Thursday, 27 August 2020

The Corona Scare

The last 24 hrs were the darkest CORONA day in the country -75000 new cases, highest in the world. And regrettably, we are fast catching up on Brazil, the unenviable second spot holder in total cases - India 33 lac, Brazil 37 lacs. So far in the month of August alone we added more cases than any single nation in the world . 

 The one bright spot in this dismal picture is the low death rate- lowest among the top ten nations. But we can hardly afford to be complacent, as the pandemic spreads its tentacles deeper and deeper more and more would need hospital treatment to keep the death rate low. As it is the infection rate is grossly under reported. Testing rates are woefully low. 

In the top five countries, testing rate per million of population stands as under: US 237450,Brazil 66603, India 27912, Russia 242558, SAfrica 60566 ,Peru 92458 ( in the top ten countries too India has the lowest rate except for Mexico) India with the largest population, save China, is a niggardly - 27912. That means as and when testing picks up there may well be an avalanche of cases, many among them needing prompt hospitalisation. Are we prepared ? State and Central govts need to urgently review. 

Lockdowns, if the current evidence is anything to go by, have only stretched out the seemingly inevitable march of Corona, not stymied it. 

Further does our low death rate imply better Corona medicare? Or is it due to demography, ( among the top ten nations, except for South Africa, all nations have much higher proportions of population in the 65+ yrs category ,the ones supposedly most susceptible) , the innate immunity of people in the region from genetics or other multi-factors rooted in ecology, society and religion ? 

 Our immediate neighbours have much in common with us in these aspects . A comparison would be pretty instructive. Deaths per million of population: Bangladesh- 25, Pakistan 28, Nepal 6 ,Sri Lanka 0.6 ,Myanmar 0.1 ,Bhutan no deaths,  China 3.0,  India 44.  

Obviously , death rates are per se low in the region compared to the west. That is the first conclusion. Maybe the region is favorably endowed. 

 But the discomfiting factor is, neighbours with presumably lower levels of medical infrastructure ( not China) have better controlled death rates.Our death rates are unflatteringly much higher- 44. 

 To sum up, we need quantum leaps in testing and putting hospital infrastructure in place before the imminent covid19 tsunami strikes.

A dark prognosis it may seem , but being better prepared is half the battle won.

Sunday, 23 August 2020

The naked truth


A king loved wearing new clothes. One day two swindlers came with an offer to weave for him a diaphanous magical costume, as thin as the spider’s web. Only the honest people would see it, not the crooked ones. The king was delighted. He would sit in court in his new dress and ask darbaris how it looked. Those who couldn’t see it would not be able to respond. They would be immediately dispensed with.

The king’s new costume became a subject of intense gossip in the court , in fact, in the whole realm. An atmosphere of dread and suspicion settled in. Each thought the other was corrupt. 

Soon the dress was ready. The court was called in attendance while the king went to don the new ‘telling’ dress. He took off his clothes and the swindlers put up a grand show of ‘enrobing’ him in the gossamer suit. Head held high, preening with pride ,the king entered the court with the chamberlains in tow carrying the train that wasn’t there. 

“Goodness, they suit you superbly . What a perfect fit, what a pattern ! what colours ! Such luxurious clothes”

“ incomparable, what a beautiful train on his jacket!”,  the ringing chorus greeted him. 

Never before had the king’s new clothes received such unanimous fulsome praise, except from one darbari who couldn’t hold back wondering to one beside him, “but is he wearing anything? ” The man in turn asked the one next to him “Is he ? “. Soon the court was a whispering gallery of,  ‘is he ?’ Then the whispers turned into an audible murmur, the King heard it too. 

“What ‘Is he’ ? ” , he shrieked

Everyone stood up and all fingers pointed to the offending darbari. 

“My Lord, he doubts you have anything on. ” 

“Aha ! the corrupt one. I am happy that he is the only one. He has no business to live, despatch him to the heavens. I need to find out how many others in my realm are corrupt. ” 


The darbari lost his crown. 


And the crown on the king’s head settled in more easily, securely, comfortably.


And the king henceforth gave public audiences in his birthday suit, eager to spot the corrupt ones. But till he died none noticed his nakedness. 


(Adapted from a well known Danish folktale)

Saturday, 15 August 2020

Pakistan or The Partition of India' by B R Ambedkar 

As patriotic fervour builds up to a crescendo every August one thought recurrently comes to fore in our national, particularly, the Hindu, conciousness. Was partition inevitable or was it an inescapable fallout of an unseemly haste to see the back of stiff upper-lipped colonial master ? 

 It isn't just an idle obsession. In the years that the hydra-headed, bloodthirty monster of partition ran amok, it claimed over million lives, rendered millions homeless , obliterated millions worth of property, drove millions to penniless, miserable and bitter refugeehood, besides leaving behind an enduring legacy of Hindu-Muslim antipathies to live down and an inimical, scheming neighbour barking and snapping at the north western frontiers. Costs ineluctably astronomical to be easily effaced from the collective memory. 

 Before the issue blew up Ambedkar, in 1945 , had clinically dissected the case for partition and laid it threadbare in this book. It is a lucid, scholarly presentation of Indian history and politics in its unvarnished communal aspects by an astute and intellectually fecund mind. Coming from an informed participant but only a bit player on the sidelines, somewhat of a lone wolf political agitator, its voice is exceptionally non-partisan , a virtue that in itself commends it to readers. 

The book reads like a consummate lawyer's pleadings in the people's court. Only that the lawyer wears the mantle of a petitioner and defendant in turns - the muslim case for Pakistan and the Hindu case against it argued successively - and then dons the black robe and woolly wig of the judge to deliver the verdict- whatever the merits and demerits in the pleadings , 'if the muslims are bent on Pakistan it must be given to them.' The arguments and compulsions spelled out are compelling and erudite. A definitive dissertation that separates the grain from the chaff , and a veritable treasure trove for the seeker after truth. 

 There are copious references to other nations' handling of minority issues. For instance, he asks why in the three multi-racial, multi-cultural nations - South Africa, Canada and Switzerland- minorities did not seek partition? Because they had no fear of losing their nationality, distinct identity, ethos under one nation, one constitution, he answers. Against this he places Hindu Mahasabha leader, Savarkar's saying "the two nations( muslim and Hindu nations) shall dwell in one country and shall live under the mantle of one constitution: that the constitution shall be such that the Hindu nation shall be enabled to occupy a predominant position that is due to it and the Muslim nation made to live in the position of subordinate cooperation with the Hindu nation. " If he claims Hindustan as a Hindu nation, can he deny Pakistan as a Muslim nation, Ambedkar wonders. The Congress stance about minority rights was irrefutant, vague and indefinite; impliedly, Savarkar's was brutally frank, bold and definite - the difference between the two about as much as that between being polite and being acerbic. Neither assuaged the muslim psyche. 

 Beyond a historical record has the book any contemporary relevance? We still have a state where tinders of muslim nationalism have been aglow for over seventy years and fuelling separatist proclivities inspite of close army surveillance and monitoring - Kashmir. Are the causative factors that led to things spiralling out of control in 1940s casting their reflections in the present-day in that state ? The book can serve valuable thought foodies in that direction. 

I will rest with a few quotes from the book. Let the reader judge whether it has any current relevance. 

Savarkar 'exhorting' muslims, " If you come, with you ; if you dont , without you ; and if you oppose ,inspite of you."

 Ambedkar, " the danger to a mixed composite state lies in the internal resurgence of nationalities which are fragmented, entrapped, suppressed and held against their will." 

 "Constitution like clothes must suit as well as please." 

 A stimulating read.

Sunday, 9 August 2020

The Untold Story by B M Kaul

Peace is the dream of the wise, war is the history of man - Richard Burton 

In 5000 years of recorded history there have been 15000 wars, roughly three a year. Peace is thus a placebo, and war the bitter pill of human existence. History dictates that nations keep ever in readiness for war to savour the peace it promises. That’s where India was found wanting. Lulled into torpor by the fraternal catchphrase- ‘Hindi-chini bhai bhai’ - it was caught off guard and ill-prepared in 1962. China scuppered her comprehensively. 

This autobiography of Bijji, as he was popularly known, goes beyond sketching a military career ; it gives startling revelations and insights into the Indo-China border situation culminating in the war. He had commanded the 4th Corps on the NEFA ( now Arunachal Pradesh ) battlefront.  It also makes other wide ranging observations about contemporaneous political and military affairs of national import, from the Kashmir insurrection in 1947, to liberation of Goa in 1961, and finally the Indo-Pak 1965 war.

Early childhood in Taran Taran, losing his childhood flame early on from illness, trained at the prestigious Sandhurst military school, the recruiting ground for Officers in the British Army he climbed up steadily in the military hierarchy to the rank of Lt. Gen in 1960.  He saw military ops in Arakan in WW II, was associated both with ground ops in Kashmir, later as a member of the diplomatic team arguing India’s Kashmir case at the UN, served the Neutral Nations Repatriation Commission in Korea in 1953, was involved in the 1961 liberation of Goa. And in an anticlimax but in the highest military traditions he resigned his commission after the debacle of 4Corps he led. Bijji remained a teetotaller and non smoker throughout his life.

He gives a very vivid and detailed account of the fiasco on NEFA war front, painting a pathetic picture of failure in leadership and strategy at all levels -military,politics,diplomacy - and utter lack of grit and endurance. It truly was a war that was not, only a series of disorganised, chaotic, hasty retreats from one defensive position to back deeper and deeper into Indian territory with waves of Chinese soldiers sniping at army’s heels. There were sporadic acts of immense bravery and valour and odd units showing remarkable pluck and resilience to repulse repeated waves of Chinese attacks, but on the whole, it was an inglorious, ignominious and humiliating end for an army that had performed so creditably in the two world wars.

Additionally, Bijji’s biting commentary on powerful personages who strutted on the national stage at the material time, their personality traits and esoteric work ethics makes for interesting reading. Certainly Bijji casts no halos over any of them , being rather iconoclastic baring their strengths and weaknesses. Under his discriminating scrutiny pass Krishna Menon, Sheikh Abdullah, Gen , Kripalani , JP and some other VVIPs of that era. About the two prima donnas in the political opera theatre, he has this to say. 

Nehru and Patel had violent differences of opinion, he affirms. Patel was a realist whilst Nehru an idealist. Many of our leaders both respected and feared Patel whereas they only revered Nehru. India could not do without either of them. 

Nehru, he opines, had ‘many qualities rarely seen in a man. There was hardly another man as free from fear and hatred as he’, yet he was egotistic and vain with conspicuous blind spots. Things plodded under him as he believed in hastening slowly. The author has more unpalatable comments but wraps up stating that he had done more for the country than anyone since Ashok and Akbar and made India a democracy. 

As if to vouchsafe Nehru’s democratic credentials he refers to ‘Rashtrapati’ , an article published in Modern Review written anonymously by Nehru with the pen name Chanakya. Nehru warns the people against himself, “ is it not possible that Jawaharlal might fancy himself a Caesar, therein lies the danger for Jawaharlal and for India.. .....his conceit is already formidable. It must be checked . We want no Caesars.”

About political interference in military affairs, he avers, war is an inevitable consequence of human existence. Political leaders must, therefore, understand military affairs. While giving freedom of action to the forces, they should never abdicate political control of war. 

About the need to keep public informed of progress in military affairs, he opines, “there must be constant and critical but legitimate comment, apart from adoration of our defence efforts, in the press and other forums , as in other democracies, to keep our strategists on their toes. We must also maintain our morale by not only harping on our triumphs but also maligning our reverses, if any”. He advocates war correspondents being facilitated to report from battle-lines. Else we may have the ridiculous mockery of TV Channels designating Leh, a good 200 kms away from Galwan hotspot, as Ground Zero, as some just did.

Of what use history if we don’t distil appropriate lessons from it to inform the present and guide the future? Bijji is not a mere witness but a participant too in the momentous events recounted in the autobiography. So what historical lessons it has for the readers? 

 In the author’s analysis, Chinese attacked to signal their emergence as a powerhouse with Asia as its particular sphere of influence. It wished to demonstrate the superiority of its communist system of governance and economic production. That it could only do by humiliating India with an ideologically antithetical political and economic system. And not the least, to divert attention of its people from the colossal failure of ‘Great Leap Forward’. Do any of these imperatives still weigh with them ? Time to pause and ponder. 

To what causes does the author attribute our rout ?  Right through the 50s China kept gobbling up Aksai Chin, nibbling into our NEFA borders, building logistical infra right upto its claimed borders, yet at no level did the army analyse Chinese military tactics, its political and military behaviour, and draw up counter measures. The political leadership failed to provide the wherewithal the army needed or build logistical infra to support its operations in the difficult elevated mountainous terrain. India woke up too late to stem the Chinese tide let alone turn it in their favour when the war finally broke out. 

Michael Pillsbury reveals in  ,’A Hundred year Marathon’, China has set its long term goal- replacing America as the global superpower. Does India  have a strategic masterplan and long term goals that include a blueprint to neutralise its hegemonic propensities on our long borders ? Chinese intrusions have increased manifold as if living upto its 1962 admonition that it reserved the right to come back if India reoccupied the areas vacated by it ( what irony ! the territories it supposedly vacated were the ones India claimed to be within its territorial boundaries). Every intrusion sees India in a reactive mode. When the bloody clashes took place in May the Defence Minister rushed to Russia to purchase armaments off the shelf reminiscent of Nehru’s similar appeal to the world at large in 1962. Are we still  underprepared ? Again, Time to pause and ponder. 

The echoes of freedom struggle have long since died down, memories of 1965 and 1971 wars lie considerably faded in minds of those born a decade or so past independence. To millennials and GenZ it is a blank sheet. These generations, in all probability, learnt of these national torments from secondary historical sources. That may lead to a fallacious grounding for such narratives have an element of selectivity - in choosing the facts to thread into historical tapestries that reflect the design and hues after the author’s wish. It risks becoming HIS STORY  rather than HISTORY ; one that borders on history and myth and consequently arrives at wrong historical lessons. Once in a while it’s good to revert to primary sources to cross check and this book is one such. 

Of course, there is that inevitable  human bias in the narrative. The tone and tenor is exculpatory, aimed at rebutting the plethora of unfounded criticisms that dogged his career. Still, the book is a wonderful read, recalling and reliving episodic historical moments, and not to mention, Bijji writes feelingly. And it’s a topical read too.

Wednesday, 5 August 2020

Ayodhya a year ago

 

(Prototype of Ram Mandir to be built at Ayodhya) 


The favored few are directly summoned by gods and godesses to receive their graces, the fortunate few get signalled by godly visions in their dreams, but the feckless majority must bide  their time and trust fortituity to land them in the vicinity of holy places to make their supplications in person to the Supreme Being.

We decidedly, indisputably belong to the feckless type, this I say with full authority for myself , and to a lesser degree for my wife for reasons not bandied about but universally known. For quite sometime after settling down to a superannuated life, we  longed to visit Ramlalla as it existed post demolition of Babri Masjid. Last year Dame Luck smiled. A bereavement in the family required us to be in Lucknow within 24 hrs. The only option was to drive down. 

In early morning eyes groggy from unfulfilled sleep we left. Midday, in searing heat, our first stop was at a dhaba for tea  in a  swirling 'loo' threatening to blow us off. It took some deft manoeuvring of hands to keep sweat from dripping into our glass and turning the tea salty. The only other halt before touchdown was for lunch at a restaurant that looked promising , and the menu mouth watering. Only to learn that paneer pakoda was all that could be had. We were an hour too late. Beggars can't be choosers. Famished we quickly shouted our order to the only 'seeable' man around, the one at the cash counter - two plates each. With just two of us as customers we wondered how much cash did he really need to count. And sat in half dread of the man abruptly announcing denial of the order. But it arrived and we wolfed it down quickly. Relished it too. There isn't much difference between Hunger and Lust that makes pretty damsels of ordinary ones.

On our return journey we set out more prepared, better organised. First stop, overnight stay at Ayodhya. A sleepy moffussil town with a smattering of tumbled down abandoned havelis, narrow lanes, similar size small shops , selling about the same thing, (statues, beads,amulets) lining both sides of a kilometer long main street, single lane-one way,  and teeming with rustic pilgrims from the countryside. 

Godly presence was ubiquitous, in the air, in the pilgrims, the narrow lanes exhaling divinity from the many Ram temples adorning each. One is weighed down by piety and sobered by the divine airs. 

But like all moffusil towns it lacked in numbers and quality eateries,  good lodging and boarding facilities. The room we stayed in smelled foul. However, pilgrims too shouldn't be fussy. The receptionist suggested we hire an auto for half-a-day to visit Ramlalla and other places ending with aarti at Saryu river in the evening before dropping off at the hotel. Fare ₹700. 

First, Ramlalla at the disputed site. The auto takes one only  to the base of a hillock from which a steep walk of a mile or so lies ahead. Without  mobiles, camera, purse, wallet,  leather belts( fortunately pants hug my broad waistline, so faced no real risk of unwelcome exposure)  and a further kilometer walk into the protected area through barricaded paths, interrupted too frequently by checkposts for frisking and a body-over with metal detectors, We paid our respects to the deity installed on a high ground twenty feet away. When we walked down to the base the auto was no where to be found. He had used the time to ferry other passengers. 

We gave him a piece of our mind. For the rest of the journey we had a sullen, sulking autowala on our hands. Mechanically, he breezed us through many other temples including Ram Mandir Nyas office where a replica of the proposed temple and carved stone slabs lie.  Two incidents in particular stand out in my memory. The Hanuman temple, Ramgarhi- its stairs are a steep 100 steps climb ,almost vertical. We managed to reach the top only after four intermediate stops and still gasping for breath. Then that big Ram temple. As soon as we stepped down the autowala took me aside and whispered " this is the place where Mulayam Singh's police fired on  Rambhakts and killed 2000." I looked up and down the street,  it was  too small and narrow to accommodate that many.  Then he said " here free lunch is given to over 5000 pilgrims every day." When we went in and he pointed to the dining hall where these 5000 men are fed it looked too small and it bore no tell- tale signs of that many having been fed an hour or so earlier. 

But the hours spent at Saryu river were really wondrous, and memorable. A heavenly calm permeated the breezy evening, quiet flowed the river, and busily but methodically the devouts went about preparing fo
r the river aarti, pushing lighted diyas on the still waters. Till late into the evening the official aarti hadn't started and time to disengage the auto was running out. We bowed to Saryu whose waters Lord Rama waded to ascend to his heavenly abode and left with a heavy heart. The autowala had by now turned surly. He refused to wait any longer though we promised extra fare saying he couldn't even if he wanted to as his vehicle had concked out.

That effectively ended our Ayodhya visit. But not before another glimpse at an Ayodhya unknown to antiquity. He asked me to pay up ₹500 and give ₹200 to the receptionist . And that I could take another auto back to the  hotel for all he cared. Fortunately, we found one. When we gave ₹200 to the receptionist he first  looked at the noted, then at me in apparent bewilderment, 'why me? I will find out" and pocketed it.

Early morning we checked out; the receptionist wasn't anywhere. And we never found out whether he found out why the autowala sent him ₹200. But we just  knew. 

Next morning, we raced  home on the smooth, glistening, miraging  highway wondering Ayodhya nagri had failed to live upto the ideal of Ram Rajya. Maybe, it will now with Lord Rama's image re-established at the spot He was supposedly born.

From the birthplace, Ayodhya, of one Vishnu avatar, Lord Rama, to the burial place, Kushinagar, of another - Bhagwan Buddha, enroute. But that's another travelogue.

Sunday, 2 August 2020

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks’ by Rebecca Skloot



Henrietta Lacks, a 31-year old nondescript coloured woman, lies six feet under an unmarked grave in the Lacks cemetery in Clover, much the way common folks depart- unsung, unheralded. Her white promiscuous ancestors who fathered many generations of illegitimate Lacks from black woman slaves lie even deeper, several feets below them. In death the coloured Lacks managed to come out on top of their white ancestors. 


The book, though, isn’t about smouldering embers of racism that still afflicts erstwhile slave owning societies.  Henrietta’s existential significance oversteps racism. It is singularly different. Twenty years after she died from cervical cancer, her family learns as much as  800 pounds, and growing, of ‘her’ lives on. That’s what this book is about, the whos, hows  and whys of this bafflement. 


As engrossingly narrated as a thriller, only that the plot is real, of real people, of real ethical issues in medical treatment and research, and most intriguingly of the question who owns a patient’s tissues. 


Henrietta Lacks, mother of five children, felt a knot at the tip of her womb. John Hopkins Hospital, Baltimore diagnosed it to be a bulbous malignant tumour. Despite radium therapy the cancer continued to spread inexorably and a year later, in 1951, consumed her at the unlikely age of thirty one. Surprisingly, her biopsied cancerous cells proved extremely resilient and grew prodigiously in a culture medium in Dr Gey’s bio-lab. Dr Gey grew the cells in phials, labelled it HELA , and sent it across the world to medical research teams and whoever asked for it. Later it came to be sold in marketable lots and still is. 


What made HELA so virulent and hardy ?  Normal cells divide at most fifty times, the Hayflick limit , in its lifetime. With every cell division the tail of chromosomes, called telomere, shortens. When it vanishes the cell dies. Only malignant cells, transformed by virus or genetic mutation, can become immortal if they produce an enzyme, telomerase, that regenerates depleted telomeres. HELA is of the immortal kind. 


Unknown to the family HELA facilitated trail blazing medical researches extending the frontiers of our understanding of human biological processes. The polio vaccine, many drugs and antibodies producing chemicals, demystification of genes and building the highways to genetic engineering owe much to experimentation with HELA. Its  progenitor, though, remained shrouded in anonymity for decades till airing of a 1996 BBC documentary. And till Rebecca Skloot, a biology student, heard of HELA in a biology class at the turn of millennium and got suitably obsessed. 


Ten years of dogged research, and digging deep into her credit card limit and student loan resources the author finally unveiled the pathetic and fruitless existence of the real Henrietta vis-a-vis the ‘celebrity’ HELA .  All of it a lone wolf effort. Painstakingly she reconstructs the life story of Henrietta and her five surviving children. Side by Side ,she adverts to medico-legal cases that brought to fore unforgivable want of  humane considerations in conduct of medical research. Unarticulated  in the 50s these surfaced with damning ferocity in the 70s to end in the acceptance of the principle of not mere consent but ‘informed consent’ from subjects of human experimentation. The imperative need of medical fraternity to access parts of human body for research too was reckoned in the historic verdict of Supreme Court of California. It’s worth recounting. 


Dr David Golde at UCLA between 1976-83  regularly collected samples from bone marrow of Mr Moore, a leukaemia patient he had operated upon, ostensibly for follow up monitoring but actually for surreptitiously developing a cell line from his tissues. Before the patient got wind of it Dr Golde had the cell line patented under the brand name of MO and exploited it commercially. Moore sued claiming property rights over his tissue, and finally the case moved to the SC. It ruled that when a patient left his tissues in a doctor’s office or lab he abandoned them as waste. Anyone could take the garbage and sell it. Otherwise not only would medical research be hindered by restricted access to necessary raw material but end up “creating a field where with every cell sample a researcher purchases a ticket in a litigation lottery”. Patient’s consent would become a marketable right and would disincentivize medical research.


It’s another matter that many people who had valuable blood, unique in some ways, turned their bodies into businesses by contracting with biotech firms. That is why the Henrietta family could not fathom why they could not get a cut from the sale of HELA that had done so much for human welfare. One of Henrietta’s son woke up to more than $125000 in debt from a quintuple bypass surgery because he did not have health insurance. Deborah, her daughter, lived and died in an assisted living apartment making do only with social security money. “Everybody in the world got her cells only thing we got of our mother is just them records( her medical records).”, she bemoaned. 


The book hints at a prevailing sentiment among medical fraternity that as indigent coloured received free treatment in hospitals their  bodies were fair game for conducting medical research. Charity had to work both ways - use of their bodies for medical research as a legitimate recompense for free treatment. 


The author touches an issue that may still hold some relevance. Should the patient be comprehensively briefed - the diagnosis, the line of proposed treatment, the likely chances of a full or partial recovery, the side effects ? In the 50s ‘Benevolent Deception’ was widely practiced as full disclosure was held to be upsetting and detrimental to the patient’s psychological predisposition towards the treatment. Which way has it been settled now ? 


HELA continuing to grow monstrously in biotech labs poses a dilemma. Evolution creates new species through transmutation of cells in existing organisms. So it is with HELA !  Each HELA  cell in the process of division undergoes random changes from generation to generation. Henrietta bits, slightly different, evolving separately. Viola ! isn’t HELA then a separate species, one that is ‘alive’ in an unusual way but not ‘living’ in the usual way, like the Norse goddess of death, Hela, ‘living’ trapped in a land between hell and the living.


Cells surviving the host isn’t scriptural Immortality. For that matter, ‘Mortal beings, Immortal cells’  itself sound oxymoronic, if not, ludicrous. Nonetheless, cellular biology is pregnant with unimaginable possibilities for the future of mankind. Not as wild as Deborah’s dread of running into one of her mother’s clones in London sallying forth from a whole community filled with Henriettas. But control and conquest of diseases and promotion of human wellness in more ways than one, surely. 


Truly, the book is a reader’s bonanza . A real life drama of a poor, coloured family plodding through life in a social milieu prejudiced by the colour of human skin. Alongside, a fleeting glance at cellular mechanisms that animate our ‘being’. An irresistible cocktail of human interest and layman’s science . 


And one that sustains readers’ interest to the very end. Fascinating, delightful and insightful. 



Featured post

Kashmir: more the things change, the more they stay the same !

While days lengthen in rest of India, nights keep getting longer in Kashmir -more home-grown separatists, more 'pebbles vs pellets...