Barney Hall, the youngest, untenured professor in the department of veterinary sciences
at the University in Calgary had been told off, in no uncertain terms, that he had either to
produce papers in refereed publications, or get research grants if he wished to extend his
stay at that establishment. His previous attempts at reading papers at conferences had
been uniformly unsatisfactory, and even dangerous. A small review paper of his on the
usefulness of growth hormones at a one-day workshop organized by the cattle industry
had roused loud protests from green fiends and health freaks; another oral presentation in
his own university on improving the quality of veal by close-penning calves led to an
animal rights activist rushing the dais to stab him with her ball-point pen. He was now
genuinely scared that if he attempted to publish a paper he might get a letter-bomb by
return post. The only option was to go for a government grant, but the bureaucrats in
Ottawa were now cagey after public outcries against them for spreading mad cow
disease.
During this unhappy period, he was invited to dinner by an Indian colleague from the
department of electrical engineering who had gained fame by inventing a rugged non-
breakable light-emitting diode, which encased in a patented Canadian plastic holder could
be stuck onto the seat of one's pants as a safety device during dark nights. Though his
sensibilities revolted against the smell of curries, he went along hoping to pick up a tip or
two on how to swing grants his way. His Indian friend was too full of himself to listen to
his veiled requests, but enlightenment came when he was served curds and rice. They
helped to mitigate the sharpness of the curries, and if he remembered his undergraduate
course on nutrition right, live curds also contained useful microbes that helped break
down food faster, and promoted the absorption of the `B' family of vitamins. Curds were
produced from milk, and milk came from cows, which were part of his turf!
With great excitement he focused his research on curds, how they could be made to the
highest Canadian health standards, and how their quality could be improved in terms of
quantity and nutritive value. By the time the first few shoots of green grass broke out of
the eternal snows blanketing the campus, he had completed an exciting proposal how
Canada could teach the poor of the third world the benefits of eating curds. The head of
his department was equally thrilled, to whom all this was very new, never having
ventured even to try a fruit yogurt, since the very name had a threatening French sound to
it. In any case, the university was hungry for money, and it would do him no harm if a
junior of his caught the fancy of the bigwigs in Ottawa.
The two professors need not have worried so much about what reception they would get
in the capital; the vice-president of the Canadian International Development Agency
immediately saw the advantage to himself, his department and his country, if this project
were to be supported, and throwing his arms round Al and Barney led them to the
cafeteria for a cheap lunch. At the coming review meeting for reallocating budgets, he
sponsored the project, added more expenses, and asked for ten million dollars Canadian
to be given to the university to set up a separate foundation to further the on-going
research, and extend its benefits to all non-terrorist countries. He was able to convince the
Canadian government that a hundred million spent on this project would bring back home
five hundred million in earnings through exported curd churns of the latest Canadian
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design; consultancies of Canadian curd experts ­ to be insisted upon by the Canadian
donor agencies; and sale of curd technology and curd starters to third world non-terrorist
countries.
Since India was a major player in the Aid Recipients Market, it was decided by CIDA
that the Canadian Curd Mission would see its birth in that country. Dave's success at
garnering a large and stable grant had suddenly made him very popular with the higher
echelons of academia; he was even invited for a barbecue-fest in the vice-chancellor's
back garden during a quickly warming June Sunday. Grant money gave Barney a new
poise; and girls instead of trying to stab him with ball-point pens were willing to be asked
out to dinner. During a brainstorming session in the basement of his department, several
of his new girl admirers spontaneously came up with the name for his foundation: It was
be The Great Canadian Curd Churn! Over a million dollars Canadian were spent on
designing the foundation's chic booklets and leaflets, with inevitable pictures of starving
African children on the cover and a smiling Indian girl at the back, skipping along eating
curds out of a plastic cup with a visible logo of The Great Canadian Curd Churn. The
National Film Board of Canada sent teams to thirty odd countries to film trees, colours,
lakes, and silent sands, with quick glimpses of local people making, eating, relishing
curds. The film won several awards round the world, and continued to be considered a
high point in Canadian film-making history. A lot more money was spent on organizing
talk shows and other media events, and Barney had the time of his life flying to Sofia,
Nairobi, Stockholm, and Madras, to introduce his life's work.
Sharmaji was well aware of all these developments, since he always kept his nose close
to the well-known points of grant generation. He was one of the first to congratulate
Barney on his fundamental scientific discovery, and suggest that a partnership between
the foundation and his own society would help immediately in saving lives. Barney
listened wide-eyed to the tone of feverish urgency in Sharmaji's voice, and held himself
in readiness to save the lives of the poor children he had seen so often on the cover of his
brochure. The CIDA official in New Delhi invited the press corps to witness the gift to
Sharmaji of one hundred curd churns of the latest Canadian design. The broadly smiling
Canadian High Commissioner was flanked by a team of Canadian Curd Technologists,
who had been taking anti-malarial pills for a month, and who had brought their own
portable Canadian water-purifying kit for use during the arduous training programme
they would carry out in Sharamji's villages. In New Delhi itself, Sharmaji held an
orientation meeting for his guests, showing blown-up pictures of cobras, kraits, and
Russell's Vipers for easy recognition in case they found them in their bathrooms, or in
their shoes. The non-poisonous varieties were to be gently shooed away, while the
poisonous ones could only be gently removed by his own trained staff. A young Canadian
curd technologist wondered if Sharmaji could teach her how to gently remove poisonous
snakes herself, since she couldn't bear to kill any living thing, other than spiders which
she dreaded.
A small tent township was erected by Sharmaji near his rural center for the international
electronic media teams, of CNN, BBC, German radio, France One, and of course CBC,
who camped there for a fortnight to create live programmes on how Canadians were
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saving the lives of poor women and children by teaching them how to make and eat
curds.
However, Canadian nutritionists warned on several talk shows that Indians being `Non-
Caucasians' would be lactose-intolerant, and hence unable to immediately assimilate milk
or a milk product, such as curds, and great care must be taken in introducing curds into
India. Emeritus Professor Mike `Hogwash' Adamson, who had justified the sobriquet he
received in youth by winning the Canadian Jakob Creuzfeld Award for high-protein
engineering of cattle feed, declared himself cautiously hopeful. Filmed on his cattle ranch
in Alberta, he took the viewer carefully over the intricate science involved in making a
`Non-Caucasian' drink milk, and came up with a `unique all-Canadian theory,' in
Rosaline Blabberwell's words! The TV crews, intent on fair reporting, also showed a
five-second clip of Indian malcontents holding up placards in Indian dialects with slogans
about Indians having eaten curds everyday over the last five-thousand years.
" I have watched Masai tribesmen drink milk," said Professor Adamson, shaking his head
in wonder and pursing his lips. " Now the Masai are also Non-Caucasian, and yet they
can drink milk. Scientifically this has never been explained! I kind of guess it could come
from drinking raw blood from an opened vein in the neck of a cow, calf, or bull, you take
your pick. Look, I will show you." As the camera followed him, he trotted into his barn,
slit open the neck vein of a small calf and bent down to drink the blood.
" How does it taste, Hogwash?" asked Rosaline excitedly.
" Oh, I dunno, it kinda tastes like, I guess, raw blood," said the professor straightening up
and wiping his mouth with his handkerchief. " There, I ruined that kerchief, dunno what
Elsie is going to say when I get back in. But science is demanding."
" Canadian science is making small but important breakthroughs like this everyday to
help people living all over the world. One day soon, Mike `Hogwash' Adamson's novel
idea may help save an Indian child's life, but unfortunately the Hindoo religion might
prevent millions upon millions from making use of this simple measure. This is Rosaline
Blabbermouth taking you back to the CBC studio in Calgary where a group of young
Baptists are even now with Swami Biriyaninanda, who runs the Yoga clinic downtown.
Let us see if religious taboo can be lifted to permit millions of starving children to drink
raw cow's blood."
When Sharmaji was interviewed by the CBC in his rural `unit,' he said that with the help
of the Canadian Curd Training Programme he had been able to induce the first learners to
eat a little bit of curds. When the camera went into the canteen, it showed rows of
frightened women refusing to eat curds, till Sharma over there spoke to them in their
own, I guess, Hindoo dialect, and then after a few hesitant mouthfuls, the enthusiastic
response of the poor women to this Canadian food was really, really, overwhelming.
When the Canadian High Commissioner was interviewed in New Delhi, he said proudly
that his own kitchen staff had been asked to include curds in every menu, and he and his
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diplomatic guests from now on would eat at least a symbolic spoonful of curds to show
that Canadians empathized with the people of India.
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