Fighting the loss of privacy

This book is a disturbing one.

The author, Carissa Veliz, makes clear that you are under 24-hour surveillance by Big Tech companies like Google and Facebook. They study what you do, who are your colleagues, where do you go for vacations, what you like to eat, who are your friends, your relationship with your spouse and children, the type of stuff you buy, the moves you like to see and your political beliefs.

They end up doing a psychological profile of you.

This can be used by them or sold to third parties and governments.

Through the laptop and mobile cameras, they can even look at you and see what you are doing.

The author suggests it may be safer to post as few personal information and photos online as possible.

And in case you want to turn the surveillance off, one way is to disable the web and apps activity.

I have attached a page for a quick read. And a link to disable the app. 

https://www.ricksdailytips.com/disable-web-and-app.../

Some thoughts about running

 

By Shevlin Sebastian

A few months ago, I discovered an area to jog which was salubrious. A broad tiled path ran through a large forest on one side and a few houses on the other. The advantage of this was that, unlike running on roads, I no longer encountered traffic. Instead, what I heard were the sounds of nature: birds chirping, the leaves rustling, and the crick-crick of the crickets.

Not surprisingly, there were walkers on the path. A group of four middle-aged women were regulars in their salwar kameez and sneakers. When I go past, I have heard the words, ‘cakes’, ‘pickles’, ‘property’ and ‘vaccine’. There are elderly couples too. Inevitably, the man walks ahead.

There are boys in cycles. A couple of them ride without touching the handle with the casual self-confidence of the very young. A man in his mid-thirties, with his shoulder length hair tied in a topknot, and with white earphones sticking out of his ears walks past, listening to music. Another girl in her late twenties also has earphones, but she is inevitably talking to somebody on the phone.

Sometimes, there are teenage boys and girls who stand on one side and have a chat. If they are in the mood, they play badminton but with no net. Just hitting the shuttle back and forth, interspersed with shouts and giggles. There is a group of seniors, all men with white hair, chatting about politics and the state of the world. The watchman, who is from Sikkim, is talking to his family back home.

In the midst of this crowd, I was the only runner, till recently. Now two youngsters do a bit of running.

I went about my run, thinking about this and that, even as my mouth was wide open, as I drew in gulps of air, whenever I increased my speed. Sweat poured off my forehead, and my T-shirt was drenched. But there were positives: my adrenal flow increased and so did my dopamine.

All was fine, till my wife asked me to drop off some clothes at a tailoring shop, which was just outside the area where I run. Imagine my surprise when the woman who runs the shop called my wife and said, “Oh, this is your husband. He runs like the breeze.”

Did I? I don’t think I am running fast. But it may look fast, because after a year of running non-stop, I have missed about 10 days in 365 days, I may have developed my stamina and endurance. Somebody told my aunt who lives nearby about my running. When I met her, she said, “Please try not to run so much. You are putting a lot of strain on my knees.”

Yes, I too am worried about my knees. So, I tell my knees: ‘please rejuvenate yourself and be healthy and full of vitality’. This is a practice I do often: I thank different parts of my body because of the ceaseless work they do: the eyes, ears, heart, lungs, liver, small and large intestines, arms, legs and the guru of them all: the brain. Sometimes, I will go further and thank the femur, tibia, ankles, soles, teeth, tongue, throat, spine, coccyx and even the anus.

The only alternative to running is swimming, the greatest exercise of them all, but thanks to the coronavirus, the pools are closed to ordinary people. Only competitors can access a pool.

A couple of days ago, two boys, on cycles, who looked to be ten and twelve years old, accosted me and asked my name and age. After I told my name, I asked them to guess my age. The ten-year-old shook his head, unable to think of a number, but the elder one took a shot. It was twelve years younger and I let it be. He would probably get a shock at the true number.

I felt elated that even youngsters had noticed me. But my wife killed me when she described my running style: “It’s like you have just grabbed a gold necklace from the neck of a woman and are fleeing, with the policemen chasing you.”

I had to laugh at this description, but it at least showed I ran fast.

But do I? In a country where very few people exercise, I might stand out. But if I go abroad, what I do, running a mere 3 kms a day, and walking another 3 kms will be regarded as pathetic.

A few years ago when I went to Singapore, my childhood friend Pradeep Paul invited me to go for a 10 km run with the Hash House Harriers Club, a group of cross-country runners. So we ran on roads, on bridges, climbed fences, and whizzed through fields. But there were so many foreigners in their sixties and even in their seventies who ran faster. I finished in the middle of the pack. So, in Singapore, my stamina would be considered not-so-great.

But in Kerala and India, where standards are abysmally low, a bit of speed is seen to be a big thing. So, I am not tapping myself on the back.

Meanwhile, I understood one important lesson from these daily runs. The mind controls the body. On days when I am in a good mood, I run faster. And there have been days when I have been low, and my body quickly got the message. I had to drag myself through the course, unable to get up the usual speed.

So, as author Deepak Chopra rightly said, what you think that you become. And your body responds to your every mood in that manner.

These are some thoughts which came my way on a sunny Sunday morning.

The Malayali girl who worked for Joe Biden

Lubna Sebastian, 24, was the national director of students for Joe Biden during the latter’s 2020 presidential campaign. She speaks about her experiences

Photos: Lubna Sebastian with President Joe Biden. The family (from left) Adila, Lubna, Shahin and Sebastian 

By Shevlin Sebastian 

On October 18, 2019, Lubna Sebastian was having a turkey sandwich in a hotel hallway in Houston. She was helping the Joe Biden campaign before the debate among the presidential candidates of the Democratic Party. Suddenly Biden came up, saw Lubna, and said, “Thank you for coming all the way down here.” 

Lubna, who had flown in from the campaign headquarters of Philadelphia, a distance of 2900 kms, smiled. 

After another debate at Las Vegas, Lubna went up to Biden and said, “Congratulations, you did a superb job.” 

Biden smiled and said, “Thank you.”  

Lubna saw Biden on the road when she worked on the campaign in Iowa and Nevada. “After each speech, Biden would stay at the venue for two hours, interacting with the local people,” she said. “It was crazy. I did not know you could have so much access to a prominent politician.” 

Biden’s humanity always had an impact. “You may only have 30 seconds with him but people would immediately share their problems: ‘My child has cancer’ or ‘I got laid off’,” said Lubna. “He is a person with whom it is easy to be comfortable with. He will listen and connect with you, no matter where you are from.”   

Asked the difference between Biden and former President Donald Trump, Lubna said, “He is the exact opposite of Trump. The level of exhaustion because of what happened during the past four years is immense. We have lived through a disaster. During the eight years of the Obama-Biden administration, things were so calm that people became a little politically absent. Even I was, at times.” 

But for students who grew up during Trump’s presidency, they had to endure tough times. “They saw mass shootings go unanswered, while their parents could be struck off benefits from Obamacare,” she said. “They had seen kids in cages, who had been separated from their parents on the border with Mexico. They heard about a ban on people from six Muslim countries. Some international students were worried about whether they could study further because of possible future immigration laws. The list goes on. The level of stress which people lived under was abnormal.”

As a result, the students became politically active, including Lubna. She joined the campaign, ‘It’s on Us’, which was founded by the Obama-Biden administration. This was a programme to raise awareness of sexual assault on campuses. She became one of 105 students across the country who became a national committee member. 

Asked why a 24-year-old like her supported one of the oldest candidates (Biden is 78), Lubna laughed on a Zoom call, and said, “I grew up seeing Biden on TV. He always seemed personable, someone who was very empathetic and down-to-earth. I felt I had a connection with him.” 

Lubna joined Biden’s campaign as an assistant. When some students, after doing their internships, returned to their schools, Lubna set up a programme to keep the students plugged into the campaign. 

In July, 2020, Lubna was promoted to be the national director of students for Joe Biden. There were over 400 student chapters. Lubna developed campaign updates and national events for the students across the country. 

By this time, Lubna was working 16 hours a day. “Campaign work is back-breaking, and you cannot do it unless you deeply believe in the candidate,” she said. 

On September 3, 2020, Lubna sat for her citizenship examination. Later, Biden wrote a letter in which he congratulated Lubna on becoming a citizen. ‘Your family decided to make this country home because they knew, above all else, America is all about possibilities,’ he wrote.  

Lubna voted by mail for Biden, on October 3, a month before the election. 

After the campaign, in which Joe Biden defeated Donald Trump to become the 46th President of the United States, Lubna worked on the committee that organised the inauguration ceremony of Joe Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris. After a month relaxing, Lubna is now job hunting from Bethesda, Maryland, where she is staying with her parents.

Lubna’s father Sebastian James is a Washington-based economist with the World Bank. A graduate of the Indian Institute of Technology, Delhi, in 1995, he got into the Indian Revenue Service and was posted in Delhi. Later, he completed his Master’s and PhD from Harvard University. He resigned from the Government of India when he was Joint Commissioner and went to America in 2002. “I wanted a more challenging life,” he said.  

A Christian, he is married to a Malayali Muslim Shahin whom he had met in Delhi. “It was love at first sight for me,” he said. 

Asked whether the couple faced pressure from their families when they decided to get married, Sebastian said, “Shahin’s father did not believe religion should come in the way of two people who are in love. My side of the family had some reservations, but I convinced them that Shahin’s character was more important than her religion. In both our families, we had members who had cross-religious marriages, and they were doing fine.” 

Apart from Lubna, the couple has another daughter, Adila, who is 17.

Interestingly, both Lubna’s mother and she were born in the All India Institute of Medical Sciences at Delhi, which was set up in 1956. The family migrated when Lubna was five years old. “Growing up in America, there was a lot of pressure to conform,” said Lubna. “No one could pronounce my name. Or they would do it incorrectly. I looked very different from my classmates, most of whom were white. As a child, you don’t want to be different. You want to be like everybody else.”

She felt she did not belong at times. But when she grew up and worked on different professional projects, Lubna met with a diverse range of people who belonged to so many different countries. “We had the most fun, and brought unique experiences to the table,” she said.  

Asked the meaning of her name, Lubna said, “It is an Arabic word which means river of milk in paradise. It is also the name of a tree that produces a fragrant flower.” Many people tell Lubna it is a beautiful name, including her family who are originally from Thiruvananthapuram.

When she was growing up, she would come to Kerala once every two years. But in college, the gaps became larger. The last time she came was in December, 2019. “I grew up with my mom’s parents, because they were in Delhi, so I was closer to them,” she said.  

Lubna admits that when she comes to Kerala, she feels she is reconnecting with her roots. “I blend in a lot more easily because everybody looks like me, unlike in the US, where I don’t always see anybody else like me,” she said. 

Lubna particularly enjoys eating the fruits in Kerala which she says are very fresh, like mangos, bananas, and guavas. 

Asked about her plans, Lubna says she is interested in a career in politics. “There are different ways to be politically active,” she said. “It can be through elected office, or advocacy groups that are inherently political.” 

(Published in OnManorama)

Face-to-face with death

By Shevlin Sebastian

Mangalore native, Shazeer Majeed, a war surgeon talks about his work in Yemen, Syria, South Sudan, Iraq and Jordan

On a sunny February morning, in the residential area of Shmeisani in Amman, Jordan, the Mangalore native Shazeer Majeed looks out of the third-floor window. He has been in Amman for the past one year as the medical director for the Reconstructive Surgery Project of Medecins San Frontieres (MSF).

The organisation brings in war-wounded patients who need reconstructive, maxillofacial, plastic and orthopaedic surgery from Palestine, Iraq, Yemen as well as Syrian refugees living in Jordan. “We want to return them to a near-normal life,” said Shazeer.

But as he stared out of the window, the image of Noor Abdullah (name changed) came to his mind. The 14-year-old lived in the town of Ad Dahi in Yemen. He had found a land mine near his house. He tried to open it because it fetched a good price with scrap-metal dealers, but it exploded.    

The major injury was to his right hand. Noor was rushed to the emergency room of a hospital run by MSF. “There were a lot of shrapnel wounds and his forearm had fractured,” said Shazeer, who is a war surgeon. “The main artery which supplies blood to the hand was damaged.” 

The boy was in shock. But at the same time, he was aware of his injury. He kept telling Shazeer, “Please do not amputate my hand.” 

At that moment Shazeer did not have the equipment or the instruments to do vascular surgery. The instruments were in another MSF project, at Hodeidah, 53 kms away. But within an hour, it was brought to the hospital. 

Shazeer did a graft repair. He took a vein from the leg and used it on the forearm. “We were able to re-connect the arteries and restore the blood supply, which fixed the fracture and saved his hand,” said Shazeer, who has done numerous stints in South Sudan, Iraq, Syria, Jordan and Yemen. Within a couple of weeks, Noor was able to move his fingers and arms. And in four months, he made a complete recovery. 

But not everybody experiences this recovery. Shazeer admits there are many times when the patient dies. “But I pick myself up,” he said. “Honestly, we are putting in 16 or 18-hour days and when we return to our apartments, we just want to sleep. There is no time to think about victory or defeat in the operation theatre. Sometimes, after a patient passes away, we immediately begin work on another patient to save his life.”

There have been times when Shazeer has worked for over 30 hours at a stretch. This was during a stint in Yemen. “There was fighting close by,” he said. “We just kept receiving patients, so we slept when the operation theatre would be cleaned before the next patient was brought in.” 

Shazeer says that he copes with the job by shutting out thoughts about it as soon as he leaves the MSF Mission. “Otherwise, it would be impossible for me to remain calm,” he said. 

Sometimes, the MSF sends its staff to another country for five days, so that they can recover from the stress and the tension. “So, if you are in Yemen, they will send you to Djibouti,” said Shazeer. 

As for the patients, most of them are ordinary men, women and children. The military has its hospital to treat their victims. 

Usually, the people suffer from wounds and injuries which take place when a bomb blast happens. There are also high-velocity bullet injuries. But not all injuries are caused by the war between the Saudis, who are allied with the government of Abdrabbuh Mansur Hadi and the Houthis. 

“Sometimes, bullet injuries happen when there are fights between family members or friends because Yemen has one of the highest ratios of gun ownership per population in the world,” said Shazeer. “Everyone carries a gun in Yemen.” 

Even minor injuries can become fatal. Sometimes, the bullet may hit the leg. But if the hospital is four hours away, the person will bleed to death. Sometimes, the gunshot may be to the chest but the hospital may be only 20 minutes away. “Then he will get proper treatment and survive,” said Shazeer. 

Most of the time there are no facilities, like in any hospital. “There is a shortage of blood, or sometimes, we don’t have the right equipment,” said Shazeer. “It is usually a low-resource setting. So, I have developed ways to overcome these limitations.” 

As to the precautions that are taken to safeguard the lives of the doctors, nurses and patients, the MSF shares their location with the warring parties. On the roof of the hospital, there is a large logo of MSF; this can be seen from the air, along with the Red Cross sign which depicts a hospital. However, despite these precautions, MSF hospitals have been targeted in Yemen and Afghanistan. 

On May 12, 2020, insurgents attacked the Dasht-e-Barchi maternity hospital in Kabul. Twenty-four mothers, children and babies were shot dead. “The organisation is always in touch with the local authorities and keeps them updated,” said Shazeer. “We tell them we are impartial and neutral and have only one aim: to provide medical care to the people who need it.” 

Shazeer feels sad about the impact of the six-year war on Yemen. The economy is in freefall. Many young Yemenis want to go abroad for studies. Now they are unable to do so because of severe financial constraints. The medical facilities have broken down. 

“There is a lot of hardship, and a high degree of malnutrition because of food shortages,” he said. “There are outbreaks of cholera. But the people are nice, humble and smart. They are eager to learn and are good at grasping a subject.” 

Expectedly, Yemen had a large number of Malayalis. Before the war began in 2014, his MSF colleagues in Yemen worked with a lot of Malayali nurses. Now all of them have left the country. Many of them took advantage of Operation Raahat, which was conducted by the Indian Armed Forces to evacuate Indian citizens and foreign nationals from Yemen in April, 2015. “I don’t think there are any Malayalis left in the country,” said Shazeer.

However, there are many Yemenis of Indian origin. Their great grandfathers had migrated to Aden from India during the British rule, which began in 1839.  

A desire to help

Shazeer joined MSF in September 2014, because he was interested in doing humanitarian work. His inspiration was his father, Abdul Majeed, a surgeon who always helped the downtrodden as well as his former mother-in-law Nimmi Sheriff. “Their work for the poor had a big impact on me,” he said.

As for his education, he did his undergraduate studies from Yenepoya Medical College in Mangalore. This was followed by a residency in general surgery at the Amrita Institute of Medical Sciences in Kochi. Then Shazeer did his ‘humanitarian surgery in an austere environment’ from the Catholic University of Leuven, Brussels in 2018. At present, he is pursuing his Master’s in Public Health from King’s College, London.

Meanwhile, all these years of working in war zones has changed Shazeer. “I appreciate life much more,” he said. “We complain when we don’t have electricity in our houses for 15 minutes but there are people who stay in 50 degrees centigrade, and do not have power for days together.”

It is also a blessing to walk around in a city like Mangalore. “You can get out of your house, and get back without any major incident happening to you,” he said. “That is no longer the case in Syria, Palestine and Yemen. You could be shot at or bombed. I appreciate everything about life.”

Whenever he finishes a stint with MSF, Shazeer returns to Mangalore where he does operations alongside his father Abdul who works in private hospitals.

Asked how he has viewed the incessant attacks by one group of men on another, and vice versa, Shazeer said, “Man has been killing each other since the beginning of time. There has never been a time when men have not killed other men. It is usually in the name of religion, country, caste, or tribe. Man will always find a reason to kill other human beings. But what is most disheartening is that those who suffer are not involved in the battle. They are the ordinary people who just want to get on with their daily lives, like having a job and looking after their family. They want a normal life.”

(Published in Onmanorama.com)

The mysterious death of an Indian sailor; crew members report ghostly disturbances

By Shevlin Sebastian 

On January 29, sailor Bhupendra, 24, was having lunch with his colleagues Devadasa Shivaraya and Cheekati Gurumurthy in the mess room of the tanker MT Sea Princess, as it sailed in international waters off the coast of the United Arab Emirates. The 28-year-old ship was on its last journey; it was headed towards the ship-breaking port of Alang in Gujarat. 

After lunch, the trio went to do different tasks. At 4 p.m., fitter Dhananjay tried to locate Bhupendra, since they worked together in the galleys, but couldn’t find him. So Dhananjay went to Bhupendra’s cabin but he was not there. Then he went to the bridge. Again, Bhupendra could not be found. At 4.40 p.m., an alarm was sounded. 

All the 12 crew members took part in the search. And it was only at 5.15 p.m. that Gurumurthy found Bhupendra hanging in the boiler room. When they brought the body down, Birendra had no pulse. At 5.45 p.m., Bhupendra’s body was shifted to the cold room. 

The authorities were informed, including K Sreekumar, the Inspector at Chennai of the International Transport Workers Federation (ITF). 

Since the death of Bhupendra occurred in international waters, the authorities at Sharjah were reluctant to allow the ship to come back. But when a request was made by the Indian Embassy and the ITF, the ship was allowed to return. Thereafter, a postmortem was done in a hospital at Khor Fakkan and the body now remains in the mortuary. The ITF is awaiting the release of the police report. 

“From what I heard, Bhupendra had completed a nine-month contract, and stayed on for another three months, because the company, Prime Tankers did not let him off despite repeated requests. But the company said since the ship was going to Alang, they told Bhupendra to continue till he reached India,” said Sreekumar.  

It seemed he felt depressed by these repeated rejections and committed suicide. Interestingly, Bhupendra did not leave behind any suicide note. This was confirmed to Sreekumar by the captain Nirmal Singh Brar (the captain was unavailable for comment, citing insufficient data on his mobile phone).

Arun Som, the uncle of Bhupendra, disputed the fact that his nephew had committed suicide. “He told us he had booked a flight ticket from Sharjah to Chandigarh on January 25,” said Arun, by phone from Bhupendra’s hometown, Khera, about 35 kms from Meerut. 

From there, Bhupendra was supposed to travel by taxi for the six-hour journey to his home. But from January 25, onwards, his mobile phone remained out of range. But Arun was not worried. On the seas, for days at a stretch, there would be no network coverage, so Bhupendra could not call home.

At 10.30 am, on January 30, Chief Engineer Sushil Kumar called Bhupendra’s father Suresh Kumar and told him his son had passed away. 

Arun said, “Why did they take so long to inform the family, especially when he had died the previous afternoon? We cannot believe Bhupendra has committed suicide. He was a peaceful and simple boy, and enjoyed life.”   

The parents have been devastated. They have not eaten at all, including Bhupendra’s elder brother, Rajinder, 27, who is a farmer like his father. “The village of 10,000 people, who are predominantly sugarcane farmers, have been deeply distressed by what has happened,” said Arun. 

The family is in touch with the Indian Embassy since they have not received the body. 

“There is something fishy which has happened,” said Arun. 

The ship which used to transport bitumen and asphalt, is at present docked at the Alpha anchorage at Khor Fakkan, near Sharjah. 

Meanwhile, crew members told Sreekumar there have been some unnatural disturbances at night. Doors are being banged and the portholes are being shaken. They fear it is the ghost of Bhupendra. “The crew is going through a lot of stress,” said Sreekumar. “I don’t know how much of this is true, but the weather is calm at Khor Fakkan.”   

The ITF is preparing a report stating that owing to the mental stress caused by the captain’s refusal to release Bhupendra, he committed suicide. So, Prime Tankers is liable to pay compensation to Bhupendra’s family.

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A helping hand

The Indian branch of the UK-based Sailors Society is in touch with Bhupendra's family and providing necessary support to them. In the event of a crisis, seafarers and their families can contact the society’s round-the-clock helpline, 022-48972266. They can receive advice in a variety of languages including Hindi, Tamil, Gujarati, Telugu, Bengali, Malayalam and Odia.  

The free helpline is staffed by a team of professional psychologists, chaplains, maritime lawyers and social workers. 

The Brand New You

Entrepreneur Nilufer Sheriff talks about the popular Hair Fair cosmetology clinics that she runs in Thrissur, Kochi and Kozhikode. She also recounts the story of her life

Pics: Nilufer Sheriff; Nilufer with her husband Rohit Vijayan. Photos by Unique Times 

By Shevlin Sebastian

Whenever a leading Mollywood star Kalpana (name changed) enters the Hair Fair Clinic at Thrissur, owner Nilufer Sheriff has a look of anticipation. “She’s the easiest and most intelligent client that I have,” said Nilufer. “When you talk to clients about certain treatments, they tend to double-check with others. I can understand why. But with Kalpana, she has this ability to trust you completely. She makes you feel that what we are going to do is right. So she says, ‘Do it’.”

Before she comes to the clinic, Kalpana is clear in her mind about the treatment she is seeking. For actors, Nilufer says the doctors can change the jawline, lift the cheeks, pull up the eyebrows, and sharpen the nose. “In a way, we sculpt the face,” said Nilufer. “So, when Kalpana comes, she clearly states what she is looking for.”

Once, Kalpana said she was about to embark on the role of a village woman. So, she did not want sharp features. All these changes are temporary. “A change in jawline lasts a year,” said Nilufer.

Since actors rely on their expressions so much, Nilufer does not use Botox in the central part of their faces. However, in the other sections, she uses a technology which reduces the strength of the Botox. When it is administered into the skin, the pores are removed, but not the wrinkles. “It will not freeze the expressions,” says Nilufer. “If needed, we can also dilute it in a particular proportion for the wrinkles to be removed.” One other positive is that the face gives off a radiance.

When asked whether Botox is safe, Nilufer said, “Of course, it is. I have been using Botox for years. It is not just a corrective, it can be a preventive too. My lifestyle is very stressful, so wrinkles can come up, so I have used Botox and that is why my face has remained unlined.”

Nilufer is the best advertisement for the work done in her clinic. She has done three nose jobs or rhinoplasty, liposuctions, and chin extensions. When lines appear on her face, she inserts a thread and lifts the skin. She has healed her hair.

“I had very little hair because of genes,” she says. “My paternal grandmother had very little hair. Till three years ago, I used wigs and extensions. But throughout that time, I was learning the process of growing the hair.”

Now Nilufer has lush and long hair. Incidentally, her Hair Fair clinics -- in Thrissur, Kochi and Kozhikode -- are well-known for its hair treatments.

Nilufer says the one reason she tries out these things on herself is because if it does not work for her, it means it will not work for her clients. In a way, she is a guinea pig.

Asked whether people have an inferiority complex regarding their looks, Nilufer says, “Of course, they do. Even the most beautiful people have insecurities. Some clients have told me that when they don’t look their best, it affects their confidence and ability to perform. It can also affect their marriage and career.”

As for the clients, the men are at 51 percent while the women are at 49 percent. Most of the men come for a solution for their hair fall. “They are very conscious about their looks,” says Nilufer.

For a 45-year-old male actor who has crow’s feet around the eyes, Nilufer does not remove all the wrinkles, because the audience will notice it immediately. Instead, she softens the wrinkles. “I will just remove the harshest lines,” she said.

One popular actor requested that he should not be made fair because the Malayali audience does not like fair actors. Apart from many top Mollywood stars, Nilufer has Tamil and Telugu actors who are clients, too, apart from leading politicians, corporates and businessmen.

As for the most-asked treatment, she said, different clients have different needs. An NRI woman will ask for laser hair removal or facial contouring. A teenager will ask for a product to get rid of her acne.

When a client comes in, a team of experts looks into the quality of the skin, diet, lifestyle, and hormonal balance before suggesting the treatment.

One of her oldest clients is 79-year-old Susan Chacko, who lives in Thrissur. Her husband is a doctor while she is a homemaker. Her children live abroad. “Susan aunty does yoga and exercise, and eats right,” says Nilufer. “She has ensured she received the right treatments, so she looks pretty even now.”

As to whether Malayali women look after their faces and skin, Nilufer said, “Not really, even though we have great skin. Malayalis have a high degree of immunity, unlike Westerners, whose skin ages fast -- they develop wrinkles, freckles, and splotches. Malayalis don’t have those problems.”

The problem is the diet. Most people eat fried or junk food. “Malayalis rarely have broccoli or organic foods,” she said. “And too many foods have pesticides in them. That can affect the skin.” There are lifestyle issues: high stress and lack of exercise. This can make you age fast.

At Hair Fair, there is a range of treatments and products, which are offered. The prices start at Rs 550 and can go up to Rs 2 lakh.

A powerhouse

In person, at her mother’s spacious apartment on Marine Drive, Kochi, Nilufer comes across as strong, forceful, articulate and focused. She is the only child of Muhammad Sheriff and Nimmi.

Sheriff, a graduate of the Indian Institute of Technology, Chennai, is the Executive Director of the Dubai-based Tecton Construction, a desalination, oil and pipeline company. They have executed projects in Qatar, Bahrain, India, Europe and the United Arab Emirates. He also owns an export-trading firm in Africa and Prime Inspections in Italy.

Nilufer grew up in Thrissur with her mother, Nimmi. With the encouragement of her husband, Nimmi began a beauty salon called La Femme in Thrissur in 1988. This remains successful. On an average, they do the make-up for 100 plus brides every month, especially during the wedding season.

When she was in Class six, Sheriff told Nilufer about a toxin, which helps to remove wrinkles and makes people look younger. Later, when she grew up, Nilufer realised it was Botox. “That was the time there was no Google and the Internet but my father was already aware of all the new technological advancements,” says Nilufer.

One day, when Nilufer was in Class 9, Sheriff showed her a magazine in which there was a write-up of the Vandana Luthra Curls and Curves company. “There will come a time when doctors will be handling these salons,” he said.

Her father had sketched out the career plan for Nilufer from the beginning. “The beauty industry will never suffer from recession,” he told her. “Everyone wants to look their best all the time.”

Nilufer did her MBBS from Rajiv Gandhi University in Mangalore. In 2005, she got married to a surgeon named Shazeer Majeed. In 2007, she became a mother to a boy named Rayn (which means, ‘Gateway to Heaven’ in Arabic). However, her marriage did not work out. Thereafter, after her graduation, she worked in Jubilee Mission Hospital and the Trivandrum Medical College.

In 2014, Nilufer went to do a one-and-a-half-year course in dermatology from St. John’s Campus of King’s University in London, and internships in cosmetology clinics in New York and Los Angeles. This was followed by a course in cosmetology from the American Academy of Dermatology. She also worked in Singapore under Dr Dylan Chau.

It was while working in a Beverly Hills salon that one day, Hollywood star Jennifer Aniston walked in. Jennifer was wearing huge sunglasses, with a grey top and a black cardigan, topped up by a huge sun hat. “She slipped in quickly so that people would not recognise her,” said Nilufer. “Jennifer had natural beauty.”

Start of Hair Fair

After her studies, Nilufer returned to Thrissur and began working in her mom’s salon in the reception to get an idea of the beauty enquiries of an average Malayali. Thus far, her knowledge had been only of Western clients. Thereafter, she took some space there. She started with peeling and facials.

Nilufer’s first client was a senior Thrissur Corporation official. Thereafter, many clients followed. So, she decided to start her clinic in 2016. And it has laser technicians, dentists, Ayurvedic experts, plastic surgeons, dermatologists, medi-facial experts and cosmetologists. They have their production line of creams and medicines and an export division.

Personal life

Two years ago, Nilufer married the 6’2” Rohit Vijayan. They met through a mutual friend. And love blossomed. They got married at the Shangri-La Golf Resort & Spa, Hambantota, Sri Lanka on November 16, 2018, in the presence of 120 friends and relatives. Among the guests were Mollywood stars Indrajith, his wife Poornima, Bhavana, and director Geetu Mohandas.

Asked about the qualities of her husband, Nilufer says, “Rohit is well-behaved and expresses his opinions in a forthright manner. He dresses very well. And he is a gentleman. We have similar perspectives on life. In short, he is a great package.”

A year ago, Rohit hit the headlines when he gifted a Lamborghini sports car, valued at over Rs 4 crore, to Nilufer.

She loves to drive. “There is such an adrenaline rush to drive at high speed,” says Nilufer. “It is similar to playing a video game.”

Kochi-based Rohit is a second-generation seafood exporter. Thanks to Rohit, Hair Fair has expanded to different cities. “Hair Fair could not have grown without Rohit’s administrative expertise,” says Nilufer.

But it is not all work and no play. To destress, once a year, Nilufer goes underwater diving. “It is a beautiful experience when you go down and see the beauty of the ocean,” she says “The experience is meditative. When I come up, I feel lighter and experience a clarity of mind. There is a peace within me.” She has gone diving in the Maldives, the Great Barrier Reef in Australia, and Mauritius.

Every year, she travels to London and Singapore for work and recreational purposes. She goes once a month to Dubai where her son is studying in a school. And she enjoys spending time with her father.

For Nilufer, her father is a superhuman. “He has great vision and knowledge,” she said. “Anyone who talks to him comes away enlightened. My father is a man of unconventional thinking, even though he comes from a conservative Muslim family in Kodungaloor.”

She recalls that, as a child, when she went to a shop, she would ask her father to buy her a gift. But he would tell her to earn it. So, she would have to wash the car for a month to earn her pocket money. Sheriff would give her memory tests. He would make her stare at the garden for a minute. Then he would turn her around and ask her to tell the number of flowers and plants. “I learnt how to look at life with a wide vision,” she says.

As for Nilufer, her dermatology job is a passion,” she said. “I am doing it not just to earn money but for the joy of it. My husband and father have made enough money for me to live comfortably.”

When asked whether she is happy to be living and working in Kerala, Nilufer shakes her head and says, “No. The lifestyle is poor. We deserve good roads. All of us are paying road taxes. There is no support from the government or the society for an entrepreneur like me. If I go to the health department or a medical association and suggest some ideas, they are not receptive. They fear change. And we have an out-dated education system. We rely too much on by-rote learning. We should have a research-oriented system.”

One day, she plans to open an educational institute which will follow world-class systems of teaching. “That is my dream,” she says.

As for the status of women in Kerala today, Nilufer said, “The position has improved a lot. There are a lot of strong women around, whose voices are being heard.”

Finally, on whether the children of successful parents will do well in life, Nilufer said, “Not necessarily. The young generation is into the ‘quick money’ culture. They are very social media-driven. They feel the life they see on social media is the actual reality. They find it difficult to build something from scratch. Our parents, on the other hand, really worked hard. As for my generation, we work smartly, because we have technological access. But in terms of sheer physical effort, our parents were far ahead. God bless them.”

(Published in Unique Times)

Talking about dogs during the COVID times

 

 

Every day, at 6 p.m., I set out for a jog. In Mumbai and Delhi, during these COVID times, it may be unthinkable. But in Kochi, I can do so, as long as I stay away from the main roads. The view in the suburb where I live is soothing: large trees with overhanging branches. Houses with gardens in front. A few elderly people chat with their neighbours in front of their houses, as the sun sinks into the horizon. 

For me, there is another group that I see every day. And these are the dogs. 

As I run down Pratibha Bylane, within 100 metres, I meet the first dog. Or rather, I hear it. An Alsatian, in the evening, the owners put him into a kennel which is near the road. The moment he sees me, he barks loudly. I think to myself, ‘This dog has seen me every day for over 100 days, and yet, he’s still barking at me.’ 

Further down, a brown dog, who is a regular on the road, is ambling about with a puppy following it, wagging its tail. At one moment, the puppy nuzzles against the mother’s body. It is a happy bonding even as the mother casts a wary eye at me. 

Soon, I turned right into Pavoor Road and ran for 200 metres. Then I meet the next dog, a white-skinned one. This dog has the most peaceful eyes I have seen in a long time. He does not seem to have any negative thoughts. Placid, he sits with his paws stretched out on the pavement, looking at me. In all these months, he has never barked at me. He is in some sort of nirvana. 

After I finish my run, my face streaming with perspiration, my T-shirt drenched, I cross the main road and go for a walk in Sangamam Lane. This is a silent locality, where there are many houses next to each other, but with not much of a space in front. 

But I have to brace myself. As I cross one house with a low iron gate, two dogs bark hoarsely when they see me. They seem to be furious. They keep barking till I go past. This happens all the time. A little later, at a pink-coloured house, a black dog stands behind a gate, and peers outside through a gap in the railing. This dog has very sad eyes. He looks at me and remains silent. But there are days when he too lets out a bark. 

Then I turn right and enter the long and straight section of Pipeline Road. There is very little traffic. On the right side is Maria Park. It has huge trees and plants growing all over the place. A green-coloured building looks abandoned. Branches of the trees seem to enter the windows. On a large white board, there is a forbidding message in black letters: ‘Trespassers will be prosecuted’. It has been put up by a Mumbai-based real estate company.  

About 600 metres later, on the left side, there is a small restaurant. About six people can sit inside. In front of it, a man is selling lottery tickets sitting on a red stool, the tickets placed neatly in rows on a wooden board in front of him. Next to him, another man is selling fish placed on a wooden board. 

It is here that I see two brown dogs. Both are small. They are always playing with each other. Sometimes, they mock-bite each other’s body. 

Are they siblings, or husband and wife? Who knows? But they live in the present moment and are happy. 

I remember how one of the dogs followed a man who carried a plastic packet filled with potatoes, cabbage, beetroot and beans. The smell seemed to excite the dog. His nose kept twitching as he went behind the man for a long time.  

What I have noticed is that dogs who live inside houses always bark at strangers. I guess those who have the security of living with owners have the freedom to bark. They are also showing their owners they are always alert. On the other hand, the roadside dogs are mostly quiet. Those who live on the streets have to ensure they don’t antagonise the pedestrians as well as the residents. 

Like, in human life, the affluent man, with his money and contacts, can afford to be in-your-face rude, while the beggar has to make sure, he is almost blending into the surroundings so that he does not attract the ire of the police or the local people. 

However, while observing these dogs, I have realised one thing. They are bored out of their skulls. There is nothing exciting to do. They do not seem to have any purpose or goal. Their only aim every day is to fill their stomachs. After that has been done, you can see them lazing about, doing nothing. They are in a state of high idleness. They yawn a lot. 

What is the meaning of their lives? Of all animals? And birds? 

Or are they not supposed to have any meaning to their existence? 

Only humans do? 

I don’t have the answers. 

Do you?