Of viruses, mutations, vaccines and human helplessness

Raju Korti
In a Facebook post yesterday, born part out of my locked down anguish and part out of desperation to cut loose through some silly humour, I ventilated it out on researchers for their inability to anticipate the kind of vicious viruses the world could encounter in future. My case was the mankind should be adequately prepared and resourced with vaccines so that it isn't caught on the wrong foot like it has happened in the wake of Corona pandemic.

My US-based journalist friend Mayank Chhaya, quick on the uptake as always, pointed out the inanity in my post saying "purely as a plausible scientific response, Raju, virus mutations are very hard to anticipate but I get your point." So honesty demands that a disclaimer should be in place. To begin with, my knowledge about viruses as also how and why they mutate is not scientifically deep-rooted but based on my average perceptions as a Science student.

My interest in the subject was triggered sometime in the early eighties when the Time magazine did a comprehensive story on viruses and their influence on humans. All I could glean at that time was their number was a staggering 10 nonillion which is 10 raised to its 31st power. This means there are more viruses on earth than there are stars in the universe, enough to assign one to every star in the Universe 100 million times over. However, it is not just the mathematics of viruses that intrigued me. I have been exercising on the fighting spirit of the humans to overcome them and their adverse effects although it is still unclear how long immunity will last once a person's immune system beats the infection. Once an infection leaves the body, it leaves markers in the immune system also known as antibodies that can quickly identify and fight the virus if it were to reappear in future.

My interest in the subject would have probably died a natural death at this stage of enlightenment but twenty five years back it was re-amplified by a medical thriller "Contagion" written by Robin Cook. What drives me to be relevant here is Cook has taken an interesting flight of fancy that in hindsight looks almost prophetic. It is the story of a deadly epidemic spread not merely by microbes but by sinister sabotage described as a terrifying cautionary tales for the millennium as health care giants collide. When you read the conspiracy theories emanating from different quarters about the present pandemic and the ever so devious role of pharmaceutical companies whose lobby is believed to be much stronger than the doctors' lobby, you have to give it to Cook as a soothsayer. That he screwed it up with an absolutely implausible, ridiculous ending is quite another story.

Cook was right on track. In 1989, he authored a book "Mutation" in which he outlined the ethics of genetic engineering and as recently as in 2018, came out with "Pandemic" where a seemingly healthy woman with transplanted heart suffers from acute respiratory distress and dies. The protagonist, a medical examiner and a frequent character in his novels, does an autopsy and suspects the death could be due to a flu-like virus. While investigating the mysterious heart transplant of the dead woman, he unearths a larger conspiracy. He meets a Chinese billionaire businessman who holds a double PhD in Molecular Biology and Genetics. Further cases of flu-like virus get reported in many parts of the world and he determines to stop the pandemic from spreading.

Three books in a row that touch upon related subjects steeped into medical sciences make for a remarkable coincidence when you see what the world is passing through with similar shades of grey. For me, this backdrop raises a predicament. In my limited wisdom, I wonder why the scientific community since so long has kept changing its collective mindset over what viruses are. First seen as poisons, then as life-forms, then biological chemicals, they are thought of as being in grey area between living and non-living. The classification of viruses as non-living in the modern era of biological science has had an unintended consequence. It has led most researchers to ignore viruses in the study of evolution - a point where I feel vindicated. Perhaps it is a case of belated wisdom that most researchers are beginning to appreciate viruses as fundamental players in the history of life.

A mutation is just a change in virus's genetic code. Most mutations don't really change how the virus behaves. It is still unclear how the mutations ultimately affect counter-measures like a vaccine. That perhaps explains the mist surrounding the mutation of the Corona virus. My considered opinion is although success in predicting what new viruses will emerge may be limited, predicting how viruses may evolve and spread could be more tractable. That the mutations quickly become drug-resistant means it is going to an unending tug of war between humans and viruses.

Till then, keep washing your hands until a proven vaccine arrives. And once it does, rest on your paunches till another one comes to bug you.                   

A virus in a stellar role in a long playing suspense drama

Raju Korti
The versatility of the Corona virus may be making the world go round the bend but I find it perfectly in sync with my idiosyncrasies to create issues out of trite. It is exactly the kind of grub that my unproductive brain feeds on. I am not referring to the ability of the virus to generate conspiracy theories but to the contradictions it has been spawning since its onset in a province known mostly to its native Chinese. Each time a new dimension of its multi-splendored talent surfaces, I am tempted to explore its potential to play the lead role in a pulp mystery film.
The virus threw the mankind in throes of confusion with its utterly routine and non-suspicious symptoms. People who couldn't care if you sneezed or yawned in their face now look at you as if you are their sworn enemy. Worse still, even if you didn't, they would still look at you and avoid you like the plague. The virus has taken the sting out of untouchability. You can't swat it like a mosquito. A mosquito can be killed like that but how do you kill a virus that is already supposed to be dead?
While stories aplenty have been doing rounds about the weird eating habits of the Chinese, people in other parts of the globe are now shy of eating even the food they think is normal. The microorganism is a nutritionist and dietitian in its own right but is giving you nightmares about what you should be actually stuffing yourself with. So we have a wide range of food items that we are either supposed to eat or not supposed to eat. When one "expert" tells you should eat mangoes, the other "expert" warns you about the dangers of eating them in these times. Eating meat is both good and bad and so is drinking -- social or otherwise. People who couldn't hide their glee when they said that consuming alcohol could can kill the virus, were beaten into a hasty retreat when it was quickly pointed out that this was a myth and on the contrary it weakened the immune system. As wine shops downed shutters, resourceful but desperate minds had already started exploring the prospects of extracting alcohol from hand sanitizers to satiate the cravings of their liver. The specious excuse in favour of opening wine shops was the government was losing out in excise revenue. The virus is watching this do-I-don't-I predicament. If you have the symptoms, you have the virus. If you don't have the symptoms, you could be still harboring it. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.
Do  high temperatures kill the virus? "Experts" say yes and no. For all you know, all those large mugs of tea and coffee you are gulping down your throat might or might not help. So garlic, fruits, hot spices, herbs may work, may not work. From head to toe, the virus has the liberty to access you without any password or protection and screw up your operating systems. Keep guessing how much you can seal or insulate yourself and your surroundings.
While the frantic search for vaccine continues, ideas -- some of them downright bizarre keep coming from all and sundry about the regimen to be followed. The idea of using hydroxychloroquine as a deterrent drug evaporated faster than it came after a short-lived debate on its efficacy against the baffling and enigmatic virus. The mystery continues. Imagine if this tiny monster were to fall into the hands of someone like Alfred Hitchcock or our own Ramsay Brothers. They would have made it a suspense thriller of the century. Instead, it fell into the hands of -- of all the people -- the president of United States who in his infinite wisdom suggested that injecting disinfectant and exposure to ultraviolet rays could help infected people. Doctors and epidemiologists quarantined the idea before some overzealous elements could have gone ahead with it.
You may be disappointed and/or amused with Trump's outlandish seemliness but suspense and mystery are worse than disappointments. The virus knows this in its present invincibility and is playing the role of a hero and villain both while we are all condemned to play the character actor roles in this interminable serial. Keep your fingers and legs crossed.

Of Corona, mutating cultures and incidental austerity

Raju Korti
The Corona pandemic has been playing a spoilsport across the globe. With rising casualties, declining economy, stuttering jobs, overstretched health care services and bruised psyches, there has been little to cheer for in recent times. The virus has, however, a flip side to offer. Rarely before humour has been a more effective anti-virus as a defense mechanism to soothe the collective anxiety. In my part self-imposed and part forced quarantine, I have been trying to mutate some harmless humour and positives that the puniest of viruses in Universe has unleashed along with its brutalities.
Forget all the free-flowing bile and vicious barbs on the social media, the world has also been united to some extent. And of all things, it had to be a dead bug to bring life into the cynicism-filled humanity. The virus didn't exist during the times of American political scientist Samuel Huntington who argued that future wars would be fought not between countries but between cultures. The tiny bug has taken a sadistic delight in knocking the punch out of the Clash of Civilizations theory at its very roots. How do you explain the fiercely unrelenting and culturally guarded westerners forgoing a handshake "Hello" in favour of the equally jealously guarded old-fashioned Indian "Namaste"? If you thought there was a meter to measure the cultural value of both, don't forget the cheeky virus that has sharply outlined the difference between the both. Watch the likes of Trump looking smug and wearing a smile that looks more like a grimace while they fold their hands in a theatrical Namaste..
People freaking out on their daily tipple are now being coerced into abstention realizing to their disconcert that it is possible to survive without alcohol. Those who aren't sick are beginning to see the funny side of the self-isolation, keeping people's spirits up without the customary "Cheers!" Texting people and eat low-calorie snacks are the healthier diversions.
While boozers have been submitted into self-restraint, most people cutting into their daily meat have been denied their indulgence of non vegetarian food and compelled to eat "ghaasfoos". Through its versatile repertoire the virus has made it expedient to turn non vegans into vegans and exercise within the confines of their homes even as gymnasiums slam shut and its equipment gather rust.
In the limited scenes I have been privy to in the present lock-down, I have seen people holding on to their shrinking wallets and being frugal like there would be no tomorrow. Austerity is being learnt the hard way with Corona fear refusing to unlock the wallets and handbags of even the well-heeled. It is chastisement under house arrest.
We laugh then, perforce, to take back control and to connect two things we are losing in the battle against Corona virus. Not only we look helpless in stopping the tidal wave of infection washing over us, we are also being forced to endure this stark reality alone in our homes with perhaps the occasional show of solidarity by banging thaalis and blowing conchs. Powerless and isolated, we find the humour is now our most reliable shield and also our coziest blanket. So what if the humour is inadvertent and unintended.
People want jokes partly because humour is a relief and it takes the edge off the danger. When circumstances about which you can do precious little are thrown at you, humour becomes a therapy in itself. The only consistency in the entire story is a genetically modified virus has resulted in genetically modified cultures. As cultures reboot and synthesize, the Corona becomes its own anti-virus. The bats will agree.

Kim Jong Un: Is he or was he?

File grab from Wikipedia

Raju Korti
It has been some time that news channels and the political leaders appearing on those have been hammering it into our numbed heads about the "secular" nature of the Corona virus. Their case is the virus is so unprejudiced, it does not discriminate on caste, religion and nationality. What is happening world-wide vindicates that claim with the exception of countries like North Korea which has a such a unassailable iron-clad wall built around it that no information can break through. I have selected North Korea not just because it stands the test of the case but also has all the Teflon-coated intrigue to raise curiosity.
There are speculations that the so called heart surgery of its whimsical and self-styled dictator Kim Jong Un has been "unsuccessful" and his life could be in danger -- a euphemism for death. There is no clear word whether it is a heart surgery or whether the virus has caught up with him or whether he is even indisposed in the first place. Sample this: Kim is said to have been born in 1983 or 1984 which means he could be 37 or 36. From his "marriage", sometimes "supported" by the picture of a pretty woman sitting next to him, he is "thought to have three children."  If the birth is uncertain, death is even more uncertain.
North Korean dictators don't die. They are "reported dead". They also have the phoenix-like ability to rise from their ashes. Barely had the world heaved a sigh of relief that Kim's grandfather, Kim II Sung had "reportedly died" at 74, it had the mortification of "finding" that the man was alive to rule for 11 more years after his "passing on". His son and his natural successor Kim Jong II was "declared dead" when he was supposed to be very much "alive" according to the state media. In fact, he had passed two days earlier and no body elsewhere in the world, least of all the North Koreans themselves had any clue. The most romantic part of this misty story of hereditary dictatorship is all Kim generations are "Eternal" until they die and die after being "Eternal". This happens in "Democratic People's Republic of Korea."
For a country whose population of 2.55 crore is a little more than that of Mumbai's 2.4 crore, you need to marvel at the fascination and mystery the mercurial Kim Jong Un generates. So it is natural to wonder how the hefty man "died" all of a sudden in the midst of a heart operation and someone from his own kin spread the word about his "death." And then came a "source" who asserted that "he was recovering from the surgery." Among other things which are tightly held in the country, it is the personal health of the Kims.
If you have understood how the state information apparatus in North Korea is handled going by Kim II Sung and Kim Jong II's deaths, Kim Jong Un could, repeat, could be alive but incapacitated. In any case, the Americans can be none the wiser. North Korea's reputation of being overwhelmingly secretive makes it dicey about trusting any information that comes through its paranoiac officially controlled media. The country forever lives in the fear that Americans could exploit its perceived weakness. Still, Un suffering a stroke managed to leak because he was treated by a French doctor and by his "absence" from the military parades. 
The lock-down due to Covid-19 pandemic confounds the confusion but the speculations seem to have been fueled by his skipping the recent cruise missile launch -- something unusual but not unprecedented. The man has not been seen in any videos and/or pictures which in any case cannot be authenticated. Few images of totalitarianism are as powerful as the vision of a regime trying to conceal the death of its self-proclaimed leader.
Not that it really matters if you speculate about the happenings in that country but the world will learn about Kim's health only when North Korea thinks it fit to make that announcement. Conjecturing about his successor at this stage is beyond the realms of even speculation.
I would have put it thus: "It is believed, widely or not, that the Supreme Commander of People's Democratic Republic Party of North Korea, Kim Jong Un, has reportedly died following a purported heart surgery. According to sources, usually close to Mr Kim Jong Un and at times reliable, he allegedly leaves behind a woman known to be his wife and three children, apparently his own. There will likely be a State mourning in respect of the soul if it has really departed."
Brevity is the soul of wit. Only President Trump will not appreciate.

Philosophy in the times of Corona

Raju Korti
The tiny never fall. It is the exclusive preserve of the high and mighty. I am alluding to the world's reigning obsession, the Corona virus. As is my won't, I will spare you the pulpy conspiracy theories and the wisecracks on what is believed to be mankind's latest scourge. I will also skip the pompous sermonizing that you are being served day in day out by self-styled experts on the subject.
The parasite has been weighing down on my mind for reasons more philosophical than scientific. Going by the data coming from medical journals, I gather that the parasites are spherical particles with a diameter ranging from the smallest 0.06 microns to 0.14 microns. For the uninitiated, it adds up to roughly the size of a minute dust particle. Put even more simply, it is so tiny that it is 500 times smaller than the diameter of the human hair. This infinitesimalness is what makes it a Biblical David to us Goliaths in the current battle. It has brought the mighty world with its mighty superpowers and mighty egos to its tottering feet. Presidents, Prime Ministers and dictators never sounded so helpless, crestfallen and humbled as they do today. Little wonder, in their dissipating egos, they are talking of a "world war" against these tiny beings. In the thick of this pandemic hysteria and trepidation there seems to be no clear clue on how to rein in this sprightly little Frankenstein that seems to have emerged from its fictional existence to ferment humans like rarely witnessed before.
Philosophy and metaphysics take over when rationale goes into a lock-down. Not equipped with the intellect to enlighten on a subject in which I am as confused and lost as everyone else -- especially those who have the resignation to admit so -- I can only philosophize. So here it goes when lesser mortals talk of "war":

Jayega jab yaha se
Kuch bhi na paas hoga
Do gaz kafan ka tukda
Tera libas hoga
Matalab ki hai yeh duniya
Kya apne kya paraye
Koi na saath aaya
Do din ki zindagi hai
Kar le jo dil mein aaye
Yeh thaat baat tera
Yeh aan baan teri
Reh jayegi yahi par
Yeh sari shaan teri
Itni si hai musafir
Bas dastaan teri
Kaandhe pe le jaayenge parivaar waale
Yamdoot le pakadkar daalenge apne ghere
Peetega chhati apni, manwa hoga udaas
Chun Chun ke lakdiyo mein rakh de tere badan ko
Mitti mein mile mitti, baaki khaak hogi
Sone si teri kaaya jalkar khaak hogi
Duniya ko tyaag tera, marghat me waas hoga

काहे अपने रंग, रूप, अमीरी, होशियारी और अधिकार का गुमान करते हो भैया! 

This happens only in India

Raju Korti
It has become a stereotype to qualify anything odd or weird happening in this country as "this happens only in India." The decision of the defenders of Nirbhaya rapists to knock the doors of the International Court of Justice (ICJ), after having exhausted every possible manoeuvre to escape the gallows, for once makes justice to that cliche. I have preferred the word defenders to accused because I am sure the four accused of rape and murder have not even heard of the ICJ. Someone there is hell bent on saving their skin even if it means lampoonery of the judicial system and good conscience.
Rape and/or murder are not new in this country and their proportions have reached a stage that no one gives a damn about them except for an occasional short-lived outrage. The Nirbhaya case has plumbed a new depth in criminal mindset not because of the crime per se but the manner in which it happened. A Delhi court which heard a clutch of petitions in the rigmarole made a regulation statement that the accused were entitled to use up all available legal remedies However, none of the courts -- from the lowest to the highest of the land -- expressed any displeasure on the way the case unfolded in the last few years.
It is not my case here to say something as skewed as the lawyers and the masked faces behind them had done their legal homework well. What was manifest was a helpless judiciary which went through the motions with an insouciant calm when at other times it has demonstrated an activism beyond its brief.
The defendants of the accused must know that neither the courts of the country are answerable to the ICJ nor does the case have any international ramifications. It is only States that are eligible to appear before the court in "contentious cases" where what is contentious has not been defined. The ICJ has no jurisdiction to deal with applications from individuals, non-governmental organizations, corporations or any other private entity. The question of providing them legal respite does not arise. The ICJ charter clearly says that a State may take up the case of one of its nationals and invoke against another State the wrongs which its national claims to have suffered at the hands of the latter in which case the dispute then becomes one between States. Since the Nirbhaya case is criminal, the prosecution is the State itself. The ICJ has no jurisdiction to try crimes against humanity. It is not a criminal court and does not have a prosecutor able to initiate proceedings. The accused's case does not even hang by a thread here since the court does not even serve as the last resort for them. Finally, we all know how much importance States give to the ICJ. It has just about the same relevance as the United Nations has which is almost nothing.
I would like to interpret that taking recourse to the ICJ in this case should be treated as insubordination of the Supreme Court and therefore contempt. The Indian courts with all their loopholes and judicial shortcomings are still good enough to deal with the case. By now the canvas and the timeline of the case make it a no brainer about the people who are going all out to save the perpetrators behind their sanctimonious standing and the dilatory tactics exploiting a weak system to the hilt.
It surprises me that no attempt is being made to find out who is in such an overdrive to save the guilty and the agenda behind it even if there are no prizes for guessing. The larger picture does not pertain to the perceived mockery of the judicial system or lack of national conscience alone. It also shams the entire State and its lackadaisical approach in stopping dick lawyers from getting such weird ideas that make it difficult to take cases to their logical conclusion in a system that even otherwise leaves much to be desired. When conscience fails, arguments make out a case for Hyderabad encounters.
For all the sermonizing it makes about probity, integrity and honour of the legal profession, the Bar Council of India has preferred to be a silent witness to this farce while We The People watch in impotent rage waiting for another Nirbhaya to happen and play the same cassette again over candle-lit marches. This happens only in India.       

A requiem for my Baba

Raju Korti
It is easy to deploy platitudes when you describe your heroes but my eldest brother Anil, endearingly known as Baba, was so matter-of-fact that he would make anyone who crossed his path, to look very objectively at him. Straight as ramrod and a person of unflinching beliefs, he was a strange mix of human chemistry. I lived in his shadows for sixty years and when he passed on December 6, it took sometime to sink in and assess just how much he meant to me without the verbiage cliche that are conventionally used to describe the dead.
Even in the complicated maze of relationships, it is discernible that sibling relationships outlast marriages, survive the loss of parents and flourish in a thousand incarnations of closeness and warmth. Looking back at the decades that I spent with him, I can now only marvel at what went into the making of his distinct personality. Baba is a familiar address for father but my brother got his name from our grandfather who was disciplined to the boot and a task master. He inherited these genes from the senior Baba. But beyond this tough exterior lay an extremely sensitive and affectionate human being. That, however, never made him compromise on his exacting standards.
He passed his graduation in Civil Engineering with Honours  in 1970 and as a youngster about to enter college, I saw that his performance was top notch. I particularly recall his Engineering Drawing sheets that were worth preserving in a museum. The fonts that he replicated in his writing and drawing would be better than the original. His classmates often spent nights in my house, seeking his help in completing their projects. His handwriting -- whatever the language -- deserved consecration. I watched all this with awe, wondering if it was humanly possible for anyone to be so perfect with a capital P.
I attribute my love for Physics and Mathematics to him. I was not very fond of these subjects until my 7th standard but Baba had a peculiar habit of thrusting them in my face. Often, before going to college, he would open any book (which were many), any random page, tick-mark a problem and ask me to solve it before he returned. Sometimes I could, most of the times I could not. But when he came back he would make it look ridiculously simple and it was then I realized that these subjects were no demons if you had someone who could explain it like he did. Even before I took admission in engineering college, he had started explaining to me the concepts in layman's terms. The difference between him and me was while I dreaded Applied Mechanics, a killer subject for most, he took wanton delight in teaching it to me. And then, he evinced interest in everything and was deeply knowledgeable -- from sports to music and politics to science.
I recall how as an impressed younger brother, I mentioned him to my friends after he had passed the MPSC examination in the first attempt. Sometime after his marriage, he discovered a new found talent for cooking. In fact, so taken in he was that he would often discourage my sister-in-law to enter the kitchen. The house woke up on the sounds of the vegetable cutter but what was amazing was each vegetable piece was cut into precisely the same size. His artistic bent of mind was always in evidence in whatever he did. The best part was he knew exactly how much quantity to cook. It perfectly sufficed us. No wastage or question of eating leftover food. Watching cookery shows, he would innovate with every cuisine at his finger tip. His home-made spices were a huge draw and till to this day I wonder why he didn't get into that business. I am sure he would have given the existing brands a run for their money.
I could see that he seamlessly fit into any robes that he donned. My one particularly endearing memory is the way he bathed me as a kid. He would stand and make me sit at his feet. Then he would pour water on his head so that it fell on me too. While having an early lunch to go to office, he would feed me morsels. In all this display of care, he also took me to task me when I did anything wrong. By the time I got into Engineering, I realized he was almost as much a father to me as my real father. He had an uncanny ability to know what was in my mind. "You want anything?" he would ask and I would hesitatingly tell him I wanted to go for a movie or hang around with friends. He would just fish his hands in his pant pockets and gave me whatever came to him -- Rs 10 or Rs 50, a princely sum in the 70s. He never asked me to explain how I spent which made me even more responsible while spending whatever he gave. I remember I wanted to go in for a court marriage and feared my parents won't approve. Baba just put his foot down and said "it will be a registered and only registered marriage." When he spoke with that conviction, not even my father, himself a strong-willed man, could dare refuse.
I believe he commanded respect from old and young alike simply because he led by example rather than pompous sermonizing. In any case once he had made up his mind, he would never budge even if he realized later that he had erred. He hated compromises and mediocrity -- something that forced people who came in contact with him to be constantly on their guard and do their best. He had zero tolerance for the undisciplined especially those who had no respect for other's time. That to an extent also made him unpopular with many people but he couldn't care less. There were people who didn't know whether to thank him for his largesse and giving nature or to keep away from him for his apparent abrasive demeanour. He would make it a point to share pleasantries with thousands of people in his phone list with religious regularity every day without being hassled that many of them didn't even bother to respond. "I do it because I must do it. Matter ends," he would say.
Having suffered a very debilitating illness like Psoriasis for almost 30 years, he had become irritable and testy. It was excruciating to see the skin condition disfigure his handsome face and make him suffer years on end but he never abdicated any of his responsibilities. I guess he had realized that the end was near and had started offering each one of us financial help. 71 is no age to die especially if you don't have the usual suspects like diabetes and blood pressure. The impact of his exit -- something I didn't feel even when my father passed in 1990 -- has started hitting me.
I feel I am out on a limb now. Brothers don't let each other wander in the dark alone. I lived in his shadow all his life. Now I live in his glow.
Here is an ode to him:
I shared with you all my hopes, dreams and despair
I also had run ins with you, but you were also giving and forgiving
Deep within me I know my bond with you is unbreakable even in death
You always stood up for the right and were always correct
I may or may not show, you will remain the anchor of my life
You are my heart and my alter ego, without you survival is unimaginable
I know that you shall pass every test, whenever and wherever
And if I am born again, let ME be your elder brother
To repay your debt with interest.