Described by Harry St. John Philby as ‘probably the greatest of all explorers’ Thesiger lived to see the traditional ways and the last unfilled spaces of the Middle East disappear. Born and until the age of eight brought up in Abyssinia where his father was consul-general and minister plenipotentiary, he imbibed from his earliest days the best traditions of the colonial service's dedication to service in foreign lands. After an undistinguished education at Eton and Oxford, he joined the Sudan political service in 1935. To his early exploration in Abyssinia was added several years trekking in the deserts of western Sudan and Libya. The Second World War campaign against the Italians brought him back to Abyssinia; he also saw service in Syria, North Africa and Palestine. But it was in the years immediately after the war that Thesiger embarked on his now celebrated journeys in Oman and the Empty Quarter. His first crossing took place in 1946–7, beginning and ending at Salalah on the coast of south-west Arabia. On this, the second crossing of 1947–8, as well as on further journeys in 1949 and 1950, Thesiger travelled with two Bedouin youths, Salim bin Kabina and Salim bin Ghabaisha. He wrote Arabian Sands, his narrative of these journeys a decade later. This and The Marsh Arabs (1964), the product of yearly visits to the marshes of southern Iraq until 1958, brought fame and acclamation.

Insiders and Outsiders

It would not be an exaggeration to consider Kiran Nagarkar as one of the least recognized and most talented of Indian English novelists. As such his best book Cuckold (1997), is an obvious and fitting candidate for this book celebrating another canon of Indian English fiction. But before I discuss this text, it would be useful to locate Kiran Nagarkar in the tradition of Indian English writing because as a bilingual and marginalized writer, he himself quite aptly represents alternate canonicity. I wish to approach my task in a somewhat unorthodox way by beginning both on a personal and a parochial note. Originally, the context of such a beginning was Kiran Nagarkar's winning the Sahitya Akademi award in 2001 for the best book in English by an Indian author. Since I knew Kiran and was one of those who had nominated this book for the award, I was particularly thrilled that he got the award – though it came not a day too soon.

Even at the risk of sounding somewhat chauvinistic, I must point out that Nagarkar is not only the first Maharashtrian to get the award for English fiction, but also the first Chitpavan Brahmin to be so recognized. Such an observation, quite paradoxically, becomes relevant or significant precisely because any attempt to capitalize on or emphasize Kiran's Chitpavan-ness or Marathi-ness so as to place him in a larger body of writers or a tradition of writing, comes a cropper.

Sikh migration to the West is well-known. The voice of these rich overseas Sikhs signifies a powerful political force in the current Punjab situation. It is generally communicated through electronic mail, telephonic conversation, postal correspondence, print media, regular remittance and marriage network. Contemporary Punjab leadership also shows respect to this opinion.

The situation is slightly different for Agraharis of Calcutta. They initially came from Bihar more than two hundred years ago, and represent one of the earliest settlers in the city. Neither are they regular visitors of the Harimandir Sahib in Amritsar nor do their views ever figure in any serious public platform. Demographically speaking, they constitute a microscopic minority representing less than .01 per cent of the total population of the metropolis. By virtue of long residence in Calcutta, their lifestyle and taste have increasingly converged with those of the local milieu. They know Bengali well but communicate in their mother tongue (Bhojpuri) when they interact amongst themselves. These Sikhs do not know Punjabi and prefer to maintain a line of demarcation from the numerically dominant Punjabi-speaking Sikhs in the locality. In terms of ethnic identity and physical distinctiveness, the native Sikhs have very little in common with their Punjabi counterparts of the region. The latter constitute a larger group and represent approximately .01 per cent of Calcutta's population. They do not consider Agraharis to be their equals or even pukka (true) Sikhs. To them these indigenous Sikhs are a little sluggish in maintaining the Sikh communal identity markers.

Morier was the second son of a Swiss father who had become a naturalized British subject and moved to Smyrna (Izmir) where he worked for the Levant Company, later rising to become British consul-general in Istanbul. James was born in Smyrna but educated at Harrow entering the diplomatic service as secretary to Harford Jones' mission to Persia in 1808. After a preliminary treaty had been agreed Morier accompanied the Persian ambassador Mirza Abul Hasan to London where he acted as his guide through London society. Morier returned to Persia in 1811 in the role of secretary to the new British ambassador Sir Gore Ouseley, who Morier replaced briefly in 1814 before the embassy was closed. After a short mission to Mexico in 1815 Morier gave up diplomacy and concentrated on writing. He wrote up the Harford Jones' mission in A Journey through Persia, Armenia and Asia Minor (1812), published a sequel book of travel in Persia in 1818, and brought out his hugely successful picaresque novel, The Adventures of Hajji Baba of Ispahan in 1824. This too required a sequel: The Adventures of Hajji Baba of Ispahan in England (1824), a satire in the tradition of Montesquieu's Persian Letters. Further novels with oriental settings followed. Morier put his Persian experiences into both his travel works and his fiction, but Hasan Javardi is probably right that ‘without noticing, [the] reader [of Hajji Baba] learns more about the Persians than he would from a travel book’, although he also contends that Morier's ‘obsession with the vices of the Orient produces a decidedly unbalanced portrayal of the Persian character’ (Javardi 2005: 124, 129).

The X Committee, previously described as a device Lloyd George created to plot future British strategy, held its first meeting on May 15, 1918. There was an awkward moment in the proceedings when Milner implied that Lloyd George should issue a statement, correcting the figures he had used about the combat strength of the British army during the Maurice debate. It had just come to the secretary of war's attention that the original figures supplied by the War Office were inaccurate and he wanted the prime minister to set the record straight. Lloyd George replied curtly that he could not be held responsible for an error made in Maurice's department and, as far as he was concerned, the matter was closed. Milner was a man of high integrity – a rare virtue for a politician – and he was obviously dismayed by the prime minister's cynicism. But he should have known by now that for Lloyd George to admit publicly that he had made a mistake would have been out of character. The relationship between the two men was never the same again and, in fact, went from bad to worse because of Milner's changed perspective as secretary for war.

Milner had been one of Lloyd George's most dependable allies in the War Cabinet, particularly in confrontations with soldiers over strategic policy, but his allegiance shifted when he assumed charge of the War Office.

I will begin with a quotation from the radio dialogue between Petr Vail’ and Aleksandr Genis. Their conversation took place on Radio Svoboda airtime in now-distant 1989. The subject of the conversation was the same book that is now the subject of my analysis: the masterpiece of Soviet culinary science, the unforgettable, incomparable and celebrated The Book about Tasty and Healthy Food, promoted by the USSR People‘s Commissar of Food Industries, Anastas Mikoian.

Genis had this to say: ‘This book is an argument to the advantage of a sort of generalised Nina Andreeva, who, having become hydra-like, grows a new head every time to replace the one cut off.’

Hydras heads might well ‘fit’ Andreeva, a fierce perestroika opponent in 1988; but they also recall many other Ninas (maids, as well as housewives) who populated communal apartments and the collective Soviet memory, with their striving to stay in line with present trends and, accordingly, to master the most vital management of Soviet cookery, or to dream about it and about abundance despite their own social level.

With the fortunes of the Entente growing bleaker as 1917 wore on, Lloyd George was too shrewd a politician to take popular feeling for granted. He acted as his own minister of morale. Quite apart from adopting measures designed to pacify labor and maintain the amenities of everyday life, he assiduously heeded Bonar Law's dictum that “in war it is necessary not only to be active but to seem active.” During the Second World War, Churchill's voice could reach practically every British household and so his leadership became more personal, but twenty-five years earlier films were silent and the radio was not readily available to the public. The means that Lloyd George used to project an image of a dynamic man of action, singlemindedly committed to winning the war, were not novel, but it is doubtful if anyone else could have combined them to greater effect. With indefatigable energy, he dashed from place to place, addressing crowds, visiting British General Headquarters and attending inter-Allied conferences. Wherever he went, he made certain that a bevy of reporters and photographers were on hand to tout and record his activities. While there were occasions in the darkest of days when he spoke confidentially to his associates that the war was unwinnable, he never gave the least hint of discouragement in public. His vitality and buoyancy were contagious, imbuing the public with determination and confidence in ultimate victory.

The Bolshevik seizure of power in Russia on November 7 came as no surprise to Lloyd George and his colleagues who in recent months had despaired over the inability of the Provisional Government, crippled by factionalism and inertia, to restore discipline in the army and order in the home administration. Lloyd George had no use for socialism, less so for the tyrannical form which Lenin, Trotsky and their associates represented. Yet, it is quite clear that British and Allied intervention in Russia was not the result of an intense hatred of the revolutionary nature of the Bolshevik regime. Had Lenin been willing to fight the Germans, the British would have embraced him regardless of his politics, just as they extended their hand to Joseph Stalin a quarter of a century later. It is equally apparent that the decision to intervene was neither deliberate nor premeditated, but came about imperceptibly, by small increments, the product of the march of events. What is uncertain is whether the Allies initially acted out of a desire to overthrow the Bolshevik regime or rebuild the eastern front to prevent the Germans from concentrating their full strength in the west. British policymakers in the beginning pursued a twisted and contradictory policy, namely, to maintain unofficial contacts with both the Bolsheviks and opposition forces.

The rule of the Bolsheviks created much fear and uncertainty in London. One concern was that Britain held much of Russia's debt (though by no means as large as France's).

Lloyd George's displacement of Asquith in December 1916 gave the nation hope that the war would be pursued on a more energetic and creative level. But the deficiency in manpower organization was one vital area of the war effort in which Lloyd George was dilatory in taking firm action. His interest in manpower came gradually, necessitated as it was by the new elements affecting traditional warfare. The massive casualties resulting from technological changes and the scale of land battles led the High Command to make inordinate demands for recruits to keep its divisions at full establishment. At the same time, the unprecedented demands for munitions, for ships to replace those lost at sea and for the creation of an aircraft industry required the retention of more and more men in vital war production. It was not until the end of 1917 that Lloyd George showed the resolve to devise a coherent manpower plan defining the interrelationship of military operations and industrial production. For almost a year he met the growing manpower crisis with a patchwork of ad hoc measures reminiscent of his predecessor.

At the outset of the war, the public's general opposition to conscription made it impossible for the government to devise a policy that would allocate manpower between military and civilian needs. As a rapid enlargement of a field force was the nation's highest priority, Kitchener achieved phenomenal success through the voluntary system, but at the cost of dislocating the economy.

Charles Buxton came from a family that had acquired wealth in the brewing industry and after an illustrious career at Cambridge where he took a first in Classics was called to the bar. Liberal in politics, with a strong social conscience, in 1902 Charles became Principal of Morley College, an institute for workingmen and women in South London. The DNB comments: ‘Christian principles informed Buxton's politics and all aspects of his life.’ Together with his older brother, Noel, he helped form the Balkan Committee, a pressure group which promoted the cause of the Balkan Christian nationalities. Although he claimed the Committee had the ‘sole objective of improving the condition of the European subjects of Turkey, Moslem and Christian alike’ it was generally critical of Ottoman governments. Following the Young Turk revolution, Buxton went to Istanbul as an invited observer to be present at the opening of the new parliament. Turkey in Revolution captures the optimism of the early period of Young Turk rule, before the British political establishment became severely critical of the Committee of Union and Progress. The Balkan Committee actively sided with the Balkan nations in the wars that followed, the Buxton brothers journeying to Bulgaria in 1914 presumably to report further Turkish ‘atrocities’.

From:

Turkey in Revolution (1909)

Buxton's account of the opening of the first parliament in Istanbul since Abdul Hamid annulled the constitution thirty years previously focuses on the Sultan, ‘for all his pomp [parliament's] prisoner and…puppet’.

INTRODUCTION

Education and health are the two important social variables that expand the human capital base of an individual, thereby enabling an individual to make better use of economic opportunities. These variables also foster the capacity of an individual to enhance the freedom of enjoying better quality of life. Thus education contributes to economic growth via human capital formation and it also leads to expansion of freedom through human development (Dreze and Sen, 2002).

Bowman (1992) opines that apart from enriching economic growth and making the individuals better producers, there are also other contributions of human capital. These other aspects are referred to as ‘externalities of human capital’. Included in these externalities are the operative forces, transmitting knowledge across generations. It evinces in particular some external benefits of education among women. Education enables a woman to (a) acquire the ability to manage her own household, given the budget constraint and also to ensure that the family's nutritional standards and hygiene is maintained and (b) contribute to the quality of learning in succeeding generations (Schultz, 1995; p. 546).

In sum, returns from education can be classified in terms of economic returns and social returns (referred to as the ‘externalities of education’). ‘Externality’ in conventional economics refers to those actions of a set of economic agents that could have either positive or negative effects on other set of economic agents. The market is inoperative to such actions corresponding to appropriate prices and hence they are external to the market forces.