Mohamed ( name NOT changed ) returned from Sudan three weeks back to Chennai. And Chennai has been his home for a couple of decades, as he has an Indian nationality thanks to his better half, a devout Muslim, even more pious Indian, while retaining his Sudan nationality. I had a working relationship with him. He made a living by assisting patients who required medical treatment for various ailments from countries such as Oman, Sudan, Iraq; that he had graduated from Madurai Kamaraj University in Tamil Nadu years ago, and spoke Tamil with felicity, apart from his native Arabic, made his job that much easier.
But this time round, it is no exaggeration that he actually managed to keep body and soul together, inimical circumstances notwithstanding – Khartoum airport had been rendered non-operational, shred to smithereens, most offices and educational institutions reduced to a shambles, and the Sudani passports of those he planned to bring for medical treatment to Chennai, deposited in the Indian embassy in Khartoum on the very day of the insurrection, for the Medical Visa, destroyed in the concomitant incendiary attack. He himself luckily made it in one piece, with a harrowing three day trip to Cairo by road, interrogations galore en route, at the point of AK47s, before enplaning for Chennai.
Sudan thereby bites the dust, like its predecessors Lebanon and Syria. And what kind of global solution can be prudently presented for people in Sudan to make a life for themselves and their families, remains a “?”
That the Indian economy, buffeted by the same currents that blow globally, yet managed to retain its drive, speaks for itself.
Yet, India is beset by dangers that lurk in the so-called Digital Economy that is touted as some kind of panacea. The screwballs would never permit it, and the long arm of the law seems just not long enough, in this part of the world.
4th July 2023 Respected Madam Inspector, Cybercrime, Mount PS
Dear Madam, I give below the news item from the Deccan Herald Bengaluru, three days back, wherein a lady was cheated by cyber fraudsters impersonating army personnel. I do know that Cybercrime is treating this as another dangerous matter altogether, because it has implications on national security.
News Item:Cyber criminals impersonate army officers to cheat woman in Bengaluru Yeshwantpur police have registered a case under the Information Technology Act and are investigating it. H M Chaithanya Swamy, DHNS, Bengaluru, JUL 01 2023, 22:51 IST UPDATED.
Madam, I am sending you the news item as above, because the same army ID etc was used to defraud my old colleague and friend Mrs. Halima, with whom I worked in the travel and airline field over 25 years ago, to cheat her on September 6, 2022, the amount being Rs 20800 being frozen in fraudster’s account. Her case was reported to SI Ms. Kaushiki in Cybercrime Mylapore PS What is dumbfounding is that the fraudster is using the same army id and same pan card etc, for cheating people from first week September 2022 continuing till first week July 2023, and we are not even able to apprehend the fraudster. In short, there are serial fraudsters who will continue to cheat as they know they can get away with it.
Although this is out of your jurisdiction Madam, I request you to kindly forward this to the Police Officers concerned. Let me reiterate Madam, I am absolutely at your service for any requirement Sincerely yours,
I rest my case, even though I cannot sleep well after this.
I suddenly recalled, that during my schooldays, my Father would corner me when I was at home, and apart from making me read Tolstoy’s stories, and those of Dickens, also the novel Les Miserables by Victor Hugo, especially the chapter in the beginning, of Jean Valjean, who stole silverware from the house of a Catholic Bishop, and when apprehended by the French Genderamerie, and taken to the Bishop’s house, the venerable Bishop lies that he actually gifted all that silverware to the thief, thereby earning him a reprieve, which marks the turning point in the character of Jean Valjean.
In December 2015, the floods caught my city Chennai on the wrong foot. More than 500 people perished, some in the most gruesome manner, by being overcome by flood waters.
I am lucky to live in the first floor of an apartment and the water level did not quite get up there; the ground floor people vacated a few days earlier fearing the worst, and departed from the city on a brief holiday, and I could observe from my first floor perch during the day, their household goods floating in the floodwaters outside, including kitchenware, pillows and mattresses. I inhabited my apartment as a lonesome human, with my best friend, my dog, since departed as the way of all flesh. For three days, there was no power supply, and no telephone, net, or mobile connectivity, absolute pitch darkness through the nights, let alone any form of transportation, with boats plying on what was supposed to be the roadway.
And food became hard to get. In chest deep water, I did wade to the market, but all supplies including bread and milk,whatever available, had all but vanished from the shelves, which themselves appeared to be getting submerged. Finally, in one shop, I espied Maggi noodles, a product of Nestle. Back in 2015, Maggi noodles had fallen on hard times, indeed, labs in India had tested the same and reported very high proportions of monosodium glutamate, and lead. All especially dangerous for child consumption. Maggi was on a comeback though, and was selling it at heavily discounted rates, and an advertising blitz. Be that as it may, I had no option, pangs of hunger had to be quelled, for my dog, as well as myself, and I recall I purchased whatever of Maggi was available in that store. Both my dog and I, survived to tell the tale. I did want to write to the big honchos in Nestle, that both my dog and I had managed to keep body and soul together, thanks solely to their Maggi. Nestle’s shares had fallen down to one of its record lows, and alas, I did not get into buying the shares, as Nestle made a smart recovery, and Maggi is doing oh-so-well again in the market. Superb marketing strategy there by Nestle, and one that should get into the textbooks for MBA aspirants.
And so much for my own tale. My feelings lead me to another story altogether. Luckily, the Internet of Things ( IoT ) was not so pervasive, at that time almost precisely three years ago. There certainly were no food delivery apps around, as there are today, where plenty of souls order their dinners, often lunches too, through one of these apps, obviating both the chore of cooking at home, and the time and effort in getting to a restaurant. So much so, that restaurants are known to be reducing their seating capacity these days, and concentrating only on food preparation and delivery. Had the IoT been as overwhelming then, as it is today, though barely three years ago, the front-line performers of the food-delivery apps would have faced the thickest end of the boot, or the stick, you name it. I dare say some may have even perished, simply trying to do their jobs, which is, to deliver food in time to those who want to gorge the same.
What nudged me to recall that story of Jean Valjean, however, was what went “viral”, in today’s parlance, a couple of weeks ago, about a man performing the food-delivery chores,after a customer had ordered through the app. He was, in the video, seen to be opening a couple of the food packets, gobbling up several portions of it with a spoon, and then resealing the packets to deliver it to the customers at the addresses provided. This no doubt is legally untenable. Morally ? Would the fella been able to afford a square meal ? I went through hundreds of comments about what this fellow, who of course, lost his job pronto, and while the majority of comments blamed this delivery-man for his fault, there were, what I would rate as about 10 percent, those whose views tilted towards sympathy.
The following report in the leading newspaper in Chennai, analysing what I would describe as a malaise, is worth sharing:
The rise of app-based aggregators has been a boon for consumers but not necessarily for the workers By Akriti Bhatia
Recently, a video of a Zomato delivery agent caught eating the food he was supposed to deliver went viral. This led to criticism, especially from middle- and upper-class consumers who questioned the accountability and monitoring mechanisms of food delivery apps and websites, which are important features of the platform or the gig economy. However, the working conditions of app-based employees are hardly discussed. In this case, given the pressure to fulfil never-ending targets to avail of certain incentives, the worker might not have found time to rest between deliveries or to have his own meal.
The rise of app-based aggregators has been a boon for consumers to access at their doorstep and with the touch of a phone a range of services including cabs, food, and retail. It also purportedly creates decently paid employment opportunities for millions of literate people. But what is the nature of employment arrangements, contracts, quality of work, security, grievance redress mechanisms and accountability in such cases?
The first “person” that app-based workers — whom the companies ironically label “partners” — must report to is the app itself, which is effectively their digital boss. This “boss” gives instructions, sets targets and provides incentives such as boosts, bonuses, star ratings and badges for the workers. It also provides disincentives in the form of fines and penalties. This “gamification” system, seen in apps such as Uber, puts insurmountable pressure on the app-driven worker, who tends to overwork even at lower pay to earn higher scores. And even if the driver or delivery “partner” aspires to be a self-employed mini-entrepreneur, it is the app companies that decide what commission rates to deduct from their earnings and what monetary incentives to give. Even the fares, prices and surges, including the locations and frequency of duty requests, are not determined by these workers. Thus, we may meaningfully ask whether this is a model of self-employment or self-exploitation.
Further, cases of technical glitches in the app, or incorrect payment or deductions from their earnings are no less than a crisis for these workers, since getting justice from these apps or from tedious helplines and zonal offices that get hundreds of complaints each day is often not feasible. Most importantly, we must ask why, in cases of accidents, to which these delivery persons and drivers are highly prone given the rush they are in, shouldn’t there be accountability and compensation, as well as job security, provided by these companies. Finally, why shouldn’t these workers be allowed to organise and unionise to exercise their right to collective bargaining? It appears that app-based companies have realised that there is a simple strategy to avoid these outcomes — keep workers busy with their next duty and block their app IDs in case of any aberration.
The writer is a Ph.D. Scholar at the University of Delhi, and Founding Partner, Jan Ki Baat
Meantime, over the past few days, I could see adverts on various billboards, offering straight discounts
of 50 percent plus, till December 31, put forth by this particular food-delivery app, after obviously facing the flak from customers,
and having their sales practically hit rock bottom. Yes, it is over Christmas and New Year that
food-delivery apps and chains would seek to maximise their turnover. I wish them all the Best. And especially
best wishes to you ruddy delivery-boys, though you guys have often nearly knocked me over while I cross the street, in your hurry to get your food to the palate and tongue of the customer. I don’t doubt that the apps will get back with a bang,
as Nestle did in 2015, before the IoT got going. More than that, I wish that people forgive these delivery fellas even if they have a bite or two, and repack it for our consumption. What the hell, it’s not silverware, but food. That Catholic Bishop would have agreed; so also the Mother of Calcutta, latterly and posthumously anointed a Saint by the Pope, who remarkably insisted that the august gathering at the Nobel Award ceremonies, skip the lavish Gala Dinner and donate the proceeds to the poor and underfed.
As the most populous country in the world, begins a massive exercise in electing leadership, where many would be intimidated by the mid-day sun, I was surprised to see a little after the crack of dawn, on Saturday morning, a young lady enumerator, from the local Election Commission office, checking on the rolls.
I hasten to write this pleading sorrowful petition on the Birth Anniversary of Bongobondhu !
I am a Calcutta born person, who had the privilege of hearing Bongobondhu in early 1972, soon after his country came into existence, as the sun was setting in Calcutta Maidan, just one in part of over a million strong crowd, when the true orator that he is, thundered, Amar Shonar Bangla, and over a million throats roared so loudly that the earth of the venerable Maidan beneath the feet where they stood shook more than any earthquake could have possibly induced. I am resident in Chennai, India, and thanks to my interaction with the people of Bangladesh who have been regularly coming to Chennai, my Bangla continues to be fluent, as with my mother-tongue Tamil. I have done this without any interest in the monetary gain aspect, on an emotional rapport, some have thrust notes in my pocket despite my resistance, due to a spontaneous bonding that gets created – and I am not an altruistic person as such.
As you may be aware, soon there are going to be three direct flights every day, between Bangladesh and Chennai, one each by Biman Bangladesh, US Bangla Airways, and Indigo Airlines.
Over the past couple of weeks, I have heard a sorry refrain, from Bangladeshi friends who call me – that the visa processing time takes well over a month, even two months, for those who need to get medical attention sooner rather than later. This was not the situation earlier. They weep that there is a tout (dalal is the Bangla cum Urdu word, often used in a derogatory sense ) system, who demand speed money to expedite the medical visa for India. There is a dark suggestion, untrue no doubt, that this is happening in a two or three layered structure that reaches into the High Commission office. I was made to understand that the medical visa process was being stymied by vested interests more deliberately in Chittagong, rather than in Dhaka.
I request you to kindly examine this grievance and see how best this matter can be sorted out so that the visa process, especially the medical visa process, where very often small children, and elders who may be terminal cases, are involved.
Always an honour to be of service to my Mother Country Bharotborsho, for which I am available round the clock, gratis !
I contemplated my first ever trip to Rajasthan, a State to which over the past two decades I had, by virtue of my work in the travel line, sent scores of people from within Indian shores as well as out, as I nursed the Som Ras, which my History teacher Mr Bhanj Deo, of over five decades ago, himself hailing from a Princely Order, had taught that it was the preferred beverage from Vedic Times, Millennia ago. The Indigo Airlines staff advised that I could carry five one-litre bottles in my check-in baggage, which surprised me, as I had never carried any inebriating beverage within the geographical or political confines of India before.
Good enough to contemplate ” Satyamev Jayate ” , an original Sanskrit phrase that translates into ” Truth Alone Triumphs “, emblazoned across my country in thousands of Courts of Law that are collapsing under the weight of the accumulation of files on which decision takes time, to put it mildly, and often enough in Police Thanas – and they have their tasks cut out – both the FIRs and the pending cases in the court increase by the day, at the taxpayers’s expense. No wonder the Lord couldn’t answer the question as to what is Truth, and paid the ultimate price, muttering ” Eli, eli, lama sabachthani ? “
Brings me to the saw attributed to Mark Twain, who many aver is the only American Saint ever, to have lived, – ” A lie can travel half way around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes “.That was of course, long before the Internet of Things, IoT, took over and ensured that truth and Falsehood run parallel, and it was left to the conscientious individual to identify the one from the other, effectively to separate grain from chaff on a real time basis.
Long an admirer of the movies made by Madhur Bhandarkar, who I felt often took to making movies that would inevitably bomb at the box office, I sought to see his last creation ” Babli Bouncer ” which had the very attractive Tamanna Bhatia as the protagonist, who hails from Fatehpur Beri. Madhur’s handiwork could be seen throughout, though that was not the only reason I wanted to see the film. I wanted to check out the Haryanvi dialect, see if there was any possibility of my acquiring it. It is close enough to Rohtak in Haryana, which produced international-level wrestlers, and is a Kushti capital of India ( Kushti means wrestling in Urdu, HIndi and Bangla, for the uninitiated ); and Kushti got into big-time controversy in Haryana and Delhi, with both women and men wrestlers alleging that they were subject to inappropriate advances by the trainers and instructors. This controversy is yet to peter out, though wrestling as a sport is unlikely to be a casualty. Babli Bouncer, of course, finds her own way in the movie, and in the final scene, gets an award from the Chief Minister of the State, who I was surprised looks exactly like the current CM of Haryana. as she announces with brazen aplomb that she has finally ” passed her tenth-grade “, an endearing comment on the perennial juxtaposition of brain and brawn.
The farmers brigade in Haryana, who had their own matter of the procurement of sunflowers by their State government to sort out, for a Minimum Support Price, joined the Kushti women and men for joint protests, in fraternal camaraderie.
The ground had been laid for far more uglier twists of circumstances that would have repercussions across the entire country.
As I sat in the cybercrime station ( Thana, if you prefer ) in St. Thomas Mount in Chennai, a young man walked in scarcely managing to hold back his tears, swaying his mobile in his right hand, in which I could espy only GPay and other forms of digital payment, and muttering ” I lost it all – I am not able to face my wife “. To this, even though my presence there was a coincidence, I gave the most insensitive response possible – I guffawed and laughed outright. Barely a few days earlier, as I sat in the same Thana, a lady in silk brocades, adorned in gold bangles, necklaces and earrings, reported to the Inspector that she had been conned on the Net of a lakh and a half rupees. Here I sniggered at the incongruity of it all – she had more valuables on her person than what she was obviously hoodwinked of, but my response was still inappropriate: to deride someone because their trust has been belied, and the American of yore who said that ” there is a sucker born every minute “, is right about the India of today. That indeed, is the writing on the wall, as India ushers in her 76th Independence Day.
Worse than all of it, an army officer’s id was being used to con the innocent – Indians tend to respect the uniformed forces – to put across as a bait to inveigle funds. My old colleague of yesteryear, Ms Halima, fell for this, and called me close to midnight in total consternation, asking me what to do. Law enforcement could no longer take this syndrome lightly.
In the last week of April 2023, 102 police teams, with over 5000 police personnel, raided over 15 villages in Nuh and surrounding areas in Mewat, and brought to book over 125 hackers and cybercriminals. They seized hundreds of SIMs, Aadhars, smartphones, laptops, ATM cards, swiping machines, and other incriminating digital hardware.
The cybercrime police station was targeted during the violence that erupted in Nuh on July 31. The police had to lock themselves within the premises to save their own selves, and the files that held incriminating evidence, with forlorn petitions from suckers who had been conned all over India.
Six people, including two home guards and a cleric, died in the communal clashes that erupted after a mob tried to stop a Vishva Hindu Parishad procession and spread to Gurugram over the last few days.
Under the guise of the violence in Nuh in the past few days, an attempt was made to destroy the evidence collected during the raid and the cyber police station was attacked, the government said in a statement.
Documents related to the huge fraud and other crimes were kept at the police station, it said.
In the biggest ever raid of its kind, the Haryana Police had uncovered a cyber fraud worth about Rs 100 crore in April.
As part of the crackdown, 320 hideouts of cyber criminals spread across 14 villages in Nuh were raided and 65 cyber criminals were arrested.
Besides, 66 mobile phones and numerous fake documents were seized.
State Home Minister Anil Vij had on Thursday said the Haryana government has taken the attack on the cybercrime police station very seriously.
He had also said that Nuh was becoming the new Jamtara, Jharkhand district infamous as India’s cybercrime hub, when a massive crackdown was launched against cyber criminals.
Clearly, there is not an iota of doubt that the communal violence that took place is very simply a device used by unscrupulous elements to trigger the larger element that is holding the so-called Digital India to ransom.
When the first atomic bomb exploded in Los Alamos, Oppenheimer quotes the Gita where in Kurukshetra, Vishnu says even if a thousand suns burst simultaneously, it would seem less than this Mighty Explosion. Mewat and Nuh are a short five hours drive away, southward from Kurukshetra, in the same State of Haryana.
The True Litmus Test for India presents itself now. ” Pour encourager les autres “ was used during the times of the French Revolution, where some guilty had to face the ultimate penalty, speedily, for the greater good.
To those for whom homilies fall on deaf ears, this book by the Director General of Police recounting real life incidents and experiences, certainly gives hope to the innocents who have lost their life’s savings, and all but lost faith in God and Country. It’s a must-read
But more worrying is that the exalted verses of Kural, cutting across every political and religious divide, that I first found emblazoned in the T. Nagar Cybercrime Office, and then, in attractively organised rectangular proportion, on the entrance walls of the St. Thomas Mount Cybercrime Office – I concluded from the smile of the three ladies sitting there, they had just had given finishing touches and put their handiwork painstakingly up on the wall – fair enough, fair ladies – the only shortcoming is that it would not be heeded by those who need to do so – the criminal elements in the locations which had been identified, bound to have the last laugh.
Kural wrote in the most ancient language of the world, still extant and a standard of communication, Tamil, and cutting edge Truth at that, which the PM of India had a word for during his recent visit to the US. To what end ?
Job on hand, friends and countrymen !
And the Unwritten Words on the Wall, despite the awesome Tamil Kural put up – for those who were done in, whether young techie or elderly curmudgeon, and enter the portals of the thana or station, in distress, the words that have meaning may well be those rendered by an American well over a century ago – ” There’s a sucker born every minute ” . Hear, hear !
In the early 80s, after the majority of my relatives and classmates left for greener pastures – meaning the US of A, and as I had neither the wherewithal or perspicacity, at that time at least, I did the next best thing, get to the Gulf.
Oman, to be exact. The Management was completely from Lebanon. I marvelled at the felicity with which the Lebanese could seamlessly move in expressing themselves from one language to another, in the three of Arabic, English and French. The majority was well educated, in the august institution American University of Beirut.
Heady days indeed for me, in more ways than one. Some Lebanese colleagues of mine would fly across to Beirut for a week’s holiday, and return – then display their bullet wounds beneath their shirts or trousers, the red of the blood yet to dry, living to tell the tale.
What does the future augur for the people of a country that can scarce manage its resources ? What kind of future can the young of the country envisage, without contemplating emigration ? It is said that Lebanon is the one country in the world, where more of its citizens live overseas, than within its own political and geographical boundaries.
Pan into 2023 and this is how the situation is in Lebanon – viz., if I had my own money in a Savings Bank account, I may have to take a gun to withdraw my own funds, the bank security may point its weapons at me to prevent me from doing so, and there would be an independent police contingent, to ( hopefully ) keep the peace. Could it possibly get more bizarre ?
Woman holds up Beirut bank with activists to withdraw own savings
Sali Hafez took $13,000 from her frozen bank account ‘to pay for sister’s cancer treatment’
Lebanese soldiers stand guard outside the Blom branch in Beirut, Lebanon, on Wednesday. Photograph: Wael Hamzeh/EPA
A woman accompanied by activists and brandishing what she said was a toy pistol broke into a Beirut bank branch and took $13,000 from her trapped savings.
One witness said the intruders doused the inside of the bank with petrol and threatened to set it alight during the incident, which was live-streamed on Facebook.
Sali Hafez told the local Al Jadeed TV station that she needed the money to pay for her sister’s cancer treatment. She said she had repeatedly visited the bank to ask for her money and was told she could receive only $200 a month in Lebanese pounds. Hafez said the toy pistol belonged to her nephew.
“I had begged the branch manager before for my money, and I told him my sister was dying, didn’t have much time left,” she said in the interview. “I reached a point where I had nothing else to lose.”
A woman holding what appeared to be a gun at a Blom Bank branch in Beirut, in this screengrab taken from Al-Jadeed footage on 14 September. Photograph: Al Jadeed/Reuters
Lebanon’s cash-strapped banks have imposed strict limits on withdrawals of foreign currency since 2019, tying up the savings of millions of people. About three-quarters of the population has slipped into poverty as the tiny Mediterranean country’s economy continues to spiral.
Hafez and activists from a group called Depositors’ Outcry entered the Blom branch and stormed into the manager’s office. They forced bank employees to hand over $12,000 and the equivalent of about $1,000 in Lebanese pounds.
Hafez said she had a total of $20,000 in savings in the bank. She said she had already sold many of her personal belongings and had considered selling her kidney to fund her 23-year-old sister’s cancer treatment.
Nadine Nakhal, a bank customer, said the intruders “doused gasoline everywhere inside, and took out a lighter and threatened to light it”. She said a woman with a pistol threatened to shoot the manager if she did not receive her money.
Hafez said in a live-streamed video she posted on her Facebook account that she did not intend to do harm. “I did not break into the bank to kill anyone or set the place on fire,” she said. “I am here to get my rights.”
Hafez was celebrated as a hero across social media in Lebanon, as many in the country struggle to make ends meet and retrieve their savings. She encouraged others to take similar action.
Some of the activists entered the bank with Hafez, while others staged a protest at the entrance. Hafez eventually left with cash in a plastic bag, witnesses said.
Security forces standing outside arrested several of the activists, including a man carrying what appeared to be a handgun. It was not immediately clear if this was also a toy gun.
Lebanon has scrambled for more than two years to implement key reforms in its decimated banking sector and economy. It has so far failed to reach an agreement with the International Monetary Fund on a recovery programme that would unlock billions of dollars in international loans and aid to make the country viable again.
In the meantime, millions of people are struggling to cope with rampant power outages and soaring inflation.
“We need to put a stop to everything that is happening to us in this country,” Nakhal said. “Everyone’s money is stuck in the banks, and in this case, it’s someone who is sick. We need to find a solution.”
Having related the above, all I can say is my worry is closer home. Does the Lebanon example hold lessons for India ? I think, Yes ! After 45 years of experience in the travel, tours and airline fields, when I found my bones were creaking a bit, and perhaps I should hang up my boots, I got defrauded of my life’s savings, and had to get back to work full time. I wondered what people like George Habash and Kamal Jumblatt, who were my inspiration in my college days, would have thought about how their country for which they shed blood, sweat and tears, turned out over a half century later.
The Beirut Barracks Memorial honors the 241 American service members who lost their lives in the October 23, 1983 bombing of a U.S. Marines Corps barracks in Beirut, Lebanon, during the Lebanese Civil War. Two truck bombs, detonated by suicide bombers, struck buildings that housed U.S. and French military members of a multinational peacekeeping force, killing a total of 299 service personnel (241 American, 58 French), along with six civilians and the two suicide bombers. It was the deadliest single-day attack against U.S. Marines since the battle over Iwo Jima in 1945.
Dedicated in 1984 on the first anniversary of the attack, the memorial is located beneath a cedar tree in Section 59 of the cemetery. Its inscription reads, “Let peace take root. This cedar of Lebanon tree grows in living memory of the Americans killed in the Beirut terrorist attack and all victims of terrorism throughout the world.”
Thereby hangs a tale !
Now, dear Reader, I reproduce verbatim my exchange of mails with Ms. Cheryl, a leading global educationist, based in London, and who usually serves in countries in Africa, and recently went to Beirut
Cheryl: I just received a message that I may need to go to Lebanon. Nothing is fixed yet.
Me: Would be great if you could do some Beirut booking with me. Haven’t done a Beirut ticket for more than 15 years
Cheryl: If I do go to Beirut, the cash situation is so bad that they cannot refund my ticket. I have been to Beirut last year and they sent the ticket and visa. In Beirut you need to have cash in hand to spend. Shops/restaurants/markets only take cash as bank cards don’t work. The Lebanese money has very little value. People prefer payment in USD
Me: Yes, I read about the situation in Lebanon, now getting it from the horse’s mouth (you). I guess we in India have to be grateful for small mercies
Cheryl: We in India have it miles better than the people in Lebanon. The average family in Lebanon survives because they have a family member who works abroad and sends them money in USD via Western Union, which gives them the USD in cash up to a certain limit. Ordinary people don’t ‘live’, they simply exist. There are NGOs who do food parcels and help with water etc The Lebanese are kind and generous people
I hope such noble sentiments echo in India. For the present, I am still high and dry
I started using “chauffeur driven” bike hires over the past few days, God knows these guys need to make a living too. Asked him why he wasn’t providing a helmet to the customer riding pillion, when he himself donned suitable headgear to protect his skull. His answer made my jaw drop, and an onlooker captured my pole-axed expression – people are apparently reluctant to wear a helmet that someone has used earlier.
I admit that it may going too far with the multi-million dollar sharing economy that Uber Ola AirBnb and their ilk have propelled, if one had to put on inner-wear and lingerie used by others previously, but helmets?
It took a percussionist like Brian Ganch, who came over from the US a year back, and got himself a custom-designed mridingam, while he stayed at my place, to apprise me of what went into its making, and that getting the tonality and rhythm is no mean feat ever. So when I saw the movie Sarvam Thaalam Maayam, released outside India as Madras Beats, this morning, that has the sound emanating from the mridangam as its epicentre, there’s no denying that a layman can garner knowledge from overseas, what may have become run-of-the-mill, closer to home.The movie had some great guest star-musicians, like Sikkil Gurucharan, Unnikrishnan, Srinivas and Karthik. Yet the honours are with Nedumudi Venu, whose role as Palakkad Vembu Iyer, an uncompromising doyen of the mridangam, I could jubilantly relate to as I could legitimately claim antecedents to the very same district, though for music from that particular instrument, I am less connoisseur and more aficionado.
There are slanted digs at Harvard, and tutorials over Skype, which the venerable Vembu Iyer frowns upon – nothing to beat direct interaction. Yet the hallmark is what is possible in the realm of music, with the cross-over between class and caste, and those less-privileged enabled to enter an esoteric field, that holds lessons for us; and there are nuanced embellishments with which the director gets his point through – the scene where our hero caresses his mridangam while sitting alone in his workshop, with an ecstatic, almost beatific smile, is far more erotic than that of the pre-marital fling that he has with his lady-love.
There have been films galore on this angle, right from Jhanak Jhanak Payal Baje in the 50s, to Shankara Bharanam and Sindhu Bhairavi, in the 80s, which has a Suhasini taking over the singing baton, from a supercilious Sivakumar, whose rendering of the kirtis has part of the audience yawning, and portly ladies gossiping in the auditorium, and as she sings to the hoi polloi, the audience is mesmerised, then breaks into applause.
AR Rahman has the cutting-edge in this movie; the title song which brings about a comprehensive cohesion and amalgam of music (fie to fusion) and dance elements across the country, in a bare five minutes, is both a visual and auditory treat, even as the protagonist hones his skills in the Trichur chenda melam, and gets to the denouement where he provides percussion to the classical singer Bombay Jayshree, before ringing curtains down.
And Brian, if you do get to read this, hope you will see the movie too, if you could take a break from the Sound of Music tour across your country – for an exponent of the mridangam, this is a must-watch – it’s right up your street.
PECULIAR TRAVEL SUGGESTIONS ARE DANCING LESSONS FROM GOD
CAT’S CRADLE by KURT VONNEGUT
When I was called upon to make hotel and sightseeing arrangements for a marriage group to Bali, for a large extended family coming in from various points across the world for the celebration in the Island of the Gods, I seized upon it as a God-sent opportunity to visit the place myself. To simply say that it was in my bucket-list ( I writhe at the word ) for years, begs the question. The man who brought Bali in focus for me, was an extraordinary, incredibly charming globe-trotting TV presenter, and combined with his wit, simply awed me, The episodes that were beamed across India were titled “No Reservations”, though there were other popular versions worldwide. In Rajasthan, as a guest in a palace, he wondered how to be suitably attired for a royal dinner, and later filmed himself assenting with his jaws agape to a prominent astrologer who advised him which Gods he should propitiate ” to be successful and satisfied in the bed ” ( the astrologer’s words, not Bourdain’s )
Even to vegetarians like myself, the manner in which he presented the culinary arts and forms as they exist in different climes and countries, was more than just attractive, it was captivating and riveting; one could almost sense the aroma wafting across from the screen of the TV set.
It’s one year on, to the day now – he will continue to endear himself as a consummate travel man to thousands, for ever. I
In his Bali sojourn, which place he made a trip more than once, he makes a unique statement, willy-nilly a question that he posed to himself and answered it too on screen: ” Why would anyone come here, and ever want to leave this place ? ” In one brief comment, he was capping Bali as the traveller’s ultimate destination. This trip was followed by a marriage and he got a baby daughter, and in an interview he opined that no destination could bring as much happiness and contentment as having a baby daughter of one’s own. If anyone could say “My cup runneth over “, Anthony Bourdain it was. Then the unthinkable happened, almost exactly a year ago to the day – the charming, witty man, who had everything going for him, who couldn’t possibly ask for anything more that the planet could give him, took his own life.
================================ More things are wrought by prayer in Bali than this world dreams of ( apologies to Tennyson ) – and Of Course, wrought by Yoga too !!! When it became apparent that I was actually going to get on that plane to Bali, it occurred to me that I should dig into the book Eat, Pray, Love, by Elizabeth Gilbert. I had scrupulously avoided this book, and movie too for that matter, after reading the reviews, particularly recounting about the men in it, as saccharine and syrupy. Quite possibly this book by itself generated more traffic into Bali than all other books and movies combined, since it first saw print in 2006. The book startled. The first man, her husband, whom she divorces before beginning her roller-coaster travel experiences, comes across as a bit of a monster, if anything. In the book, he even demands royalty from the book that she was publishing, in order to agree to the divorce. Long way indeed, from the time of Arthur Wellesley, who simply communicated to his paramour, “Publish and be damned”, or as some aver, “Write and be damned”. The way the Stars and Stripes country conducts domestic household crises too, is obviously different from how it pans out anyplace else on the planet.
But the food part is crucial enough to her travelogue; though her “Eat” narrative is in Italy, when she describes how a wrong intake of food could upset the digestive system, she has this to say, which had me sitting ramrod straight and erect, as she indiscriminately jabs the very city that I was born and grew up in, trod the back streets and alleyways of, splurged on oily pungent condiments with suspect ingredients, and am still alive to tell the tale:
“””” I’ve met travellers who are so physically sturdythey could drink a shoeboxofwater from aCalcutta gutterandnever get sick “”””
Elizabeth Gilbert in Eat, Pray, Love )
Even if inured by virtue of my birth in that City of Joy that Elizabeth Gilbert does not think particularly highly of, I took no chances with my own diet in my four days in Ubud, quite the pulsating heart of Bali, sticking to basic vegetarian food, and washing it down with the local brew Bintang. The chauffeur who took me around, mentioned that pork was one of the delicacies in Bali, which instantly reminded me of Elizabeth Gilbert’s own narration – after a year and a half of a certain degree of abstinence, she has an inebriating beverage, digs into generous portions of pork at an evening party, and the following night and day this translates into a wanton unbridled sexuality that, full credit to her, she does not hesitate to describe; an example of the correlation between what we consume and how we think and act, which all of us have experienced in some degree, or other. whether into any form of yoga practice or otherwise. Ubud fascinates; the Palace has extempore dances and music sessions, for students in training as well as performances by adepts, as do the precincts of various temples. Yoga sessions are practically de rigueur, in various, all positive, ramifications. International Yoga Day, June 21, is being heralded with fan-fare. Mr. Anthony Bourdain, my everlasting Pranams and Respect to you Sir ! Maybe, just maybe, you could have tried Yoga too.
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Louvre, Move Over ! OR Auguring an Asian Century ?
The Museum Puri Lukisan Ubud, could well give the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art in NYC a run for its money, not to speak of the Hermitage in St. Petersburg. And that writer who wrote on the Da Vinci code, Louvre and the Vitruvian Man, using italics unsparingly, even laughably, for enhanced suspense, would have simply collapsed at the aura of myth and mystery in this Museum. And Leonardo, whose 500th death anniversary we marked this May, would have appreciated.
One Jones from India 