Category: Uncategorized

15 min. read.

Neelie was born in a village in Punjab. She was the first child of her parents. Her smooth and natural birth was aided by a retired midwife from a nearby village, who was practising midwifery from home. She was the first person who helped the baby to crawl up onto her mother’s chest. The mother looked at her lovingly.

 After a fleeting time, her father entered the room. He was utterly amazed when he noticed that the baby, who by then was wrapped in swaddling clothes, had blonde hair. After a while, she briefly opened her eyes which were blue. She had beautiful and unique looks. In that part of the country blonde hair and blue eyes were rarities.

Then the grandfather came, who kissed the baby at the top of her head affectionately. He realised her likeness to his late mother Zainab. Not only the baby had blonde hair and blue eyes, she like his late mother also had a tiny mole on the nether part of her left cheek.

The grandfather went to the drawing room to fetch a photograph hanging on the wall securely which was inscribed with the date of 1^st March 1927. It was of Neelie’s great-grandparents with the Scottish Commissioner John McClure and his wife Mary. Had the great-grandmother been not wearing the Asian dress, she could not be thought to be an Asian woman.

The photograph was placed on a small round table next to Neelie’s crib, so that all and sundry, who would visit the family to see the baby, could compare her enthralling looks with her great-grandmother.

Who was her great-grandmother? Even Neelie’s father had not seen her. Of course, he had seen her photograph in the drawing room. Neelie’s two aunts, Aisha, and Alysha could remember her – the older one vividly and her younger sister vaguely. They were eight and five years old respectively when she had passed away.

Naming the baby girl was a straightforward matter. She had blue eyes and that in vernacular is called Neelie. Thus, she was called Neelie and was registered with the registrar of births as such.

Neelie’s great-grandfather was born in India in 1875, long before the country was partitioned. He was called Jaan Cahloun and was the only child of his parents.

Jaan’s father owned about five-hundred acres of arable crop land. Also, he was running a business of exporting cattle to Afghanistan and importing dry fruits. Perhaps he was one of the richest landowners in about fifteen-mile swaths of land on both sides of the river, which flowed next to their village.

His son Jaan went to the Government College Lahore to start his undergraduate studies. The College was affiliated with the Punjab University. It was about one hundred and forty miles from their place and the closest higher educational institution he could go to.

Jaan’s father and his escorts would make at least one business trip a year to Afghanistan. During summer vacations the son would occasionally go with his father on the cattle trail.

Jaan was twenty-one and he was awarded a bachelor’s degree. His father had plans to send him to London to do post-graduate studies. Jaan had corresponded with the University and even had an offer to study economics. His application for passport was pending.

Just before Jaan’s plan to leave could reach the final stage, his father, who otherwise was quite healthy, suffered from pneumonia and sadly passed away. It was a great shock to him. He did not expect it. Many people from both sides of the river came to him for condolence.

Jaan’s ambition had stalled. Beside the flourishing business, his patrimony included fertile land, a row of houses and an expansive guesthouse surrounded by mango, orange, guava, and pear trees.

As he was young, intelligent, and industrious, more financial benefits gained. The trips to Afghanistan, though through muddy terrain, were not hazardous. Law and order situation during the British Raj was not bad. Young Jaan was an educated man. He was not scared of an adventurous life. In just a few years’ time he became a habitual visitor to the other place.

Jaan was too busy to get married. All the time his mother was moaning and imploring him to wed. She had seen a few girls amongst the Cahloun families and occasionally would pass their descriptions to her son. He listened to his mother with respect but dithered and delayed.

One summer, after having usual blessings from his mother, Jaan and his escorts set off for Afghanistan with fifty cattle. He did not have the slightest notion that the trip would be eventful.

After about a couple of weeks, they reached the destination. At that end, an Amir (the head of the tribe) was his business partner, who would arrange to sell the cattle and buy dry fruits for him. As usual, Jaan and his men were Amir’s guests. Normally the visit would last about a week.

One day Jaan ventured out on an impulse for a walk. The weather was fine, just slightly blowy. Soon he was in the bushes. It was a beautiful view and nearby there was a water pond surrounded by hills. He had a fortuitous encounter with a group of girls, who were ambling towards their village after swimming in the pond. Amongst the group there was one shapely girl. She had blonde hair. He peered at her, and his jaw dropped open. She saw Jaan and abruptly covered herself with a shawl, except her cheeks which were aglow with health. She and other girls walked briskly to the village.

Jaan appeared to idolize the girl on sight. He made enquiries about her. Contrary to his speculation, she turned out to be the Amir’s one of the four daughters. She was the eldest. None of them was married yet. He had no son.

Without any hesitation, Jaan approached the Amir and expressed his fervent desire to marry his eldest daughter.

From the Amir’s reaction, it appeared that he did not expect it. He seemed amenable to the proposal. But the matter was not so simple. From the tribe’s point of view, there was fear it could be branded as a blot on their honour.

Personally, the Amir knew Jaan for a few years and before that his late father for quite a long time. But as Jaan was not from the Amir’s tribe, the decision did not depend on his discretion alone.

It was a Thursday. Next day after Friday prayers a jirga (a meeting of the group of elders) was foregathered. This was their established custom to decide controversial issues.

For Jaan, the wait seemed immeasurably long.

After some persuasive arguments by the Amir, it was decided by a three-fifth majority that wedding could go ahead. When Jaan heard the decision, he felt euphoric.

But there were two conditions attached. The first was the usual one i.e., payment of dowry. Among the Amir’s tribe there was an age-old tradition that potential husband or his family would pay a dowry to the bride’s father. The amount of dowry fluctuated from family to family and place to place. The bride’s family had some discretion as well. The Amir was a reasonable man. His demand was not exorbitant. Young Jaan jumped on it right away. He thought it was his good kismet that he was having a beautiful bride for a song. Had it been very pricey, still he would have paid the money.

The second condition was that Jaan should bring his mother, who would have to agree to the wedding as well. Jaan did not hesitate to accept that too. But before that he sought the Amir’s permission to see and speak to the girl briefly. After some hesitation, the Amir arranged a discreet meeting. Jaan could meet the would-be bride in the flesh.

During his successive trips, past ones in the company of his late father and recent ones on his own, he had picked up quite a few Pashto words. Also, there were many common Pashto words adopted from Hindi/Urdu language and vice-versa.

Thus, he had been easily communicating with the Amir and was confident to have a lovable conversation with the girl.

The girl was also told about the impending marriage and the purpose of the meeting.

Jaan was taken to the room first. He paced back and forth in the room. The girl entered the room and, according to the custom, genuflected to Jaan. She was there resplendent wearing a caftan and in her neck an amulet. Jaan noticed that her eyes were blue. To break the ice, Jaan got up and suggested to the girl very politely to sit on the chair. Though he knew her name, he asked her to tell the name herself. She hung back from answering the question promptly, but showing civility and respect said: ‘Zainab’.

Beside telling him her name, she crooned a few words, which Jaan struggled to understand. But he clearly understood when she shyly asked him about his mother. After a few minutes Zainab got up and offered Jaan liquid raspberry sherbet, which he took with thanks and supped up slowly. He said:

 “Very delicious”.

 He continued:

“You’re incredibly beautiful.”

In response, she had a flicker of a smile on her lips.

Jaan told her about himself and his loving mother. He said that next to his village there was a huge river. He told her about Taj Mahal and promised to take her there. He mentioned to her the details of the city of Lahore where he had studied.

Zainab did not speak much but sporadically smiled slightly. Instead of fifteen minutes, the loving meeting lasted for about an hour.

The meeting was successful. Jaan was quite satisfied for his decision.

He started his cock-a-hoop return journey with his escorts.

After reaching home, Jaan told his blissful story to his mother, who cried tears of joy. It did not matter to her if the bride was from a different country.

The connubial preparations were set in motion. The house and the guesthouse were done up.

Beside Jaan and his mother, other participants to the wedding procession included five relatives, four guards and a bride maid. Some presents were also bought for the Amir, his wife, and other members of the family. It had been agreed with the Amir that there was no point to carry to their place the bridegroom’s gifts of trousseaux and jewellery, because it would have to be returned to Jaan’s house with the bride.

The mother saw the girl admiringly and was exceptionally pleased.

The marriage took place. There was a festal reception in a concourse. On behalf of the Amir the dignitaries were invited. There was separate arrangement for the hoi polloi.

The bride was wearing a befitting Afghan dress.

The Amir gave Jaan an Afghan hound.

The bridegroom’s egress from the Amir’s place was ceremonial.

The group reached home. The plans were already afoot for a festival. In a commodious place, the first-rate food was served to everyone, rich or poor. The colonial commissioner was invited too. But as he had gone to London on his annual leave, in his place his deputy attended. The womenfolk were astounded when they saw the beautiful bride.

The celebrations continued for about a week. The couple had dinner invitations from different friends and families.

Jaan had already planned to go on honeymoon for four weeks. As promised, he first took Zainab to Taj Mahal. From there they went to the opposite direction to Lahore. They had a luxurious sojourn in the best hotel in the city. He showed the wife his college and the residential hall where he had lived during his studies. He took her to two of his lecturers as well, who were by then professors. They were pleased to see him and his wife. One of them invited them at a dinner.

The couple visited different gardens in the city, including Lawrence Gardens. Finally, they visited the Zoo and the museum.

They returned to their home after having a very enjoyable honeymoon. Also, it helped them to strike up a rapport with each other. Jaan knew it very well that Zainab was a devout Muslim. He was not. He did believe in his religion, but in practical terms he was a latitudinarian. He never said anything which would hurt anyone’s religious feelings. Instead, he revered all the religions. He respected other people’s customs, including those of the untouchables. He had open house hospitality for visitors of all faiths. He would shun any discussion about religions. There was never any religion-driven conflict between the communities.

So, to enjoy his life fully, Jaan decided to have a compromise with his wife. He would have preferred his wife not to be religious, but he was proud of her and loved her. He neither raised any objections to her prayers nor created any impediments. Rather, he eased her.

Similarly, the wife quite sagely did not insist him to join her in prayers. She was five years younger than him and tended to respect him to the best of her ability.

In a matter of weeks rather than months, Zainab took full responsibility of the household jobs. She was polite with the servants but did not hesitate to reprimand those who shirked work.

3 min read.

Hardly a day passes when in the media there is no mention of Prince Harry and his wife Meghan. Recently, Jeremy Clarkson, a columnist and TV presenter, published his views in a newspaper about Meghan which could not be put in the worst words. This was condemned on social media by more than 20,000 people.

In this short post, I wish to reveal the other side of the coin.

It was in March 2020 when Prince Harry after consultation with his wife issued the statement that the couple would be leaving the country to relocate to the United States. They were well-received there and given proper media coverage. It appeared that they were pleased with their move.

I give my example of relocation. It was many years ago when I quitted the country which was my permanent abode. I migrated to the UK with my wife and both the children and got British passports. Thenceforth, we made our life in the UK. I visited my country of origin a few times since, but with the passage of time it trickled to one visit for a week or so in several years. For all intents and purposes, the UK is my country. Under no circumstances, I will consider competent to comment or participate in any political or social debates relating to the country of my origin. I must have feelings about my previous country, but I would keep them to my chest. My close relatives are there, but I have no locus standi as to how the things are done there. I came to the UK volitionally. No one coerced me to leave the country. Once I left that part of the world, I shun throwing dirt on any of the institutions or persons of that country, let alone on my family members. I must bend every sinew to the task of making my adopted great country greater. 

One wonders why Harry and his wife keep toing and froing between the US and the UK.   Jeremy Clarkson took swipe at them by publishing his comments. His views, albeit in milder form, are shared by millions of people in this country. If 20,000 or more people condemned the views published by him in the Sun that does not mean that the couple have the carte blanche to indulge in head-on confrontation with the Royal Family.

As far as I am concerned, I care not one whit about their frothy interviews or even if they write several toxic books. I read the newspapers and if both or one of them is mentioned in it, I would turn the page. I ignore even to look at their pictures, let alone read their otiose views. One example of Harry’s story disclosed by him is that his older brother had screamed at him. The whinge could not be more meaningless trivia.

As I stated hereinabove, I avoid seeing them on TV, but if I happen to watch them, the Meghan holds Harry’s left hand with her right hand (sometimes with her both hands). It looks that he is a mutt and might get lost en route to a place.

Unfortunately, the fact of the matter is that they would dig in their heels confronting the Royal Family for years to come. They would be a constant pebble in their shows. The Royal Family are right to pay no attention to them. The vast majority of the public have not got any good opinion about them. The tiny minority will always remain to support them. If survey is done and question is asked: Is Putin a dictator or a democrat? You will find many nuts who would say yes, he is a democrat.

Finally, I candidly suggest to the odd couple that they should spend more time with their children rather than faffing around. The innocent children in this drama are tucked up under the care of nannies.

3 min read.

3 min. read.

The situation of the country, as it stands, is not very enviable. There is hardly any government department which, at one time or other, has not been on a strike or not gearing up for it. Beside the NHS nurses, paramedics, technicians and call handlers, Border staff, postal workers, driving examiners and railway workers are also in a mode of striking. The strikes in tandem with the cost of living, interest rate rises, homelessness and illegal boaters make much of the population reeling. The NHS and Social Care were already teetering on the brink before the strikes.

On the other hand, the Prime Minister has given a short shrift to the demands of the sapient nurses, paramedics, and other strikers. His laissez-faire approach to the issue is set in stone. He insists it is the job of the Independent Pay Award Bodies.

If you suggest to the PM that the situation is so grave, he should either declare an emergency, form a national government, or announce the general elections, or at least just talk to the nurses, he hears in one ear and out the other.

How does he do this? The answer is at the end of this short story.

In June this year, Boris Johnson was gasping in vain for some support from his friendly MPs and ministers, including Rishi Sunak, who was his appointee as a Chancellor of the Exchequer. Instead, he was stabbed in the back by Rishi putting him out of his misery. It did not take long when there was a vacancy for a job of the Prime Minister. It paved the way for Rishi to try for it.

How did it occur to him to stab his boss in the back at the nick of time? The answer is given later.

Rishi Sunak was a serious contender for the top job. He could not get the blessings of most of the Tory membership. Liz Truss was declared the leader of the Party. She did not shake her hand with Rishi though he was sitting next to her. As a Prime Minister she seriously fell into error and appointed Kwesi Kwarteng as the Chancellor, who believed the rich should get richer and the poor get poorer. He did not stay long and left leaving the position of Liz untenable.

How did it happen and so suddenly? Please wait a bit more for the answer.

In the next selection process, Rishi Sunak and his backers put a kibosh on the chance of Penny Mordaunt becoming the leader of the Party. She was clearly the favourite with the Tory membership. The membership was flagrantly disenfranchised, and Rishi Sunak was declared the leader of the Party unopposed and became the Prime Minister.

How did it happen?

It did not take long when Sir Gavin Williamson, the cabinet minister, and the staunchest supporter of the PM, was ousted. The PM was saddened. Another PM’s mate, Dominic Raab, the Deputy Prime Minister, and Justice Secretary, is limping on borrowed time. The PM would be more saddened on his departure. Also, he knows that in his cabinet there are professional backstabbers, ship jumpers and aggrieved ones. Many MPs are likely to remain unsated.  My advice is that he should look over his shoulders.

The country is facing colossal problems and the PM cannot trust all his cabinet ministers, nor his MPs. He was not selected by the Tory Party members, nor elected by the voters at large, but interestingly, he is carrying on as a self-seeking, self-willed, and self-possessed leader.

Now I come to the answer to the question: How does he do that?

According to a recent interview, the PM said that every evening before going to bed he and his two children pray.

 His prayers are assuredly bearing fruits. It was his prayers which provided him a reasonable chance to become PM after overcoming so many incredibly significant obstacles. He thinks that due to unflinching help by his prayers, the problems would soon turn into ephemeral ones and disappear.

It may be safely said that he is running the Party and the government on a wing and a prayer.

 It is not that everyone’s prayers are answered. Since the invasion of Ukraine, my wife prays incessantly for the downfall of President Putin. But he has since appeared to be healthier, happier, and more aggressor, throwing challenge to his haters ‘get me if you can.’

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Ps: Next post will be published on Sunday 22nd January 2023 at 11 am. It is titled: I bet that for years to come, Meghan Markle, the Duchess of Sussex, would be a constant pebble in the shoes of the Royal family.

4 min read.

Quite recently, an incident was well publicised in the media when a royal aide asked a woman few questions about her ethnicity. The woman was the chief executive of a charity that supports women of African and Caribbean heritage who have faced domestic abuse. To be honest, I had never heard of the charity nor its chief.

The chief was annoyed beyond limits when the royal aide asked her where she came from. I guess, only she was privy to the reasons when adamantly refusing to answer the simple questions. It took sometime before she budged a bit and gave her a skeletal and opaque reply i.e., she was of African Caribbean descent. She could have simply said that, as her name suggested, she was from West Africa. There is every probability that she is from Northern Nigeria. But it looks she wanted to hide the name of the country because she might not like to be associated with any of the African countries. Instead, according to her, she felt “violated”, “stunned” and “as everybody”. She and some others embraced it as hare brained opinion of branding the innocuous questions as racist, and there is no dearth of such people, particularly when they know that there would not be any defence forthcoming. 

Hereunder, I narrate the scenario of my reaction to the similar questions if put to me. The fact of the matter is that during my working life in West Africa, South Asia and in the UK, I have been asked such questions.

Whenever I am asked where I come from, I felt mightily flattered and answered:

I was born in India, raised in Pakistan, and got education in London. My wife was born in Pakistan, my son was born in West Africa and my daughter was born in the UK.

I would be proud to go further if the enquirer is interested to hear more:

The fact is that my forefathers were settled in what is now in Pakistan a place which is eighty miles from Lahore. In the nineteenth century they migrated to the place which is now in India about 180 miles from Lahore.

At this stage I would be even prouder to volunteer further facts:

The information about my ancestry which I’ve furnished thus far is just hearsay and I don’t have any documentary proof of it. But beyond that I’ve the proof. According to the authentic history books, my ancestors migrated from Tajikistan (Central Asia). They migrated in 400 BC to the sub-continent and converted to Hinduism. After centuries, some converted to Islam, but the majority remained as Hindus. Sikh faith began around 1500 AD. Beyond that, our species, Home sapiens, has now spread to all parts of the world but it is generally believed that we originated in Africa by about 200,000 years ago.

The nub of the matter is: Does it amount to racism if I am asked a question about my country of origin?

Could the chief be incognito so far as her African origin was concerned? From her appearance she indubitably was a woman of African ethnicity. But a common-sense interpretation of the questions asked by the royal aide is that she was, just for the sake of indulging in a conversation, interested to know which part of Africa the chief came from. It beggars belief that the definition of racism is stretched too far. The questioner could just be interested to know whether the chief was from Ghana, Kenya or DRC. Is it racism? I would charitably describe those people unreasonable.

Sometimes, I’m asked:

 I know you are from the sub-continent, but which part of it?

I have a few properties which I advertise now and then to let. When someone shows interest, I ask the potential renter the following questions:

What do you do for living?

Where do you come from?

If you’re not British for how long have you been in the country?

Also, I ask about the size of the family, blah, blah.

No one ever questioned over my nous with the idea of my asking such questions. During the last quite a few years I have had the tenants: English, Scottish, Irish, American, Polish, Indians, Pakistanis, Bangladeshis, Nigerians, Zimbabweans, Sudanese and Iranians etc. etc.

Coming back to the titled story, the chief should have narrated braggingly the history of the Fulani empire which flourished in West Africa in the 19^th century. Her forefathers must have lived there before moving to Barbados. If she did not know, she needs to brush up on her history.

The chief must have savoured when it resulted in taking the scalp of an innocent woman of 83. It was unfortunate that she has apologised.

Not unexpectedly, the chief’s outburst caused consternation among some members of the public, who would not stand idly by on the issue, and they raised it on social media. Her charity is now on the cusp of being investigated by the Charity Commission. It has put her in an invidious position.

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Ps: Next story will be published on the Boxing Day (26th December) at 11 am. It is titled: Prime Minister Rishi Sunak is running the Tory government on a wing and a prayer.

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3 min read.

I have a few residential rental properties. At times, after a tenant leaves, one tends to renovate the property. Every now and then, a tenant apprises you of a problem which needs to be sorted out sooner than later. The two interesting incidents, hereinbelow narrated, happened recently.

A property had just been vacated by the previous tenant and before advertising I decided to have a redo.

A friend gave me the number of a reliable decorator. I contacted him. He came, looked at the work to be done and gave me a quote, which I accepted. He said he would start work next Thursday morning and would finish it by Wednesday the following week. His name was Richie, a bald-pated person at the cusp of sixty and sturdy as a walrus.

On Friday at about 1.30 pm, I visited the property just to see the progress.

Richie and his mate Anthony were packing and it looked that they had finished the work for the day.

I enquired: “Have you finished for the day Richie?”

“Yes, doctor”, he cheerly replied.

“Is it not too early?”, I queried further.

“No doctor. Don’t you know today is a Friday?” He gave me gap-toothed smile.

“Yes, I know”, I confirmed to him.

But I was not sure what had it to do with finishing the work by 1.30 pm. I knew that Friday prayers are held in the town’s two mosques at 2.15 pm.

He was born and bred in the town. I suspected that he could not be a Muslim, who would be attending Friday prayers at a mosque. Other possibility could be that his wife was a Muslim and he converted. Or he could be a Jew. But for them Sabbath is observed every week beginning on Friday and ending after dark on Saturday. But that begins Friday evening, and it was too early for that.

I was bemused and could not reach a definite conclusion.

I did not want to probe him about his religion. It was his personal matter.

 I ruminated about the riddle I faced. Thinking that the issue should be approached discreetly, I suggested:

“Don’t you think you’re getting late?”.

He confirmed:

“I would go home, wash and change the clothes”.

 I doubted if he would reach the mosque by 2.15 pm.

I had a real rush of relief when he dispelled all my doubts decisively and gushed:

“Thereafter I’ll go to the pub.”

I received a message from a tenant telling me that there was a little leak into the kitchen from the upstairs bath. I looked at the local directory, copied a number and rang up a repairer. According to the advertisement, he had twenty-five years’ experience and appeared to be a competent person to do the job. In the ad I could read his name as Micky.  From his voice he sounded to be in his fifty-something. 

It was about 12 noon when I called him. He answered my call honorifically and appeared to be enthused for getting work soon after the one he was doing. He informed me that he would be happy to look at the job. He gave me his schedule of the rest of the day.

According to him, he would finish the work he was doing by 5.30 pm. Then he would go home, have tea and some rest. He should reach the property without fail at about 7 pm.

After he told me the area of the town where he lived, I reckoned he could reach the house in fifteen minutes i.e., almost the same time that I would take from my house. He advised me to text the address of the property, which I did.

Just to be sure at 6.45 pm I called him on his phone. I reiterated the conversation which took place between us:

I said: “Is it Micky?”.

“Yes, it is. Who are you?”, he mumbled.

I replied:

 “It’s Dr. Chaudhry. Do you remember me I spoke to you today at noontime to repair my rental property. I texted you the address as well.”

He balked at the idea of repairing a property that evening, to which he had earlier made a pellucid commitment. He answered dismissively:

“No, you must’ve got a wrong number. My doctor’s name is different.  I don’t think he would call me at this time. I’m fine.

I was puzzled. I had spoken to the man earlier and he seemed an affable and agreeable workman. But after a few hours he was spurning the job outrightly.

I clarified: “No, I’m not that doctor. I’m the landlord of the property you promised to visit this evening.”

The penny dropped:

“No, I didn’t. You must be mistaken. Don’t you know it is a Friday evening? I’m at the pub near our house.”

Before long, I realised as he was slurring his words, he was sozzled surely. I hanged up the phone.

2 min read.

On 5^th September we should have a new PM, and as it stands, only two candidates are in the field. The members of the Conservative Party might have voted by now or are on the cusp of voting. This post is about Mr Rishi Sunak, who in the beginning had a support of overwhelming number of the MPs.

He has taken a good deal of flak for being, a shouter and a mansplainer, a backstabber, the ship jumper, lofty promise-maker, a green card keeper and his wife, an Indian passport holder.

 The fact of the matter is that there were genuine reasons for his gestures and announcements.

By shouting at the opponent during a debate, he was simply trying to speak a bit louder. He thinks that there are many members of the Party, who are retirees with impaired hearing, need to get his message loud and clear.  Also, at the weekly PM’s Question Time, he would be in a better position than Liz Truss to silence Keir Starmer, the opposition leader.

In the House of Commons to speak louder is very common. I remember Geoffrey Cox, as an Attorney General, would speak in a very loud manner. The Speaker at that time, John Bercow, was even louder than him. Being a shorty fellow, he would stand up and shout at full throttle, turning red in the face. One afternoon, addressing the Attorney-General, he bellowed in a stentorian voice:

“You attorney sit down”.

The Attorney General sat down meekly and did not dare to remind the shouty speaker that he was not an attorney but Attorney General.

To allege that Rishi Sunak is a mansplainer is totally wrong. He is mild as milk.

Also, he is criticised for being a backstabber.  That gesture on his part was quite licit.  By that time it was clear that Boris Johnson’s days as a Prime Minister were numbered. He should be grateful to Sunak by putting him out of misery. Had he not done so, Boris would have lingered on for a few more weeks and suffered more misery.

Sunak was right by jumping the ship. In politics these are the norms. Even right now he is witnessing the ministers and MPs, who gave him resounding backing in the beginning, are openly jumping the ship in droves, including an MP whom he had palmed with £5000 for a party.

 I think he is wrong when he promised that he would scrap any rises in the energy bills. My advice is that he should go further and make a specious statement that all the energy bills would be paid by the state. It would catch Liz Truss on the hop and turbo-charge his campaign.  The aim should be to win the selection at any cost, who cares if he reneged on his pledges after 5^th September. 

Had I been a Tory member, I might have voted for him even knowing very well that his lofty promises are hollow and without any grain of substance. The fact is that he would move heaven and earth to be the PM. Nothing wrong with it.

Rishi involved his both the children in the campaign. He should be acclaimed when he said that Liz Truss would be cutting taxes to mortgage the future of the children and grandchildren. He meant his children as well.

In my candid opinion, if he does not win the selection, he should not be feeling wistful. He is only 42. He should start his struggle anew.

6 min read.

In my post of 17^th October 2021, I had introduced my excellent neighbours to my left, right and front. This striking story is about them vis-à-vis me.

 Quite a few years have passed since this incident happened.

At about 8 pm, I received a brief from my Solicitors with the instructions to appear before a court the next morning. I straightaway started reading the documents and the case law relevant to the issues involved. I went to bed at 3 am. The next morning, for breakfast I had a cup of coffee and nibbled a slice of brown bread. At about 8.10 am I left the house by car. The court was about fifty minutes drive from our house.

 I parked the car at a multi-story car park and walked to the court. I had a conference with the client. The case started at 10 am and the hearing was concluded at 12 noon. The decision was reserved. I had a square meal at a restaurant on my way back to the car park.

I was feeling overtired.

Before sitting in the car, I removed my jacket and loosened my tie. It was a sunny April afternoon. I adjusted the car temperature accordingly and set off for home.

Just before turning right to my house drive, I saw my neighbours on the right, John and his wife, tending to their garden. Michael and Jenny on the left were also doing some gardening. The neighbour in the front Mark was busy working on his car.

I waved at them one by one, and they returned my greetings quite warmly.

Before I proceed further, I pause here briefly and go back to the days when I was working in West Africa and later in South Asia before returning to the UK.

In West Africa, at that time the roads were quite good, but for travellers there were no resting places/service stations. Thus, whenever I travelled to a distant place and felt tiredness, it was my wont that I would stop and park the car under the shade of a tree. I napped for about half an hour. I enjoyed it and continued my journey after freshening up. In later years during my law practice at Lahore, whenever I travelled from Lahore to my town where I grew up, I stuck to this habit.

Coming back to the titled story. As old habits die hard, I parked on my drive and, instead of getting out of the car, I decided to have impromptu mid- afternoon snooze. I moved the seat a bit back. As I was somnolent, in a few minutes I was in deep sleep.

Before long all the five neighbours observed that after switching off the engine I did not get out of the car. There was no movement at all. Five, ten and fifteen minutes had passed, and they observed that I was still staying put in my car.

I do not know who was the first to raise the alarm. It looks that one of them alerted the others about the suspicion.

All five of them congregated near my car on the driver’s side. Someone might have knocked on the car window mildly but to be honest I did not feel a thing. They found me completely insensate.

They were worried and due to mild knocking in tandem with their conversation, it appeared, I was no longer in the mode of deep sleep. My brain started registering their conversation, albeit vaguely.

 Michael said:

“A minute ago, the doctor was fine. I think he might be sleeping”.

Jenny muttered:

“We knocked at the window twice he did not respond. It’s better if we call the ambulance.”

Mark added:

“Ambulance wouldn’t take long. In our town waiting time is quite short. They should be somewhere nearby and would arrive in a few minutes.”

John whispered:

“He must be returning from the court and possibly tired. He might be napping. His wife is at work. She comes at about 4 pm.”

John’s wife said:

“He has been very active. and regularly does jogging.”

Mark said:

“Now-a-days you never know what is going to happen next moment. My older brother died a few months back when he was only sixty and keeping good health.”

At this stage, I dozed intermittently and unbeknown to them could hear the threnody clearer:

I could clearly hear:

“He has been a very neighbourly person. Always smiling and looking at the bright side of the things.”

John knocked on the car window next to me little forcefully. I was totally compos mentis and saw all five of them pronto smiling and raised a chuckle.

I explained to them my old habit, apologised for causing the trouble, and thanked them for their concern.

Before I narrate the titled story, I like to comment briefly regarding the latest news about Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe which appeared on the TV as well in the national papers. She announced that before her departure to the UK she signed a false confession under duress when the British official stood idly by, doing nothing.

I think she has a point. The confession obtained by duress, as she claims, is not a trifling matter.

 The British official should have tried to intervene first verbally and if it did not work, he should have exchanged blows with the Iranian man, even if it would have put her departure in jeopardy. The avoidance of a coerced confession was more important than her release. 

I suggest that she should go back to Iran, whose nationality she still holds, and fight the Mullahs against the “dehumanising” treatment meted out to her before she was allowed to leave.

My wife decided to make a visit to Lahore (Pakistan) to see her close relatives. Since the start of the pandemic, we had not gone to any holidays within or outside the country. Now all the restrictions had been removed, she decided to go. I refused to accompany her because, firstly, at this time of the year there is searing heat and, secondly, she has more relatives in Lahore than me.

After passing through the Passport Control and collecting checked-in baggage, she engaged a porter to assist her. He looked twenty something.

 She was supposed to be received by her cousin who was delayed due to traffic.

 She wanted to release the porter so that he could catch another customer. He asked for 600 rupees. She pulled out of her purse an envelope and a 1000 rupee note, which was equivalent to less than £5, and gave it to him. The porter looked askance and suggested deferentially:

“Madam, are you a time traveller? I’ve seen the movie, but now I’m seeing the one right in front of me.”

My wife queried:

“Is something wrong with the note? It is not fake you can see on it a photo of the country’s founder.”

“Yes, madam, I’ve seen similar notes when I’s very young. These were withdrawn from circulation long ago. I guess you’ve come to the country after many years.”

He was right, she was visiting the country after fifteen years.

In the envelope there were notes of other countries as well. In the purse she had fifty- pound notes, which she had drawn from the Bank on request.

She suggested that he could wait a bit because her cousin would be coming at any moment. The porter agreed.

She asked him:

“How’s your country doing?”

He began to rhapsodize about the situation not only in his country but more:

“The government has changed, but I doubt it if there would be any difference. The previous Prime Minister was undoubtedly an honest man, but he was let down by people around him. About the present one it is too early to form a judgment. But I doubt it if there would be even cosmetic improvements, let alone fundamental ones. You might have heard an old Punjabi saying. Someone was caught stealing and he was sentenced by the magistrate giving him the option either to eat ten good-sized onions with water or receive ten lashes on his bare back. The thief thanked the sentencer for giving him the choice and pleased to accept the option of eating ten onions, which he thought was a piece of cake. After eating eight onions he could not take anymore and begged to be lashed ten times on his back. After receiving eight lashes he was about to pass out and preferred to complete the course of onions. In brief, he received both the punishments. Same is true of us.”

My wife interrupting him suggested that he looked an educated person.

He continued:

“I’m a graduate. I’m lucky for being a porter at the airport. I’m better off than our brothers in the neighbouring country India, where millions sleep on the footpaths. You must’ve read the news that the young men in Mumbai deliver hot meals to customers within ten minutes on bikes or scooters and they get three rupees per delivery. Prime Minister Modi is proud to be leading the biggest democracy in the world. The fact is that he is the Prime Minister of the biggest poverty on this planet. He believes his country should be a big old Hindustan for Hindus only. He knows very well that prosperity erodes adherence to religion and religious values. Interestingly, during his recent visit to India your Prime Minister Boris Johnson called him his best friend. Modi would never be his friend. There’s a world of difference between them. Modi is a friend of President Putin, who also dreams to be the President of big old Russian empire.  I feel sorry for him. Modi and his lookalikes would rule this part of the world for years to come. Religious parties come on a one- way ticket. Look at Iranian Mullahs.

“It is in our kismet that we’ll remain poor perhaps infinitely. Only solution is that people like Elon Musk, Bill Gates, Jeff Bezos, and many more should lease swathes of our countries for twenty/fifty years. I should add the name of Richard Branson. He’s a good man. His Virgin Airlines plane is landing here in half an hour.”

The porter still wanted to talk more, but wife’s cousin arrived. She got money from the cousin and paid the porter 1600 rupees advising him:

“600 as your agreed wages and 1000 for your revelatory talk.”

The porter thanked her.

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Pf: Next short story will be posted at 11 am on Sunday 10th July 2022. It will be titled: My neighbours had a thought I had gone to meet my Maker.

On Thursday April 14, 2022, Boris Johnson, the Prime Minister, announced a plan to tackle the issue of illegal migration head-on. [You may view my post of November 14, 2021].

It is a fact that illegal migration has been a constant pebble in the shoes of both the Labour and Conservative governments for many years. As the time passed, each government made the laws harsher and harsher, but of no avail. After a protracted negotiations with the government of Rwanda, an accord has been struck to implement a bespoke process being enacted by the government which will come into force in a matter of weeks. Under the new plan, which is not a pipe dream, the asylum seekers would be flown to Rwanda, where they would be accommodated, and their claims processed.

Interestingly, like many lefties, Sir Keir Starmer, the Labour Leader, spurning the Rwanda plan, said:

“a desperate announcement, unworkable, extortionate, by a Prime Minister with no grip, no answers and no shame.”

With due deference to Sir Keir, I am sorry to say that the comments made by him are unfortunate, unfounded, ill-advised, and ill-timed. To be honest it was in conformity with the Corbynism. He is oblivious of the fact that immigration is one of the top issues in the minds of the voters. While in the country there is palpable situation about housing, NHS, social services, and cost of living, to mention a few, it is not advisable to spend billions on the illegal asylum seekers. It is more so when 100% of the applicants have spurious claims. They are economic migrants. Assuredly, the countries they come from are bereft of democracy, but that does not mean it is the fault of other countries. For example, in Iran their fathers/ grandfathers had welcomed the Mullahs to rule their vast country with a lot of natural resources, who would glue to power, come what may, for half a millennium.  Similarly, instead of fighting Taliban, these stalwart migrants handed their beautiful country to them on a plate. They had the most modern equipment free to fight them, but they fled, including their President. They should have fought them just like the Ukrainians, including their President. Other alternative for them is that they should stay in their country with hand in hand with the new rulers. They can assimilate with them easily. They have same religion, same ethnicity, and same language etc. They have beards as well. Just grow them little longer. The same situation is equally true, mutatis mutandis, of the young men coming from Syria, Iraq and many more.

Sir Keir Starmer should have remembered that during the general election in 2010, a woman in Rochdale raised the migration issue with Gordon Brown, who was heard on speaker a few minutes later branding her a bigoted woman. He lost the election.

Concluding, I should refer to the dangers of abiding by the advice of their advisors who are not aware of the public mood. It was due to the advisors Theresa May was at the cusp of shedding tears soon after the general election in 2018. Also, very senior advisors of the Prime Minister, who advised him to attend the parties during the lockdowns, and he has, for the time being, survived just by a whisker.

I beseech Sir Keir to put up before the public an alternative to the Rwanda Plan. It is an axiomatic fact that there is none.

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Ps: Next story will be published at 11 am on Tuesday May 31 2022. It is titled: Airport porter had a thought that my wife was a time traveller.

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4 min read.

In recent days and weeks when most of the democratic world is worried about the unthinkable atrocities being committed by Putin in Ukraine, which is having a direct impact on millions of people, one good news appeared out of the blue about the release of Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe, a dual national of Iran and the UK, from the Iranian prison after six long years. Her incarceration in a country of her origin and citizenship was lamentable, and more so when the charges against her were patently trumped- up.

The national media treated the news with great enthusiasm. Her internment was unjustified and harsh, particularly when she was separated from her seven-year-old daughter, who was with her father in London.

At some stage of her first press conference, in high dudgeon, Nazanin lambasted the five Foreign Secretaries, past and present, who had taken six years to secure her release. The government agreed to the payment of about £400m debt to Iran over a failed arms deal dating back 40 years.

More interestingly, when Nazanin’s decorous husband thanked Liz Truss MP, the present Foreign Secretary, for the help she rendered in his wife’s release, she took a dim view of that. She lambasted all the five Foreign Secretaries. Her fallacious argument is that had they tried seriously, her ordeal would have ended soonest.

On her bandwagon laden with anger, Beth Rigby, the Sky News Correspondent and Jeremy Hunt MP, Chair of a Commons Select Committee, and a former Foreign Secretary, were the first to jump on it. Before I come to them, I better say something about Nazanin, who has been in the news for the last six years.

As I understand, she was born, raised, and educated in Iran, and did the job in her country before coming to London to do MA. Then she met her husband, a British guy and got married. Later she must have applied and granted indefinite leave to remain in the UK. I am not privy to it how she got it. Under the rules, if an alien marries a British citizen, he/she is supposed to go back to his/her country to submit an entry clearance application.

Nonetheless, after getting leave to remain, she must have spent five more years in the UK before she was entitled to apply for a British citizenship and then a passport. I can vouch for it that under no circumstances, without the application with the prescribed fee, the Home Office would have granted her leave to remain and later British citizenship on its own.

She did not renounce her Iranian citizenship. She wanted to have a cake and eat it, which she was allowed under the rules.

Then she decided to go to Iran for holidays and see her parents. She travelled on her Iranian passport. She might have left the country on the British passport but entered Iran on her Iranian one.

Questions are:

Was it the British Government who schematized her epoch-making visit to Iran, one of the top rogue countries on this planet?

Did she consult with the Foreign Office before travelling?

The answer to both the questions posed hereinabove is big NO. If so, there is no justification to point the finger at the government.

She knows that in this country there is freedom of speech, but as far as the public are concerned, they did not appreciate her preachy tone vis-à-vis the British government.

During her press conference nor at any other time since, she did not utter a single word against Iran, whose citizenship she still holds and cherishes. She knows that a cursory adverse reference to them would trigger an unimaginable reaction against her parents and relatives.

It looks that she would author a book about her experience in Iranian prisons and their sham judicial system. My advice is she should do it charily. There may be change of the regime run by Mullahs. How long will it take? In my candid opinion, if the time is counted in terms of the 13.8 billion years when the Universe began, it would take just a fraction of a minute i.e., about half a millennium before Mullahs would hand over the reign of the government to a democratic government.

About Beth Rigby, she spares no effort to criticise the government. She does more than the opposition leaders. She derives pleasure to put the words in the mouth of a whinging interviewee. She does not give a flying toss whether the stance is justified or not.

Jeremy Hunt had his own axe to grind to lay the blame on the past and present Foreign Secretaries, including himself. The other day he was supporting the cause of the doctors. The fact is that when he was the Health Secretary in 2016, he did not like the doctors’ strike. According to the Daily Mail:

“Health Secretary Jeremy Hunt savages striking doctors amid walkout plans.”

 Now he is weeping crocodile tears on their plight.

Furthermore, he did not know the distinction between Japanese and Chinese. His wife is Chinese and during an official visit to China at a meeting with their Foreign Minister, he said:

“My wife is Japanese….”

Then he added:

“Sorry, that’s a terrible mistake to make.”

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