusion of various regions, sub-regions, classes, castes and linguistic groups in its governing bodies? Why should a Bihari or Bengali, a woman or a Pasmanda, a Hindu, even a Dalit (much loved by Muslim narrative makers), should be an unimaginable possibility as vice-chancellor of this university? Why should the selection pool be so small as not to yield more than a couple of probable names? The AMU Amendment Act 1981, Section 5(2)(c) says that the purpose of this university is “to promote the educational and cultural advancement of Muslims of India”. Though the money is supposedly sanctioned, released and spent in the name of Indian Muslims; historically, the Ashrāf Muslims of Uttar Pradesh, mainly from its western part, have exercised the right of ownership over the institution. No wonder, in its hundred years old history, every vice-chancellor, except one, has come from the small group of Ashrāf. Majority of them from western UP, some from eastern UP, and three from their southern cousins, the Muslim aristocracy of Hyderabad. This is no coincidence. There is a pattern. It’s a result of how the institutions of power in this principality are structured. Its Executive Council, Academic Council, and the Court are incestuous clubs where everyone is everyone’s someone. If the Indian State spends hundreds of crores on the university in the name of Indian Muslims, why should the Ashrāf of UP have all the fun? Why shouldn’t India’s diversity get reflected in AMU’s power structure by the inclusion of various regions, sub-regions, classes, castes and linguistic groups in its governing bodies? Why should a Bihari or Bengali, a woman or a Pasmanda, a Hindu, even a Dalit (much loved by Muslim narrative makers), should be an unimaginable possibility as vice-chancellor of this university? Why should the selection pool be so small as not to yield more than a couple of probable names?