A bit about bitcoin

If you were fortunate (or freak of some sort) to have invested 1000 dollars in “bitcoins” six years ago, the value of that investment would have become 4 million dollars today. Why go so back; investing 1000 dollars in “bitcoins” a year ago, in December 2016, would have fetched 20,000 dollars now. What else can multiply your wealth twenty times in a year?

Many of my friends have discussed with me the bitcoin phenomenon. Some of them are PhDs. The conversations are usually short, ending with something like, “I don’t understand it at all. Is it a new currency of some kind? Where can I buy it?” Since nobody I know knows even as much as I think I know, I will venture to use my limited knowledge about economics and superficial research to share with you my understanding of the bitcoin phenomenon.

What is a bitcoin?

It’s a currency, but unlike the currencies in your pockets, it is virtual. Interestingly, no government or regulator introduced or controls it. Apparently, bitcoin was the innovation of one Satoshi Nakamoto. The name sounds Japanese. However, no such person has ever been found in Japan or anywhere else. We can be certain of the existence of Jesus Christ, possibly of lord Krishna, but Satoshi Nakamoto has remained enigmatically missing since bitcoin’s launch in 2009. To pay him tribute, the fractional denomination has been named Satoshi. (Dollar-cent/ pound-penny/ bitcoin-satoshi, except 100 million Satoshi make a single bitcoin). People have wondered if Nakamoto was a group of software engineers rather than a single person.

Do banknotes or coins exist for this currency? Banknotes don’t, coins may. However, the coin itself has no meaning or value. The currency is virtual. You can create, acquire or sell it without having anything to do with physical coins.

Can anything be a currency?

For centuries, perhaps millenniums, world ran its business through barter. A carpenter built a shed for a farmer. The farmer in exchange supplied the carpenter with potatoes. A need was felt for a medium of exchange that would make such transactions convenient. Initially gold was used. When rulers launched money as we know it, it had to be backed by enough gold in the government treasury. This was the Gold Standard. In theory, you could take your cash to the government treasury, which was obliged to give you equivalent gold. Over the years, the gold standard was abandoned. As we know, money supply got further expanded with plastic cards. One may get his salary in the bank account and pay online or with credit card. Transactions can and increasingly do happen without involvement of any physical money. Governments, through their monetary policy, still need to monitor the total supply of money. Very loosely speaking, if the total supply of a particular currency is doubled without any change in the number of goods that money can buy, the prices of those goods will double as a result of the money supply. Printing of money usually fuels inflation, and done in excess can result in hyperinflation like in Germany (1923) where you carried money in bags to buy something that fit in your pocket.

It is, therefore, very important for any currency, however created to have at least four elements. (A) Hard to earn (b) limited in supply (c) easy to verify and (d) trust and acceptance. We will now see how this applies to ‘bitcoin’.

Mining of bitcoins   

Bitcoins, like gold, need to be mined. But gold is a natural commodity; the deposits of gold exist in places like South Africa, China and Russia. Through a laborious physical process, involving miners wearing helmets and risking lives, gold needs to be extracted and refined.

Mining of bitcoins is a computer, software process. In theory, you or I can mine bitcoins. In practice, perhaps only those with a PhD in computer science, cryptology and game theory can mine them.

The mining process is like solving a giant mathematical puzzle. Imagine you are a hacker. You need to crack somebody’s birthday and a four digit numeral (pin) to access his account. You have no idea how old the person is, but feel he was born between 1965 and 1974. Let’s also assume you are allowed any number of attempts online. (If you insert a wrong pin number three times, some ATMs swallow your cards. Not a case here). You need to start with 1 Jan 1965 and go till 31 Dec 1974, each day combined with 9999 numbers. In effect you will need to try 3652 days x 9999= 36,516,348 times. To perform this manually at the rate of one try every minute, you will take 300 years.

bitcoin mining farm 

Mining a bitcoin is as difficult as this. It requires huge computer power, and astonishingly high power consumption.  The global bitcoin mining activity is estimated to consume 3.4 gigawatts, about the same that the whole of Bulgaria consumes in the same period. To lower the costs, mining is set in places like Iceland with its cheap geothermal energy. In China the miners use hydroelectric power. To save on time, mining pools are formed. They share the reward when anyone from the pool succeeds in mining a bitcoin.

In short, I’m certainly not volunteering to become a bitcoin miner.

Limited in Supply

A successful miner is rewarded with 12.5 bitcoins per block (I will explain what a blockchain means later). In 2020, the reward will be halved to 6.25 bitcoins per block, and every succeeding four years it will keep halving. By 2140, when neither I nor any reader of this article will be around, the bitcoin supply will stop at 21 million bitcoins. That is the limit set by whoever has created this game. After that, the miners will be rewarded only by way of transaction fees (similar to how your bank charges you for  transactions), and not bitcoins.

Easy to verify: Blockchain

Since no government or regulatory body controls the mining or the transactions, how can we trust the bitcoin manufacture and trading? The mechanism is complex but transparent and fairly secure. The bitcoin software takes care of this.

The “blockchain” is a public ledger (of course, not physical but virtual) that records all bitcoin transactions. If X pays Y with bitcoins, the transaction is broadcast with its history not only to X and Y, but to all the bitcoin owners in the world.

In our normal world, when X pays Y through a bank transfer, the bank statements of X’s bank and Y’s bank will reflect that transaction. However, those statements will be available only to X and Y. With bitcoins, it is as if those bank statements are available to everyone in the world. Through this public ledger, blockchain, you can trace the history of each bitcoin and every transaction. Every ten minutes, the system stamps the page with a special serial number (hash) and glues it permanently into the ledger book. With the bitcoin price skyrocketing, there is huge competition to get into that ledger. It’s like thousands of volunteer software geeks (miners) putting their names into a hat, and every ten minutes a single name is drawn out from it.

Private key

Each bitcoin or its fraction has a complex but unique private key. A bit like a password. All transactions happen anonymously. This private key is the only way to preserve your bitcoin wealth. If you lose the key, the money is gone; there is absolutely no way to recover it. In the early days, when people were casual about bitcoins, some owners have left the private key written on slips, misplaced those slips, and have potentially lost millions. Someone can also hack into your key and steal your money, but this is not as easy as with conventional accounts and credit cards.

Private Key is similar to the Swiss bank account keys. In the past, I believe the notorious Swiss banks let the clients hold money with them anonymously. Anybody with the key to the locker could withdraw its contents.

Who accepts bitcoins?

Of course, not everybody. Paypal, Microsoft, Dell and Newegg accept bitcoins for payments in certain countries. Reportedly, some hotels and airline tickets can also be booked. Last month, PWC, the big accountancy firm began accepting bitcoin for advisory services in Hong Kong. (Inspired, I hereby announce I’m willing to work as an advisor for anybody for bitcoins as well).

As can be expected, bitcoins are popular with drug dealers, smugglers and other tax evaders.

Globally, an estimated 800 bitcoin ATMs can allow you to buy bitcoins, most of the ATMs are located in the USA.

This month, apart from stock market trading, futures trading is allowed for bitcoins.

Trading in bitcoins as opposed to mining

I have established above that people without PhDs in computer science are unlikely to succeed in mining bitcoins. If you notice, most critics including Warren Buffet who call bitcoins a fraud are old. They are too old to understand the structure and complexity of the bitcoin game.

Now, middlemen like Coinbase have appeared. Without being a miner, you can buy and sell a bitcoin or a fraction of it using your smartphone. (Since 1 bitcoin was nearly 18000 dollars at the beginning of this week, most buyers are thinking of buying fractions).

You need to ask yourself a question. If you buy a bitcoin, who is getting the money that you pay? It’s not going to any government. The money goes to the bitcoin miner, the anonymous maker of the bitcoin, and the middleman who connects you with him.

Commodity or currency?

Finally, is bitcoin a currency or a commodity? It’s a money-like global commodity. However, as a commodity it has no intrinsic value, you can’t wear a bitcoin necklace or eat from a bitcoin plate. In that sense, it’s clearly an absolutely useless commodity. Because it has no intrinsic value, and is not tangible, its bubble not only can but ought to burst. If you want to buy it as a commodity, I have a one word advice. DON’T!

If bitcoin was merely a currency and not a commodity, its life expectancy would have been longer. With a stable value, people wishing to conduct transactions anonymously would love to use it. Bitcoin as a commodity may destroy bitcoin as a currency. With the price volatility, its acceptance as currency is in danger. More than that, the volatility and gullible masses joining this new Ponzi scheme will make governments the world over regulate or ban it sooner or later.

Virtual coins, when they become extinct, are worthless as antiques.

Ravi

The Case of the Disfigured Husband

On 28 November, A. L. Narayana, a senior police officer from Nagarkurnool, was the first person to speak to the petrified wife over the phone. Her name was Swathi Reddy. Her speech was incoherent. Four assailants unknown to the family had attacked her husband, thrown acid and petrol on his face, set fire to it and fled. Swathi was trying to get her husband to the hospital. Her neighbours had advised her to report the assault to the police.

“You don’t need to come to the police station. I’ll see you at the hospital.” Said Mr Narayana. A young woman whose husband was disfigured in an assault should be given all possible help, the police officer thought, getting into his jeep.

He met Swathi Reddy at Hyderabad’s well-known Apollo hospital. She stood shaken and crying next to her husband, Sudhakar Reddy. Mr Reddy lay on the hospital bed bare-chested, wearing just a pair of jeans. His ash-coloured face had patches that showed how unevenly the face had burnt. Burn marks were also visible on his neck, shoulders and chest. An oxygen mask was attached to his face. His eyes were shut. A bad job this, thought Narayana. God knows if the victim would ever recover his original face. 

Narayana started filling out the required details himself. He could do that much for the ill-fated woman. Swathi Reddy was 27. She was a trained nurse and worked in a clinic. Her husband was 32. He had a stone crushing business. They were married for seven years, and had two children.

‘Where were the children at the time of the attack?’ Narayana asked.

Fortunately, they were with their grandmother. Swathi had dropped them off at her mother’s house only the previous day.

The police officer wrote out descriptions of the four strangers who had poured acid and petrol over Mr Reddy’s face. Swathi was screaming at the top of her voice, so the culprits had run away. Another few minutes and they would have succeeded in killing Mr Reddy.

Nothing was stolen. Swathi Reddy could not say if her husband had any enemies. She certainly didn’t know. Her husband’s business was a small scale enterprise. They owned a car, but other than that it was a middle class family. It was unlikely the assault was related to Mr Reddy’s financial affairs.

Apollo hospital was expensive. Mr Reddy’s brother stood in the corner of the room. He had somehow managed to cough up Rs 350,000. Far more would be needed until Sudhakar could get his face repaired and go back home.

‘Will you please talk to the plastic surgeon?’ Swathi said to Narayana. ‘They should do a plastic surgery urgently. I can’t bear to see his face.’

Narayana didn’t understand why the police should speak to the surgeon. Surely, surgeons knew their business well. On the other hand, you had here a woman in shock. She worked as a nurse; she probably knew the way hospitals functioned.

‘I’d taken him to a private clinic before coming here. That clinic specialises in plastic surgery. They refused to admit my husband, saying this was a police case. So, we had to bring him here.’ said Swathi. ‘This hospital’s doctor said the burn injuries are not deep enough for plastic surgery. What does he mean? Look at my husband’s face. Anyone can tell he needs plastic surgery.’

Narayana made sympathetic noises. He took Mr Reddy’s brother out of the room, and asked him similar questions. He didn’t know anything. Sudhakar had not yet said a single word. Yes, his face had become unrecognisable.

‘It’s horrible.’ Said Mr Reddy’s brother. ‘It’s not only his face. Something terrible has happened to him. I couldn’t recognise him at all.’

*****

Mr Reddy’s brother called the police station the following day. This time, he s0unded as agitated as Mr Reddy’s wife had the previous day.

‘Is your brother all right?’ asked Mr Narayana.

‘No... I mean... I don’t know. My mother and I would like to see you urgently.’

In less than half an hour, the two had landed at the police station. Narayana offered them water.

‘Sir, this man... this man can’t be my brother.’ The visitor looked at his mother, who suddenly broke out crying.

‘Hang on; you said yesterday he was unrecognisable. And I’ve seen his face. It’s quite understandable...’

‘No, no. This man can’t be my brother. Both my mother and I thought it was very strange how an acid attack could change his height and overall appearance. When we tried to talk to him, he wrote. He refused to say a word.’

‘It’s possible he is not in a position to talk yet.’ Narayana offered.

‘The hospital offered him lunch. The plate contained a nice, hot mutton soup. Sudhakar, my brother, loves mutton soups. This man, whoever he is, told the nurse he is a vegetarian. He is not my brother, he is an imposter.’

‘But his wife... Mrs Reddy... what does she say to that?’

‘That’s what is strange.’ Mr Reddy’s mother spoke for the first time. ‘She says we’re all wrong. The assault has affected him badly. She maintains the man as her husband. We can tell you he’s not.’

‘Well,’ Narayana thought, ‘the wife says the disfigured man is her husband. The husband’s family says he is an imposter. Why should the wife lie?’

Narayana contacted Mr Jogu Chennaiah, the Additional Superintendent of Police. The case warranted someone senior.

*****

An  Aadhar card is a biometric identity document introduced by the Indian government. De facto it is mandatory, because it must now be linked with bank accounts and mobile SIM cards. When you apply for an Aadhar, you submit fingerprints which enter the world’s largest biometric database.

When the Nagarkurnool police visited the private room in the Apollo hospital, the man with the disfigured face was asleep. Mrs Swathi Reddy had gone to see her children. Narayana took the electronic device out of his pocket. He delicately pressed the fingers of the sleeping man on its screen.

Within an hour the police officer was standing next to a man in the government lab.

‘Good fingerprints.’ said the man. ‘They match exactly.’

‘What’s the name?’ asked Mr Narayana.

‘Rajesh Ajjakolu.’ said the lab assistant. ‘Here are his contact details.’

*****

Rajesh Ajjakolu worked as a physiotherapist. Two years ago, Mrs Swathi Reddy, a mother of two, consulted him about her backache. A young woman visiting a young male physiotherapist is a tricky situation. The two fell in love and started an affair. In India, with more than two billion prying eyes, it’s difficult to keep an affair secret for too long.

On 23 November, some of Sudhakar Reddy’s relatives saw his wife with a stranger in a car. They promptly informed Sudhakar. Sudhakar confronted Swathi and they had four unpleasant days full of quarrels, suspicion and fights. Swathi took the two children and left them at her mother’s house. She then spoke to Rajesh, her lover. They decided to get rid of Sudhakar. But after killing Sudhakar, Swathi and Rajesh wished to live a happy family life together. How to manage that?

*****

Three years ago, Swathi had seen the popular Telugu film Yevadu. She loved it. In Yevadu, a young man (Allu Arjun) suffers facial injuries when a mafia man tries to kill him. A lady plastic surgeon saves him by giving him the face of her deceased son (Ram Charan). One man dies and another starts living with his face, thanks to the great innovation called plastic surgery. Once Rajesh gets Sudhakar’s face, Swathi and Rajesh would move to Pune with her children and live happily ever after.

*****

Early morning on 27 November, Swathi gave her husband an anaesthetic injection. She was a professional nurse, after all. She and Rajesh then clobbered him to death with an iron rod. They took him to an isolated spot 150 km away from Nagarkurnool, and burned him after dousing his body in petrol.

On their return, Swathi poured acid and petrol on Rajesh’s face and lit a match. For love, it appears, men are willing to suffer much.  Swathi waited until Rajesh’s face was sufficiently burnt. She then began screaming; hoping that the neighbours would soon turn up to see the disfigured face of her husband.

*****

Sudhakar Reddy’s family spent Rs 500,000 on the treatment and on learning the truth, stopped. As a result, the hospital has refused to let Rajesh go until someone pays the balance hospital bill. The police have promised to take Rajesh to jail as soon as the hospital releases him.

Swathi Reddy is already in jail. That was the price she had to pay for failing to appreciate that a perfect plastic surgery can happen only in films.

Ravi 

Nostalgia: from Disease to a Tonic

In November, I attended a reunion of the former employees of British American Tobacco, Poland. I had lived and worked in Warsaw between 1999 and 2002. Last month, I met many ex-colleagues after a gap of fifteen years. Men had become plumper, greyer, balder but easily recognisable. Girls, however, have a fantastic ability to not change. They were just slightly mature versions of those I had said goodbye to fifteen years ago.

We spent a delightful evening, which began with a film specially created using old photos, brands we sold and campaigns we ran. We recalled incidents and flashbulb memories from the good old days. In conversations, and later FB comments, the term ‘nostalgic’ was frequently used. In this week’s diary, I want to analyze what nostalgia is and why it makes us emotional.

Nostalgia a disease

Strangely, for centuries of its existence, the word nostalgia referred to a medical disease, a psychiatric disorder. In the 17^th century, Swiss mercenaries were often hired to serve in foreign armies. They possessed proven battlefield expertise. (Even today, the Pope and the Vatican are protected by the Swiss Guard). Young Swiss soldiers, stationed in Italy or France; on seeing a tree or terrain that reminded them of home; on hearing a familiar Swiss melody, often became ill. They complained of giddiness, high fever, pain in the chest or stomach, indigestion. In extreme cases, some of them died. A Swiss PhD student Johannes Hofer called it the Swiss illness (mal du Suisse) or Nostalgia. Nostalgia was coined by combining two Greek words ‘nostos’ (homecoming) and algos (pain). In English it can be loosely translated as ‘homesickness’.

We must remember that in the 17^th century, going abroad was very different from today. Swiss mercenaries who left for Italy or France took months to reach their foreign employers. They had no phones or Facetime. They knew or suspected they would never see their homeland again. That made their yearning for home unbearable. The only known “cure” was to return home, and many tried to, only to be punished by death for deserting.

For the next two centuries, nostalgia remained a disorder in medical parlance. Only in the last fifty years or so (in times of relative peace), research has begun to focus on its positive aspects.

Nostalgia versus homesickness

In modern times, nostalgia has a much broader meaning than homesickness. ‘Saudade’ is another word, in Portuguese, that represents a state of profound longing for an absent person or thing that one loves. It’s a beautiful but sad word, often implying that the object of longing would never return. It can be translated as missing-ness or emptiness, love that remains after someone/something is gone. The premature death of a close family member produces Saudade.  

Nostalgia, as understood in the 21^st century, refers no longer to a “physical”, but a ‘metaphorical’ home. If you imagine our ‘past’ to be a home that is different from our ‘present’, you will appreciate why we become so happy in revisiting the past. It’s time travel. The longer the distance (time gap), the more happiness this homecoming generates.

When I met my Polish friends/colleagues last month, all of us were transported back in time. I revisited my “home” that I had shared with them more than fifteen years ago.

Smell, taste, music, photo albums

Smell, taste and touch are capable of making us nostalgic. If you visit your school after 30 years, you may recall some smells you never experienced thereafter. Or you may unexpectedly eat something you haven’t tasted since your childhood. Taste and smell can make you nostalgic. However, mankind has still not managed to record those sensations. Our access to them is rare and accidental. We can’t run a Google search for a smell, nor send it to a friend on whatsApp. Which is not the case with music. Or photos. We can capture them, search for them or forward them. We can lose ourselves going through old B &W photo albums.

Music is known to be a powerful nostalgia producer. Research has shown that music heard during the age 12-22 leaves the strongest emotions within us.  Music is capable of re-creating a certain period of our life. For people my age from the English speaking world, the song ‘those were the days’ by Mary Hopkin may bring back their youth and romance. Its video clip is aptly black and white.

Television arrived in Bombay in 1972. The signature tune created by the sitar maestro Ravishankar represents the B&W television era in the minds of Bombay tele-viewers. A clip of a few seconds makes them nostalgic, hugely happy but also sad about the time to which they can no longer return.

I think distance in time, and distance in geography both matter. When I lived in Europe, some Indian songs made me deeply nostalgic, to the point of tears. The bhelpuri I ate in London or New York made me sentimental. When I hear the same song in India or eat bhelpuri in Bombay, they don’t have the same emotional impact. That is the reason emigrants always look for things from back home. In that, they are like the Swiss mercenaries. They no longer fall ill or die like the Swiss soldiers, because if desperate, they can always take a flight and visit home. 

The same can’t be done when you travel back in time, particularly revisit your distant past. When someone married thirty years ago looks at his wedding album, it brings back all related memories from that time. He is amazed at how young everyone looks. He looks with admiration at his hairy head in the photo. The pleasure is tinged with the pain of our inability to turn back the clock, of the good old days that will never come back.

Personal vs collective (historical) nostalgia

Your wedding album is essentially your personal nostalgia. It is unlikely to create the same emotions in a stranger. On the other hand, the Bombay TV signature tune or the Mary Hopkin song is a collective nostalgia. We share a common past with our friends from school, from university, from our workplace, with our fellow-citizens, and finally as global citizens. Now that we use smart phones, pictures of old phone instruments, typewriters, or heavy cameras make us nostalgic for things unlikely to make a comeback.

Facebook cleverly uses nostalgia for a commercial purpose. It focuses on both your personal nostalgia (We thought that you’d like to look back on this post from 10 years ago- FB) as well as the collective nostalgia (your year in review, please share with your friends-FB)

Political tool

It is believed ‘nostalgia’ is the reason Trump and Brexit have happened.

Older people who predominantly voted for them longed for the good old days, when America was great, and Britain was truly sovereign. The blue British passports didn’t have European Union on the cover.

Using the slogan “Make America Great Again,” Trump didn’t simply invoke the idea of an idealized past. He provoked the anxious feelings that make nostalgia especially attractive — and effective — as a tool of political persuasion.

Nostalgia often filters the bad memories out, leaving only the good moments that make us feel warm. BAT, Poland had its share of corporate politics, nasty bosses and unpleasant arguments. However, last month the bad blood from the past was forgotten. We mainly remembered the good times. (Those with overwhelmingly bad memories don’t turn up for nostalgic meetings).

In communist countries like Russia, many people have forgotten how bad life used to be: the queues, the shortages, and the paranoid police state. They now focus on the State support and zero inflation, the two positive things from Soviet days. One reason for Vladimir Putin to be in power for such a long time could be the nostalgic desire of the Russians to have stability, security and a superpower status like in the Soviet times.

Benefits of nostalgia

Recent research on the subject of nostalgia has pointed out many of its benefits.

a.      Gives an overall sense of enduring meaning to our life. By acting as continuity between past and present, it alleviates existential threat.

b.      Nostalgia generates positive effect, increases self-esteem, and fosters social connectedness.

c.       Counteracts against loneliness, boredom and anxiety.

d.      Makes people generous to strangers, more tolerant to outsiders.

e.      Couples feel closer and look happier when they share nostalgic memories.

f.        More than one research say nostalgia literally makes us feel warmer in cold days or in cold rooms. Nostalgia makes us more human.

g.      When the present is distressing, people often look to the past for support.

In short, in your cleaning drive, please don’t throw away old letters, photos, documents, particularly the handwritten stuff. All of them are capable of injecting a dose of nostalgia in you – it can act like a drug that produces euphoria.

Don’t lose an opportunity to meet friends from old times. Those reunions are bound to make you happy. If you are feeling miserable, if the weather is cold, listen to your favourite songs from your teens. Visit places from your childhood, go back to your school building, and meet your ex-colleagues several years after changing jobs. It’s a guaranteed recipe for feeling happy.

Ravi 

Hadiya and Love Jihad in the Supreme Court

This week, on Monday, 27 November 2017, the Supreme Court of India directed Hadiya, a 24-year old student to resume her studies, and appointed the Dean of her college as her guardian. The case was launched by Hadiya’s husband, Shafin Jahan, against Ashokan K.M., Hadiya’s father. Hadiya was trapped, against her will, in her father’s house. It was hoped the Supreme Court would let the 24- year old woman reunite with her husband. That didn’t happen. Indian and British Media called it a ‘love jihad’ case and expressed shock at the court’s decision.

The story of Hadiya

For readers unaware of the case, here is a brief synopsis of the sequence of events as reported in the media.

Hadiya was born Akhila Ashokan, a Hindu. Her father Ashokan K.M. is a communist and accordingly, an atheist. Akhila is his only child. She was a homeopathic medical student in Kerala. She shared a house with two Muslim friends, Faseena and Jaseena. On 6 Jan 2016, Akhila disappeared. Her father filed a missing person’s case at the police station. She was found after a few weeks.

As it turned out, Akhila had left the college and joined a two month course to study Islam at the Therbaithul Islam Sabha. Converted to Islam, she had assumed Hadiya as her new name. She started covering her head, wearing a hijab, and reciting prayers. An organisation ‘Markazul Hidaya Sathysarani trust’ was looking after her. Hadiya was found living in the house of A.S.Zainaba, the president of the National Women’s Front. This body was founded to fight for women’s rights. This house was a good 240 km away from her home town.

Shocked, the father filed a habeas corpus petition (one that alleges a person has been unlawfully detained by someone) in the High Court of Kerala. Hadiya, however, testified her conversion was voluntary, and that she was living with Zainaba out of her free will. Since she was an adult entitled to exercise free will, the High Court dismissed the petition.

In August 2016, the father filed another petition in the same court, this time claiming that his brainwashed daughter was likely to be taken out of the country. The High Court passed an interim order to keep Hadiya under surveillance. She was directed to move to a women’s hostel, but Hadiya continued to live at Zainaba’s house. She had no passport, how could anyone possibly send her abroad.

On 21 Dec 2016, Hadiya appeared in the High Court with her husband, Shafin Jahan. Their marriage had taken place two days before, on 19 Dec. Shafin Jahan’s mother was in the Gulf, and he was looking for a job there. (It was possible Hadiya would go with him abroad, as feared by her father.)

In May 2017, the High Court of Kerala annulled Hadiya’s marriage and sent her to her parents’ house. Since then, she had been living there against her will. Indian media and public opinion criticised this judicial tyranny of separating a married adult from her husband and confining her to the parental home against her wishes.

What is ‘Love Jihad?’

Love Jihad is either a conspiracy (if proven) or ‘a conspiracy theory’ (unproven) where young Muslim boys lure Hindu girls by pretending love, and make them convert to Islam in order to marry. The conversions expand the Muslim population. Some people, such as Hadiya’s father, attribute more sinister designs to these acts, such as making the girls join ISIS or other extremist groups.

The Girl in my Gym

Yashvi was a young girl, around 25, whose gym timings coincided with mine. We knew each other for more than three years, and occasionally chatted before moving from one workout machine to another. She said she was planning to get married in a few months.

‘Congratulations!’ I said and asked who the lucky boy was.

‘He is a Muslim’. She added after telling me his name.

I congratulated her again on her courage. Though I had not met her parents, I suspected they wouldn’t be the happiest lot.

‘I’ll have to change my religion.” She said.

‘Why?” I asked. ‘India allows people from different religions to marry under a secular law.’

‘But his family doesn’t allow that.’ Yashvi said.

‘You’re not marrying his family. You’re marrying the boy you love. Why isn’t he converting to Hinduism?’

‘No. It’s a pre-condition for marriage. We’ve already discussed this. He said his family won’t allow him to marry a non-Muslim girl.’

‘Well, you can refuse to marry except under a secular law. That can be your pre-condition.’

‘We’ve already been through this a few times. For me, the choice is to convert and marry him, or not marry him at all. Anyway, he says it’s only a formality. I’m not expected to wear a burqa.’

In India, certain surnames carry an aura of wealth. Yashvi’s surname was among them. It was obvious she came from a rich family.

‘That makes your decision even more courageous,’ I said to Yashvi. ‘You may no longer be entitled to any of your father’s estate.’

‘What do you mean?’ Yashvi asked.

‘You see, as Hindus your family is subject to the HUF (Hindu undivided family) law. As soon as a family member changes her religion, she becomes disqualified. Your Hindu sister would be entitled to inherit everything.’

‘That’s not possible.’ Yashvi said.

‘Well, I’m not a lawyer. But you better check those things.’

After a couple of months, Yashvi told me her impending marriage had been called off. She was willing to accept Islam for love. But her fear of losing a share in her father’s estate was stronger than that love.

I personally consider religion as man-made fiction. Religion classifies people just like citizenship does. A Hindu girl converting to Islam for marriage is like an American girl marrying a Cuban boy, by giving up the American citizenship and accepting a Cuban one. Love often extracts a heavy price from naive young people who fall in it. Yashvi is a sweet, modern girl. I was glad she wasn’t forced into conversion for the sake of marriage. But the fact she was ready for conversion was surprising for me.

Yashvi’s case is common in India. India has 190 million Muslims. It is inevitable that some of them will marry Hindus. Except those from the elite families, most Muslim boys demand Hindu girls are converted as a pre-condition to marrying them. I am not sure the reverse happens. Apostasy (leaving the religion) is still a crime in many Islamic countries, in some countries (Qatar, Yemen etc) punishable by death. 

Love Jihad is unsubstantiated. It is possible for a Muslim boy to genuinely fall in love with a Hindu girl, and not for converting her. A civilised couple should marry under India’s secular law. When that is not followed and the converted girl needs to abide by Muslim customs, cover her head or recite prayers; that can make the girl’s family uncomfortable. No wonder Ashokan K.M. was shocked to see his daughter wear the Abaya, reciting prayers five times a day, and refusing to attend her own grandfather’s funeral because it was conducted as per Hindu customs.

Husband goes to the Supreme Court 

Anyway, to continue the Hadiya story: incensed by the High Court verdict annulling their marriage and sending Hadiya to her parents’ house, Shafin Jahan filed a case against Ashokan K.M. in the Supreme Court. Hadiya and he were adults, lawfully married. They must be allowed to live together. Hadiya hated living with her parents. The Kerala High Court had forced her to live with them.

The Supreme Court bench was made of India’s chief justice, Dipak Misra; Ajay Khanwilkar, and Dhananjaya Chandrachud, three of India’s best judges in terms of calibre, integrity and experience. They indeed freed Hadiya from her parents’ custody. She has been sent to her college. The Dean has now been made responsible for her, not her parents.

What about the husband who filed the case? He can meet his wife at her hostel with the Dean’s permission. The hearing about the annulment of the marriage will take place in the third week of January. The Supreme Court has let India’s National Investigating Agency continue its Love Jihad investigation.

The Indian media has expressed anger at the order. The Kerala High court forcibly sent a married adult woman to her parents’ house. The Supreme Court has now sent her to college for studies. Where is justice?

*****

The High Court judgement

The Supreme Court judges said this case was one of the most challenging in their career. Despite all of them having a long and distinguished career.

Having read the headlines in popular media, let us now see what the High Court in Kerala has to say in its judgement. The 95 page judgement is available in www for anybody to read.

Hadiya’s conduct

Akhila alias Hadiya has repeatedly lied on oath. In a 2015 affidavit she had put ‘Aasiya’ as her name. In 2016, she renamed herself as Adhiya (in a writ petition) before settling on Hadiya. The court said it couldn’t be sure she didn’t have or won’t get a passport if she had so many names.

She claimed a monthly income of Rs 2000 as a homeopathy doctor’s assistant. It transpired she hadn’t completed her education, so she was not qualified to work as an assistant. She wasn’t working, and wasn’t earning what she claimed to.

She continued to stay at Zainaba’s place even when the court had directed her to live at the ladies’ hostel until the disposal of the petition.

Hadiya deliberately concealed her association with members of the SDPI, the political arm of the Popular Front of India, an Islamic fundamentalist organisation.  

The Kerala court, surprisingly bluntly, describes Hadiya as an ordinary girl of moderate intellectual capacity, who is gullible.

Hadiya’s husband

Shafin Jahan is an accused in ongoing cases, where he is charged with rioting, mob violence, restraining others. His Facebook posts show his radical inclination. He is a member of the SDPI and Popular Front of India.

The Kerala High Court had said they would issue an order to send Hadiya to a ladies’ hostel. To avoid that, two days before the order, the marriage happened. While the marriage registration said people from both sides attended the marriage, not a single person from her side attended. The High Court concluded it was a ‘sham’ marriage effected to bypass the possible court order. In all court hearings, not a word was mentioned about Hadiya’s planned marriage, and suddenly on 21 Dec 2016, Hadiya produced a husband in the court. The Court was unhappy about it.

The court called the marriage ‘null and void’. The judges did not annul it as portrayed by the media; they simply said it didn’t happen.

The expenses

More intriguing is the amount of money that has been spent on Hadiya by complete strangers. She was able to live and travel without parental support and own income for months. The lawyers who represented her side in the High Court were expensive.

The lawyers in the Supreme Court, including the senior advocates Kapil Sibal and Ms Indira Jaising are extravagantly expensive. Where did Shafin Jahan get the money to pay for them?

It is evident that right since her conversion Akhila alias Hadiya has been supported with huge amounts of money by strangers. This defies logic.

Not Love Jihad

This is not a ‘Love Jihad’ case. The judges clarify that a marriage between a Muslim boy and a Hindu girl is not uncommon. If the girl converts to Islam, it is her prerogative, and the court has no right to interfere. In Hadiya’s case, she had converted much earlier. The organisational support by strangers has raised doubts in the court’s mind, not love jihad.

Spirit of the law

One can, of course, say it is none of the court’s business to enquire as to where the support money came from. (Leave it to the Income tax authorities). However, spirit of the law requires that judges handle cases not pedantically, but humanely. A father files a petition suspecting the daughter may be radicalised by extremists. Judges are bound to ask questions, and if anything is suspicious, take steps to protect the girl, whether she is a minor or otherwise. There have been enough cases in the world where gullible young girls, technically adult, have been enticed to commit crimes. (Read my diary: helter-skelter).

Media and sloppy journalism 

The case is important not only because of its complications, but because it shows how media manipulates us, the readers and viewers, through sloppy journalism.

Here is the 95-page judgement of the Kerala High Court. In places, the language is patriarchal and conservative. However, this document clearly shows that judges base their judgment on the evidence available before them. Since they invest their time and expertise into the case, often they are the best (or only) people to judge. A responsible journalist should read the judgment and then criticise it. What media has done in Hadiya’s case is to not bother to read the judgement, but criticise the superficial sensational points. Each case is different, but a newspaper’s agenda is the same.

We will now wait for the January 2018 verdict. The Supreme Court will need to decide what to do with the marriage the High Court said never happened.

Ravi