The Case of the Untraceable Man

On Saturday, 7 November 2015, in Hereford, UK, an ambulance was called to pick up a man lying face down at the bus parking lot near Credenhill. A passerby had noticed the old man, probably in his seventies. He was conscious but dazed when delivered to the local hospital. The hospital conducted all required tests, and realized the man was afflicted with dementia. He couldn’t even tell his name. They looked in his pockets for an ID. Surprisingly, his pockets were absolutely empty. He had no wallet, no money, no ID, not even a train ticket. Someone must have robbed the poor man, thought the nurse.

British hospitals clearly can’t deal with patients with no names and no IDs. The nearest police, West Mercia police, were contacted. Sarah Bennett, the middle aged, smart lady Sergeant, took charge of the case. She visited the hospital to talk to the man. The old man looked calm. A white man, tall and slim, grey hair, blue eyes and grey stubble- she noted on the form. Probably was a handsome man in his youth, she thought.

‘What’s your name, Sir?’ she asked. He talked but what he said was not connected to Sarah’s question. What immediately caught Sarah’s attention was his speech. The man spoke with an American accent. They conversed for some time, if it could be called conversation.

Sergeant Sarah then made an inventory of his clothes. The old man wore the hospital clothes, but as per Sarah’s instructions over the phone, the staff had carefully kept all his clothes in a bag. Though his accent was American, the clothes were all English, very English. The man probably came from the USA as a young man, made UK his home, and had lost his way because of dementia. She followed the standard procedures. Photos and fingerprints were taken. Within two hours, they became part of the national database. Posters with his photo, and a big MISSING were plastered in a radius of ten miles from where he was found. Most missing people are traced within hours, no reason why this man should be an exception. However, when she left the hospital, Sarah was uneasy. She had a feeling something was odd, but couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

Four days passed without any response. Meanwhile, the nameless man was moved to a nursing home. Except for his dementia, he was fine. Smiling and talking, eating breakfast. Sarah visited him in the nursing home, and once again couldn’t get his name or nationality. But this time she grasped the oddity about his clothes. They were brand new. Not only his shirt, sweater, socks and shoes but also his underwear. She asked for the clothes bag again. She was right. None of the clothes had ever been washed; you could still see the ironing crease and smell their newness.

She remembered the Hound of the Baskervilles, and how Sherlock Holmes explained the significance of the return of the stolen new shoes of Sir Henry. That had to do with training the hound with an established smell. What was the significance here?

The West Mercia police became super-active. All CCTV recordings from the area were retrieved and scrutinized. The American embassy (and for good measure the Canadian embassy) was contacted. Generally you have the details and you look for a man. This was a novel manhunt. You had a man, and you needed to hunt his identity. Interpol was persuaded to upload his photo, his current whereabouts, and the American (or Canadian) accent.

Three months passed, and the case had not moved an inch forward. The media in the UK, USA and Canada had broadcast his videos, but nobody had come forward to claim him or to say who he was.

*****

Amanda Bow was the manager of the untraceable man’s nursing home. Among other things, she asked the old man his name three or four times a day. Sergeant Sarah met her at the clinic. Amanda said he was content but lost in his own world. He enjoyed chocolate muffins and the odd sherry at night. A gentleman he was, kind and sweet.

Name? I’m not sure, she said. Once he said ‘Roger Curry.’ But only once.  

‘Roger Curry?’ Asked Sarah.

‘Yes, but he has dementia. Who knows he could have been asking for curry, he has started eating well. We call him Roger, though. He is a blank canvas. But we love him, we have adopted him.’

Sarah went back and ordered the renewal of the campaign. This time the name “Roger Curry” was added to the databases. BBC took an active interest and started a facebook page to find out who Roger Curry was. It was a long shot. But Sarah knew that an American with dementia is unlikely to ask for curry as a food item. Curry, coming from the subcontinent, is more of a British expression.

*****  

In early November, 2015, on another continent, in a place called Whittier, close to LA; Kevin, 36, and his mother Mary Jo, 71, were packing their bags to leave for Europe.

“Mom, what’re you worried about? My plan is super, awesome.”

“I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do.’

‘Mom, listen, you’re in no great shape. But your brain works well, just as it worked 20-30 years ago. Dad is a goner. Look, he’s sitting there in the corner, we talk about him and he understands nothing. You know, his brain is dead, but he may live for another 25 years. Who’s going to spend on him? You? Not me for sure. You know how expensive this trip is? But I’m doing it, once and for all - I want to get rid of the old man. And I want no comebacks.’

Kevin’s father, Roger Curry, sat in the corner of the same room, could neither understand nor react to the talk between his wife and son.

*****

Kevin Curry and his two parents landed at Gatwick airport. If his father looked a bit weird, the immigration officer didn’t comment on it. Since the old man was travelling with his wife and son, he was safe.

Gatwick to Credenhill is about 160 miles. On the way, the rented car stopped at Swindon. Swindon has a massive hypermarket called TESCO extra. It has a large clothes section. Kevin bought clothes for his father, not expensive, but brand new. He removed all the price tags. In the large bathroom, he helped his dad change into the new clothes.

The old American man wearing new British clothes returned to the car. The car drove ahead to a bus parking lot. Kevin had stopped dad’s medicines for the past 48 hours. That way he would be unwell enough to be hospitalized. Though it took longer than expected, a passerby saw his father lying next to the bus stop and called for an ambulance. As they lifted him, Kevin, through his dark glasses, saw the man with dementia for the last time. The pockets of the new shirt and trousers were empty. No comebacks.

The same day, Kevin and his mother Mary Jo, proceeded by Eurostar to Belgium for a vacation, to celebrate the feeling of relief, to enjoy their newly found freedom.

*****

But Roger Curry, through his dementia, mentioned his name once. Debbie Cocker, a web research enthusiast found he could have been a student in Edmonds high school in 1958. BBC sponsored a trip of its investigative journalist Darragh Maclntyre who managed to meet Roger’s classmates. Roger Curry, before his dementia diagnosed ten years ago, had worked as a nurse. He had served in the air force during the Vietnam War. Maclntyre then traced Roger’s home in Whitter. He confronted Kevin who repeatedly avoided him.

Roger was sent back to Los Angeles on 14 July, 2016. He is now placed in the care of Kaiser Permanente, a care centre. At the end of the documentary shown this week, the BBC journalist regrets he found Roger’s roots. He was taken much better care of in the UK than in the USA. And probably more loved.

The papers filed in the court claim: “In late 2015 Mr Curry was taken surreptitiously to England by his wife Mary and his son Kevin Curry and abandoned there.”

*****

Post-script:  Ubasute is a Japanese custom where poor Japanese left their senile elders on the mountaintop. Japan is currently reviving this tradition. 27% of Japan’s population is elderly. Adult diapers far outsell baby diapers. Unlike in the past, you can now drop your elders at charity homes or give them for adoption. There is a service called the senior citizen postboxes, which transfers abandoned parents to a local retirement home.

Thalaikoothal is a traditional practice of getting rid of burdensome parents In India’s southern state of Tamilnadu. The old parent is given a ceremonial oil bath in the morning. He is then coaxed into drinking plenty of coconut water, so much that his kidneys fail. Alternatively, a cold water massage to the head can cause a heart failure. In milk therapy, cow’s milk is poured into the nose of the elderly until the nose stops breathing.

Ubasute or Thalaikoothal usually produce death in two or three days. The equivalent expression in America is “Granny dumping.” Because of the exorbitant cost of medical care in the USA, elderly people are sometimes abandoned at hospitals.

In all the Granny Dumping cases, the case of Roger Curry must hold a record for the distance travelled by a son to dump his unwanted father.

Ravi

PS 2: To see the characters from this story, you may want to watch the 28 minute documentary called The Mystery of the Unknown Man, presented by BBC Panorama on 30 January.

R.

Mass Personalisation

Dear Ravi,

Today, on 23^rd January, on behalf of Tesco India, I have great pleasure in wishing you a very happy birthday!  You have been one of our most valuable customers since 2010 when you shopped at Tesco, Parel for the first time. As a token of our appreciation, I am attaching a free coupon for three tickets at PVR for Raees, a film with your favorite star Shahrukh Khan. A free bottle of Chianti, the red wine that you so often buy, is also waiting for you. You can pick it up at any of our three shops; Parel, Kemp’s Corner or Church gate, by using your club card.

Our travel counter informs me that you have booked a trip to Hong Kong in March. I take this opportunity to wish you a wonderful vacation.

Please pass on my regards to Mena and Devyani.

Best Regards

John Smith

Customer relations, Tesco India

*****

This week, on 23 January, my birthday, the first few emails and messages I received were from CITIBANK, ICICI Lombard, Birla Insurance, Toyota, Amazon, Lufthansa Miles and More, Vodafone and for an unknown reason Asian paints. All of them addressed me as Dear Ravi or Dear Mr Ravi Abhyankar.

*****

In 1995, TESCO, the giant British retailer, launched a Club card Loyalty Scheme. Customers joined by providing their name, address, date of birth, email, family details, dietary requirements and product preferences. A customer’s shopping at Tesco was recorded via his/her Club card. Attractive discounts were given and promotions run for loyal customers. TESCO also did a clever thing. By using this detailed data, its computers began generating “personalized” letters. Each letter was carefully tailored taking into account the recipient’s preferences and shopping history. In 2004, TESCO sent an estimated 4 million variations, none of them identical to any other.

The letter at the beginning of this article is fictional. TESCO doesn’t yet exist in Mumbai. However, Tesco club card members in the UK get similar letters on their birthdays. John Smith who signs at the bottom of the letter as Customer relations manager, TESCO, has never in his life met the person to whom he writes the letter. For all we know, John Smith himself may be fictional.

*****

On the same day, I actually received dozens of messages that simply said ‘happy birthday.’ Short and crisp. Each message at the top told me the name of the sender- a human being I knew from some walk of my life.

Earlier, you needed to actually type this message. Type ‘happy birthday’ letter by letter, don’t forget the space between the two words. Facebook has now come up with a beautiful feature to make your life more comfortable. On 23^rd morning it tells you It’s Ravi Abhyankar’s birthday today, wish him well! When you see that, you simply press 1 on your Smartphone - that’s it. Ravi Abhyankar has instantly received your ‘happy birthday’ message. You have performed your duty without wasting time. The box is ticked with supreme efficiency. You’ve let Ravi know how valuable your friendship is. He now knows you remember his birthday, and have taken special efforts to wish him on this special day in his life. Simply press 1, and ensure a life-long friendship.

*****

In our Bombay flat, we got our first landline, the immobile phone, in 1980. Which meant I received birthday wishes during my first eighteen years exclusively face-to-face, with people hugging me or shaking my hand. It couldn’t be more personal.

After that, until 1996, I think, those of my friends and relatives who couldn’t meet and wish, did so over the phone. Our voice, like our fingerprints, is unique and a live phone call is a very personal interaction.

Not everyone could call. Phone calls were expensive then, and my friends were spread across the world. We sent handwritten birthday letters. You had to remember the person’s birthday, estimate the efficiency of your country’s postal service, calculate back, handwrite a nice letter and send it. The lazy ones sent a pre-printed greeting card and signed at the bottom. They still needed to remember the birthday on their own, write the address and take the trouble of posting it beforehand. Handwritten letters were a personal communication, the result of an action far more laborious than simply pressing 1.

*****

And now, in 2017, machines send personalized messages and humans send impersonal messages.

*****

The decline in personal communication started with automated answering machines, I think. Press this, press that, listen to Tchaikovsky music while you wait, and keep reminding yourself that the sweet voice at the other end is a taped voice, she is talking to you but she’s not actually there. Even today, in Bombay, I book my kitchen gas cylinders exclusively by talking to taped voices and instructions.

*****

Every time we interact with a gadget connected to the internet, we are telling the machine something about ourselves. The ads we see on our laptop are specific to us, a result of the websites we have browsed recently. Amazon and Netflix recommend to us books and films to suit our individual taste, based on the history we have created in collusion with them. The ads we see on the right hand side of our Gmail are a product of the contents of our personal emails, that are no longer as personal or private as we imagine. European Union will soon require all cars (eCall initiative) to be equipped with wireless transmitters ostensibly to track accidents. However, it also means a man can’t drive to his lover’s house without leaving a trace.

Your I-phone is a spy, a stalker that records almost everything in your life. And you pay a high price for something that can spy over you. It’s like Trump building a wall to stop Mexicans entering the USA and asking them to pay for it. In order to connect to people, we are getting connected more with machines; perhaps machines already influence our lives more than people. We can stay away from people, sometimes happily, but to be away from gadgets produces immediate withdrawal symptoms.

Ericsson, the leading maker of wireless network equipment, has forecast as many as 50 billion machines connected by 2020. This figures includes 10 billion cell phones and tablet computers. Contrast the 50 billion machines with the 8 billion population then. Most machines will talk to other machines and not to us. Your house windows will open or shut, your air-conditioners or heaters will go on or off automatically, by some censor measuring temperature and humidity telling them to do so.

Robotic chatter is already a major problem for mobile networks. They were initially set for human communication, not for machines. My friends in the age group 18-40 prefer to send a text rather than talk. Though induced by a human, texting is also a communication between two machines. Mobile networks are planning a whole revamp of the system to recognize that machines will talk far more than humans. Telefonica, Deutsche Telekom, Vodafone and France Telecom have established separate business entities to develop products catering to machines.

*****

I don’t understand why a facebook birthday greeting app requires the user to press 1. It should automatically send ‘happy birthday’ to the friend without human interference, just like the Tesco letters. The recipient could also install an app that automatically thanks the sender.

In future, the machine-to-machine talk will ensure that birthdays are remembered, birthday wishes are sent, acknowledged and thanked for, without either the sender or the receiver knowing about it.

George Orwell’s Animal Farm ends with these words: Twelve voices were shouting in anger, and they were all alike. No question, now, what had happened to the faces of the pigs. The creatures outside looked from pig to man, from man to pig, and from pig to man again, but already it was impossible to say which was which.

I am afraid in the not so distant future, you can look from man to machine, and machine to man, and it may be impossible to tell which is which.

Ravi

Accidental Brains

In my Trump diary last week, I talked briefly about savants and wondered if Trump was a savant of some sort. While researching the subject of the Savant syndrome, I came across several interesting stories. Savants can be of two types, natural and acquired. Acquired savants are those who are normal, ordinary people who suffer some sort of a major injury (usually to the head), and their lives change thereafter - they cease to be ordinary. How? You will find out in the following five stories.

*****

Dr Anthony Cicoria was a practicing orthopedic surgeon in New York. In 1994, a 42 year old then, Tony was talking inside a payphone booth. The weather was awful, a storm raged outside. Just as he was leaving, a nasty bolt of lightning struck and flattened him. His heart stopped breathing. Luckily for him, the woman behind him in the payphone queue was a trained nurse. She resuscitated him, saving his life. Tony suffered burns to his face and left foot, the entry and exit points for the lightning bolt. He later recalled seeing his own body on the ground surrounded by a bluish-white light. In a few weeks he recovered, all his reports normal.

Everything seemed normal, but he was seized with an unstoppable craving to listen to classical piano music. Having never played before, he bought music sheets, a piano and began teaching himself. Instead of playing Chopin and Bach, his head was suddenly filled with music that he would describe as “coming from the other side.” Within three months of his electrocution, he began spending all his time in composing and playing music.

In 2007, he presented his compositions to the world. A year later, he debuted with his public performance on the piano, recorded live by BBC and German television.

(You can listen to one of Dr Cicoria’s albums here and you can watch him play on piano here).

*****

Orlando Sarrell: On 17 August 1979, the African American Orlando from Virginia was a 10 year old boy. In academics and indeed in all walks of life he was an ordinary boy. That day, a baseball hit him on the head. The ball used in baseball is almost 150 gms, and it can be lethal at the speed at which it travels. Orlando fell to the ground, was unconscious but fortunately recovered and got up himself. His head hurt for many days. Eventually the headache disappeared. But Orlando noticed he had developed a new calendar ability. He could tell instantly the day of the week for any date from any year.

Now this is an ability some of us may have witnessed in autistic people. One man in my neighbourhood, who is socially inept, amazes us with this uncanny ability. Without being autistic, or knocked down by a baseball, I can also perform this calculation mentally. (In my Open Diary week 47 (2007), I explained how anyone can do it. But that is calculation. To see it instantly requires something special).

But that is not all. Starting from that day when the baseball hit him, he can unerringly recall what he ate every day, what the weather was like on any given day, and what he wore on each day of the past 37 years. He has been repeatedly tested by scientists, and has not failed once.

(You can watch in this 4-minute clip his incredible autobiographical memory)

*****

Alonzo Clemens: as a three year old suffered a bad fall. So bad, now in his late fifties, his IQ is around 40, he is unable to read or write, or tie his shoelaces. Alonzo is technically a disabled person. However, he is the world’s best animal sculptor.

He needs to look at an animal for a few seconds, and with clay in his hand, he makes an exact replica within thirty minutes. He can take a fleeting look at an animal on television, and sculpts a three dimensional masterpiece based on that image. He uses only his memory while sculpting, no photos. And he has created a horse sculpture in the horse’s real life size.

The film Rainman (Dustin Hoffman) brought to the world’s attention autism and the savant syndrome. That film benefited Alonzo. He has sold one sculpture for 45,000 US Dollars.

(You can watch Alonzo making the sculptures in the 90 second clip and see and order his sculptures here)

*****

Jason Padgett: graduated from school only because he had friends who did his assignments. He had no interest in academics whatsoever. In 2002, after singing with friends at a karaoke bar in Tacoma, Wisconsin, he was attacked by two thugs. He tried to fight them, but they hit him hard on the back of his head.

When Jason woke up in the hospital, the world looked different. Literally. He could see everything in geometric shapes. Frame by frame. It was like zooming in a picture so much that you see the individual pixels. He was both fascinated and frightened.

Over the next three years, he developed several phobias, never went out of the house, but suddenly fell hugely in love with math and expressing math through geometrical shapes. Instead of saying 8x8x8=512, he would draw a beautiful cube with 8x8 on each side, making the shape with 512 tiny cubes.

When he finally got over his stress, he enrolled for a math degree. He saw math equations as geometrical shapes. People found that he had a unique faculty to hand-draw those shapes. Jason uses only a pencil and a ruler. Most of his fellow students said they would have loved math as a subject if they could see it expressed in such lovely shapes.

“I see shapes and angles everywhere in real life – from the geometry of rainbow, to the fractals in water spiraling down a drain. It’s just really beautiful.” He said in an interview to Live Science.

Today, Jason is the only person in the world who can hand-draw fractals. As to what fractals are you can see here.

And you may want to watch his 13 minute TedTalk called ‘How math saved my life’.

*****

Daniel Tammet: is an Englishman, 37 years old now. As a child, he suffered epileptic fits. Unlike the four examples before, Daniel is autistic; he can’t drive a car, change a bulb or distinguish right from left.

He is, however, obsessed with counting. He has accurately recalled ‘pi’ to 22,514 places. He can multiply numbers and find cubic roots faster than a calculator. Since his epileptic seizures, he sees numbers as shapes, colours and textures. He considers 289 as very ugly, while 333 as very attractive. For him 117 is a handsome number, tall and lanky. ‘When I multiply numbers together, I see two shapes. The two shapes merge, and a third shape emerges. That’s the answer. It’s a mental imagery. It’s math without having to think.’

Daniel is important for science because unlike most savants, he is able to describe what is in his head. He knows ten languages. He took part in an experiment where he learnt conversational Icelandic in seven days (Icelandic is a type of language that most people would struggle to speak in after months of study). At the end of the seven days, he was interviewed on Icelandic television – in Icelandic language. This outstanding feat can be watched  in the clip titled ‘Brainman’.

*****

After reading the stories, the first thought that occurs perhaps to each of us is that our brain is full of superhuman abilities; we just don’t know how to tap them. It may be tempting for some to bang their heads against the wall to become a maths genius or a symphony composer. It would be a risk, we don’t know exactly which point to bang our heads at.

I wonder if yoga practitioners have tried to access those abilities through meditation or self mortification. Does enlightenment have anything do with this awakening of an ability through some blow? Did the Buddha experience some sort of a shock while meditating?

Prof. Allan Snyder from the Centre of the Mind at a Canberra university says: “Savants have usually had some kind of brain damage. Whether it’s an onset of dementia later in life, a blow to the head or, in the case of Daniel, an epileptic fit. And it’s that brain damage that creates a savant. I think that it’s possible for a perfectly normal person to have access to these abilities.”

I am sure one day science will find the ways to access these abilities, ways easier than getting electrocuted or knocked down by a baseball or thugs.

Ravi 

The Good Side of Donald Trump

Brash, arrogant, selfish, self-centred, boorish, loutish, cruel, unreasonable, difficult, impossible, inconsiderate, ungrateful, petty, petulant, sulking, crass, insensitive, irrational, contentious, argumentative, aggravating, insulting, crazy, wicked and mad. – Paul Collar

Donald Trump, in the past twelve months, has been labelled a sexual predator, evil, fascist, bully, pervert, demagogue, shameless liar, racist pig, misogynist. And yet next week the man will occupy the mightiest political position on this planet. With record 17 candidates in the Republican primaries, Trump’s mathematical chance of becoming a president was less than 3%. And yet he beat his opponents, overcame the global media assault, survived leaked tapes and proved poll numbers wrong. Can anyone grab the world’s top job without having some positive qualities? What can we learn from Donald Trump?

Independent: Trump is faithless as far as political affiliation goes. As recently as between 2001-2008, he was a Democrat. In essence, he is an Independent who won on a Republican ticket.

The modern world (particularly social media) suffers from the halo effect (if I like someone, I like everything that person says or does) and the Devil effect, which is the reverse. Each of us is expected to join a camp, take a stance and bash the opposite camp. In political terms, such biases rob our independence. For example, in the USA, a Republican candidate is expected not only to reduce taxes but also to support guns, and oppose gay marriage and abortion. The conservative camp has defined this manifesto, and if you wish to belong to that camp, you must tick the entire checklist.

Trump is an exception. He has no party and no position. In future, if he wants, he could reduce taxes and support abortion at the same time.

This independence is worth emulating if we wish to be objective analysts, to get rid of our halo effect, to not belong to any camp but judge actions on individual merit. Right actions of people we hate can also be right.

The finisher: During a TV interview (after Trump had won the Republican nomination), the anchor asked: ‘Mr Trump, by becoming the candidate for the presidential election, you have already achieved so much. Whether you win the final election or not, you can always look back with pride at your incredible performance.’

Trump looked at her with disdain.

‘No, no.’ he yelled. ‘If I don’t become the president, all this has no meaning. It’s a complete waste, a ZERO achievement.’

His was a strong and sincere feeling. If you ask a woman, who has delivered a stillborn baby, her experience of pregnancy, she will be equally annoyed. The aim of the nine-month pregnancy is to deliver a healthy, bouncy baby. A pregnancy that has produced a dead baby is utterly meaningless.

Whatever is not a 100% success is a 100% failure. Trump is a fanatically success-driven guy. Obama said “we can”, Trump says ‘I will”. Trump’s extraordinary desire to win and his binary focus can be important in our lives.

Over the last couple of years, I started and abandoned three unfinished books, including one novel. Should I be proud of this? Did the process of writing matter as much as the result? Of course not. Inspired by Trump, I have decided not to leave any book unfinished in future. Self-doubt and a high sense of standard made me discard those projects. Trump has shown that with supreme willpower and single-minded focus on results, anything is possible. If Trump can win the US presidential election, surely my books can see the light of day.

No mask, no pretence: Not only the US presidents, each of us wears a civil mask. Gossip is proof that we say one thing in a person’s absence and quite another when he is around.

One of my friends, let me call her Jennifer, has faced a dilemma for quite some time. On her Facebook wall, her old-time friend Maggie quite vehemently supports Brexit, annexation of Crimea, is anti-gay, says climate change is a hoax, and believes 9/11 was a conspiracy theory and loves both Farage and Putin. Jennifer can’t let Maggie have the last word, so their FB correspondence is long, bitter and a source of entertainment for the rest of the FB crowd. Over the years, Jennifer has felt increasingly uncomfortable; she knew little of Maggie’s fascist leanings in their youth. Whenever we talk, Jennifer complains about how intolerable Maggie has become. But she can’t unfriend or block Maggie on Facebook. Because that may hurt Maggie’s feelings.

Or take an example from my own life. Occasionally, on Sundays, I come across S.K. (30 years old) who is also a runner like me. Depending on the latest running book he is reading, he may be in running shoes, Vibram, or sandals. Sometimes even barefoot. Whenever we meet, he comments on my running posture, my stretching, frequency (five times a week is too much, you are burning yourself), and speed (without interval training, your timing won’t improve).

He finishes every marathon race at least twenty five minutes later than I do. 

When he is giving me the unsolicited advice, my mind is saying: ‘S.K., what an idiot you are! A theoretical idiot. I ran the first time, when you were not even born. You are injury prone with all your experiments. How dare you criticize me, when you take a half hour longer?’

However, while I mentally say all this, I am politely smiling and pretending to absorb all the tips S.K. is giving me. This is my mask, because of my upbringing, because I am decent, and I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

Both Jennifer and I need to learn from Trump. Trump says what he thinks at that moment. He can call anyone nasty with millions watching him. He can antagonize, cut off anybody from his life. When a conscientious person cares about the feelings of some idiots, he is often hurting himself in the process. Jennifer should remove Maggie from her FB friends, and I should tell S.K. to go to hell with his advice. Now with social media and smart phones, you can’t easily avoid unwanted people. The remedy is to follow Trump and tell them in their face what you think of them.

  

Idiot Savant: A person who is in general mentally defective but displays unusual aptitude or brilliance in some special field. (Webster dictionary) 

And now a word about why Trump behaves the way he does, and why you and I may not be able to follow his behavior, even when inspired.

It’s time for me to apologise for the deception carried out at the start of this article. Paul Collar, more than forty years ago, was talking about Bobby Fischer, and not Donald Trump. I had used this quote in my Fischer obituary. (Open diary week 5: 2008)

The point is how surprisingly similar Fischer and Trump are in many respects. Both of them were born in the 1940s, of German ancestry and surnames, and grew up in adjoining NY boroughs (Fischer in Brooklyn, Trump in Queens). Both undoubtedly suffer from Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) characterized by excessive and vocal self-love and little or no feelings for others.

I have studied Bobby Fischer’s life far more than Trump’s. Fischer certainly qualified as an Idiot Savant, a genius in chess and completely socially inept. Those who considered themselves close to Fischer were finally sick of his paranoia and insults, and left him. Fischer, like Trump, said whatever was on his mind.

If these parallels are correct, I am convinced Trump is not a fascist, evil or a liar as is generally imagined. Doesn’t mean he is good-natured or cultured. He, like Fischer, is born with defective wiring in the brain. Trump may be absolutely sincere about whatever he says at that particular time. No shrewd or premeditated political strategy or psychological warfare is behind it. His actions perceived as cunning, or hypocritical may not be deliberate.

Fischer knew he would become the world champion one day, and Trump knew he would become the USA president one day. Both stupendous achievements of mentally defective personalities. They were lucky to be born with the nerve of self-doubt missing.

Trump is not a loner like Fischer, his is a colourful personality, he has a large family. Fischer retired at 30, and Trump is assuming office at 70. Trump calls himself a master dealmaker and Fischer initially got whatever he wanted by his willingness to self-destruct. Fischer never played any serious chess after winning the World crown, and went into oblivion. As a World champion, his narcissism and paranoia grew further, his demands became excessively unreasonable. His admirers were fed up. The title he could have kept for two decades was lost with no further play.

Donald Trump is in a far worse position. He needs to handle not pieces on the board, but real people and countries. Would President Trump also become more narcissistic, and disappear before finishing his term?

While it will be hugely entertaining to see Trump in power for four years, my prediction is a new US president will take charge much before the 2020 election. The Trump Reality Show cannot last for four years.

Ravi 

Narendra Modi: the fallen hero

I was an unwavering Narendra Modi fan – until 4 September 2016.

Unlike most Indian PMs before him, Modi is a self-made man, going all the way from serving tea on railway stations to sharing tea with Obama in the White house; unmarried, devoted to work; personally non-corrupt, his old mother still lives in a one-room flat; a top class orator with a decent dress sense; possesses a superhuman stamina, jetlag immune and can speak in stadiums without eating anything; has a lengthy experience of managing a major Indian state; is mentally tough and must be lucky to have low oil prices since the start of his tenure.

What changed on 4 September 2016? Modi’s government bid good bye to Raghuram Rajan, the governor of the Reserve Bank of India. There is a misconception that Rajan needed to be replaced as his term had ended.

First of all, there is no prescribed limit anywhere on how long a central bank chief may serve. Alan Greenspan, the name familiar to people my age, was appointed by Reagan in 1987 as the Chairman of the Federal Reserve (RBI Governor’s USA equivalent), and occupied that position for almost twenty years, under Red and Blue presidents. If you have an exceptional guy as a central banker, you keep him for as long as you can.

Secondly, four governors before Rajan- C. Rangranjan (1992-1997), Bimal Jalan (1997-2003), Y.V.Reddy (2003-2008) and D. Subbarao (2008-2013) had all enjoyed five year terms. Why did Rajan not get at least five years?

Raghuram Rajan, in my view, was one of the best RBI governors, competent, articulate, and professional. His most important quality was his independence. PhDs from US Universities can be found by the hundreds, but his independence mattered the most. He worked without fear or favour. To disagree with the boss, to say NO to the boss is a qualification rarer than a PhD. A fair boss retains such people around. Narendra Modi didn’t.

The demonetization that followed two months later was possibly connected to this event. Making 86% of the legal tender illegal in a matter of hours was something Rajan would have never allowed to happen.

When an economist refused to play politics, a politician decided to play economics.

*****

One fundamental principle of justice was violated in the demonetization plan. We are familiar with the famous saying by Sir William Blackstone, an English judge: "It is better that ten guilty persons escape than that one innocent suffer". This principle known as the Blackstone ratio remains the backbone of criminal justice.

The numbers of black money hoarders, counterfeiters was minuscule in percentage terms. The new Modi ratio said: Let 99% of the population suffer, but I’ll attack the 1% with black money.  Suffering is not measured by deaths alone; it’s about sweating in queues, losing your daily wages, inability to buy seeds before a planting season, non-moveable trucks, reduced consumption, empty shopping malls, cancelled weddings and dysfunctional ATMs. The galloping Indian GDP was made to trot by a single action.

If cashless economy was a goal as was projected subsequently, notes could have been withdrawn with a much longer notice - six months or a year. The sudden note ban is classified as shock therapy in economics. Bolivia in 1985 and Poland in 1989 used it to smother hyperinflation. Both in psychiatry and economics, shock therapy is applied in extreme circumstances: when the patient is not responding to medicines or other treatment.

By his action, Narendra Modi announced to the world that India, the country he was governing, was ill enough to warrant shock therapy. He was like a father with no knowledge of medicine, applying electric shocks to treat the illness of his own child.

Even ill-conceived plans can sometimes be well executed. However, the following weeks showed that planning was haphazard. The RBI and government issuing daily circulars were in a crisis management mode. In case of earthquakes, hurricanes or floods, daily corrective actions are necessary. These are unforeseen natural crises. However, when a daily corrective action and a weekly changing narrative are needed for an action you yourself have initiated, it is evidence of a manufactured crisis. If you didn’t have enough time to plan why did you not postpone the plan? Using 1.3 billion Indians as guinea pigs in a financial experiment was reckless, even dangerous. If a single man, not educated in economics, could impose the decision without any checks or balances, that is immensely worrying.

The figures available till date show the concept was a failure, the inconvenience and suffering continue beyond the promised fifty days, economic growth is likely to be affected. As if this was not enough, Modi’s luck is running out as well. The oil prices are going up.

The Indian tax net is small (agriculture is excluded, income and gains from selling your agricultural land is tax-free). That net needs to be widened instead of dreaming of a cashless India to improve tax revenues. A country that has 17% smart phones, 34% access to (slow) internet, 78% access to (frequently interrupted) electric power, and 67% of population that has not passed the 5^th grade, why and how would you convert it into a cashless society?

In chess, any piece pushed forward can be brought back. However, a pawn that is pushed ahead can never go back. Pawn moves, being irreversible, are the most committing moves. Because of the irreversibility, a flawed pawn move can cost the player a game. Modi has committed two irreversible moves: removal of Rajan and demonetization. They could cost him the game.

Ravi

Week 32 (2010) Moscow: Apocalypse now

On Saturday, 7 August, my Emirates flight from Dubai landed in Moscow. Emirates is one of the coziest airlines. It uses advance gadgets to make flying an experience. The seats can massage the back or bottom of the passenger. I was well fed, well rested, and watching a Hindi cult film – Sholay – on my screen when I felt this stench in my nostrils. My aunt is a pathologist. Many years ago, I had gone with her to a hospital morgue. This smell was that smell. I looked around. To see if the Emirates staff would do anything – like spraying scents. The American airhostesses didn’t move at all.

The plane had landed. It was three o’clock in the afternoon. But it was evening outside.

“It was instrument landing.” One airhostess said to another.

I overheard it and asked her what instrument landing was. Since we had landed, I wasn’t afraid to ask.

“Automatic landing.” She replied. “When the pilot can’t see anything, he relies on the dashboard alone to land.”

We came out of the plane to go to the immigration check area. It was like entering a sauna – but a sauna with a burning smell. All immigration officers had worn masks. I took long breaths, sometimes opening my mouth. I took my handkerchief and tied it around my face.

I wondered if I should take the next flight and go back. This could not be Moscow.

***

I reached the hotel, and then went for a walk to Kremlin. It was nearly forty degrees. Cars had put on all possible lights. The stench was overpowering. My body felt a mild sensation of burning. You touch a hot kettle by mistake, and the sensation lingers for some time. It was that way all over the body. The red square was smoggy. Just like everything else.

It looked like a post-war city. Deserted, full of smoke, gloomy.

***

On Sunday evening, I had booked tickets to see “Swan Lake”- next to the Bolshoi. I wanted the delegation I am with to see the best of Russian ballet. Each ticket had cost us 60 US Dollars. The delegation had asked my advice about the protocol. What dress should they wear to the ballet? I said normally you wear suits to the Bolshoi, but considering the heat, it should be all right to wear simple smart casuals. T-shirts and jeans wouldn’t look good at a ballet.

The Indian delegates were in Russia for the first time. They opted to wear dark suits. I had taken off my sandals to wear socks and shoes. We entered the hall, where a wave of hot wind greeted us.

‘When will you start the air-conditioner?” I asked the usher.

“Air-conditioner? We never had it here.” She said.

For the next two hours, every spectator was busy fanning himself/herself with pamplates, newspapers. I used the tickets. I had removed the socks and shoes. The Indian gentlemen had taken off their jackets and ties. The shirts were damp. Our hands, continuously moving the emergency fans were as tired as the ballerina’s legs. The doors were kept open. Viewers who felt breathing difficulties or dry lips left the halls to go to the washrooms.

I don’t know if it was the weather. Swan Lake is a tragedy. It includes a famous number called ‘the dying swan.’ The beautiful girl who becomes woman during the day and swan in the night succumbs to the evil designs of the sorcerer. The prince can’t marry her.

What did we have here today? They changed the Swan Lake ending. The sorcerer died, and the prince and the swan married in the end. (Are you allowed to change the ending of Romeo and Juliet or Macbeth or Hamlet, simply because the copyright has expired?). Swan Lake with a happy ending. Maybe that was necessary for the dying spectators.

***