A Hopeless Case, This. I Give Up

Not sure if you agree with me on this, but I was deeply disappointed last week to read that a case filed in 1914 on a land dispute in Bhojpur district of Bihar - a case, mind you, that was 108 years old, had matured to be fine wine and was, until now, a certified antique - was finally settled by a district court last week.  Just to let you know, this is how spoilers ruin a party, by settling things and being do-good beavers in society, when everyone could be singing some rather risque Bhojpuri songs, taking afternoon naps and then complaining loudly, all of which is the Bihar we fondly know and love (and which, some hope, will join civilisation one day).   
 
Since 1914 was the year Mahatma Gandhi returned to India from South Africa, I looked up the records to check – in faint hope – if he was party to this case.  Since it is also the year, the First World War began, I checked again for the possibility of the Austrian Archduke – Ferdie, to old friends - being party to this (though he was knocked off that year, which, of course, is generally irrelevant in a land dispute.  Ask Putin.).  None of this.  Then, why close a case that was doing so well for itself and maturing in a oak barrel…. sorry, in a box file with moths for eager company? The case traversed four generations of a family that had originally filed it and were now deeply attached to it (like an old water pot in my study room that is now my only certified inheritance) and should have been preserved for another forty, don’t you think?  Where is our sanskar if we get hyperactive and start solving things, me things (thinks, not things.  I do this once in a way when I am all worked up about sanskar stuff).
 
Look at the economics now and weep: three generations of a family of lawyers had represented that family and delayed the case with enthusiasm and deep commitment, all of them earning livelihoods printing out reams of mindless paper, with words like ‘adjourn’ and ‘pari passu’ and ‘writ petition’ and ‘ceterus paribus’ and more Survey Numbers than my SBI Savings Account multiplied by the Aadhar number.  All of them had to buy those black gowns that they must have roasted in during 108 summers in Bhojpur, so they needed tea to cool off, paan to eject, walls to ….,- well, we will skip that for the moment – just look at the impact on GDP folks, of all of this -  but no, some busybody somewhere had to go and solve it like an enthu cutlet in a maternity ward of rabbits.  It is just so depressing to read early in the morning.
 
What cheered me up was the next line in the paper that reassured all optimists:  apparently, the Courts in India have enough business for the next 324 years.  By that time, we should definitely hit a GDP of five trillion something (I think it’s dollars, but it could be oranges or Covid cases). Plus, some of the land that is now disputed will be a few feet under the ocean, which, you will agree, will be a sea change (now, did I say that?).    
 
 

A Riddle, Wrapped In A Mystery, Inside An Enigma

 If you have been following the news closely, you will be glad to know that we are remarkably consistent in being remarkably inconsistent. 

First we said that we would feed the world with wheat.  So, we exported 7.23 million tonnes of it last year (which was more than what had been exported in the earlier seven years put together, so someone’s been feelin’ generous) and then promised more (unlike that awful story in Oliver Twist).  This is, of course, a most noble thing to do, with the small - and, sort of, unnecessary - footnote that, in a recent survey, about 7% of Indian children were found to be severely wasted, 19% wasted and 35% stunted.
(I delight in spoiling the party, but, no, it doesn’t run in the family.)
 
Then, wheat prices went up and we also realised that there isn’t enough wheat around in the national chakki because we hadn’t been counting, so we said, Stop.  Then, Egypt and a couple of others apparently said that they would starve (Oliver Twist Returns, now showing once daily), so we have said, Maybe Yes. 
That’s great, we need those Pharaohs (and that odd cone-like thingy made of stone) on our side.
 
And, did I tell you, we have been talking of saving every drop of water?  Apparently, somewhere in India (if you believe all that dubious stuff in PDFs like The State of the World’s Water, by Water Aid), about half our pop faces extreme water stress and around two lakh people die because of inadequate access to clean water.  
So, everyone’s diggin’ deeper and deeper down.
And building dams and reservoirs to store all that river water that is otherwise wasted when it flows (Sensible river, no flow - old Antarctic proverb)
….all of which can then be used….
….to grow rice and wheat….
….the excess of which can then be exported.
 
What’s wrong with this?
Take wheat again (time to hold your breath.  I do such yoga regularly).  Each kilo of wheat takes 1654 litres of fresh water (most of it – say, 80% - from below the ground or our rivers).   Time for some math:
Ground or river water used for wheat per kilo = 80% of 1654 = 1300 litres (thereabouts)
Wheat exported in last year’s feeding-frenzy = 7.23 million tonnes
Hence, water exported (sort of…it’s called ‘virtual water’, by the way) = 94 billion tonnes of water.
That is 94,000,000,000,000 litres (took me a while to do that, hope you’re impressed).
 
Just for the export surplus from one crop.
Wheat, rest assured, is well fed.  As is rice.
For half the pop that needs clean water, well (I had to pun….), it’s work in progress.  Stay posted (but don’t, repeat, don’t hold your breath).  

 
And, I was just going to tell you about the 9 million tonnes of sugar that we exported last year (@ 4,000 litres of water per kilo), but I can see the film over your eyes…so, I will drop off and bake a cake (yes, wheat and sugar).

Grook - Those Who Know

Those who always
know what's best
are
a universal pest 

- Piet Hein

Henny Is A Chemical Reaction

Gosh, I nearly AGAIN missed the most important day of the year in my calendar: May 8th, which is the World Donkey Day.

Some years ago, I wrote this, a tribute to the finest mammal that has been domesticated (yet).  This year, I have added a para....
(You might wish to discard notions - most out-of-fashion - of having about the same number of syllables in each para (just get a bit cool, in other words....and read on))

Today, the 8th of shimmering May
Is, believe me, World Donkey Day.
Doesn't mean much, I'm sure you'll say
But that is because, well, - you don't bray!  

The donkey, if speak he could
Would say that he's been misunderstood
Mammalian marvel of muscle biology 
What confounds us is the etymology.

A male donkey’s a jack
A female is called jenny
If a stallion’s the dad, a jenny the mom?
The resultant chemistry is henny.

Jack donkeys (that’s redundancy, Jack!)
When not finding love in their pack
Romance female horses (against the rule)
And the World receives a baby mule.

ps: donkeys love my humour as you can see.  Does this mean anything, you think?