Wednesday, 27 November 2024

Attrition Wars and Boldt’s Castle

“You have seen more Canada than many in Ontario," said Sophia, when I finished narrating about the time we spent with our friends, Reji, Marina, Premod and Betty. My wife, her brother and I were  with Sophia, my wife's cousin and her husband Sherry for two days. “No, you haven't done the Thousand Island Cruise,” Sherry said. That’s how the four of us and Sophia's daughter reached Gananoque, the picturesque banks of the St Lawrence River to board the ferry. 

Thousand Island is an archipelago of about 1,800 Islands, strewn along the St Lawrence River.  Some islands belong to the USA and the rest to Canada. The smallest island amongst them is the Hub Island, big enough to hold a small house and a few bushes and the largest among them is the Wolfe Island, approximately 124 sq kms and home to more than a 1000 people. One amongst the thousand is Heart Island, called so because of its shape. I'm not sure if the shape was nature's gift to mankind or the reverse through human ingenuity. 

It wasn't the tourist season. There  were only a few to board the ferry. We could sit anywhere and soak in the breathtaking view on offer. The ferry sailed out on time. It was cold and windy. A few dared to walk onto the deck and quickly retreated into the warmth of the cabin only to be lured back by the breathtaking view. I was among those shuttling between the wind kissed deck and the warm cabin. 

“To the left and in front of us, is the famous Heart Island. The magnificent structure you see is the Boldt Castle,” I heard the skipper announce. The howling became unbearable as the wind picked up speed. I could not hear anything more of what the skipper said. Pulling the balaclava down to cover my face and freezing chin, I braved the winds to see the majestic beauty called  Boldt Castle. I stood on the deck admiring the castle as the ferry went around before returning to base. 

I do not know whether it was my inability to comprehend what was announced or the enchanting looks of the structure, I could not get Boldt Castle off my mind even after returning to the warmth of Sherry’s and Sophia’s nest. As soon as I got a chance, I read up on the castle. The castle once belonged to the millionaire hotel magnate George C Boldt, who had stakes in Hotel Waldorf Astoria in New York City and The Bellevue Stratford in Philadelphia. He was so much in love with his wife Louise, he decided to gift her with a beautiful, six story, 120 room castle filled with the finest of everything. The construction started in 1900. He employed around 300 people to convert his fantasy into reality on the Island, then known as Hart Island. The love story unfortunately ended sadly. In 1904, Louise passed away unexpectedly at the age of 41 cutting short a marriage of 27 years. Heartbroken, Boldt ordered cessation of all work immediately. It is believed he never returned to the island. The structure, left to vagaries of weather, stood as a skeletal reminder of lost love for more than 70 years. In 1977, the Thousand Islands Bridge Authority took over the castle for a sum of $1, restored it, and converted it into a tourist attraction.  The Taj Mahal was a mausoleum but this was different. The castle and the couple refused to leave my mind space. The man and his immense love for his wife impressed me. I felt bad for him. 


George C Boldt must have seen and successfully surmounted many challenges to reach that state of wealth to be able to buy Islands in the region and construct a sprawling castle for his wife. How could an astute businessman like Boldt be irrecoverably shattered by one catastrophic event? Can love be so debilitating? What happened to the immense wealth he had amassed by then? Did they have children and what happened to them? How was the Heart Island estate managed for over 70 years?  Surely, there had to be more to the story. I decided to explore. 

The Army has a lot to teach. All operations undertaken by the army can generally be grouped either under offensive or  defensive warfare. Stalemates, long or short, are possible in both. When there is enough room for maneuver and the force can reach far deep into the enemy territory we get to see Maneuver Warfare in full flow. But if the opponent is tough, resilient and has the capability to take a beating and still fight back, what started as an aggressive advance soon becomes a war of attrition. Long wars inevitably become wars of attrition. Though experts have been speaking of short intense wars, even the most mismatched contests have turned into attrition wars. In attrition, the final victory doesn't belong to the one who moved fast and deep but to the one who took losses on the chin, regrouped, recreated resources and reserves, applied it against the enemy wearing him out and finally forcing him to kneel. 

Life is very much a war of attrition.

It does not fetch us victory with a few maneuvers and quick thrusts here and there. It is a marathon that starts the day we are born and ends only with the last breath. Here time is the adversary and it can rain adversities by the hordes. 

Gains and losses, success and failures are part of human life. To expect a life filled only with ascent is unreasonable. It may not be possible to succeed in everything that we do or keep increasing the scale of success in every attempt that we make. We are bound to hit roadblocks, achieve outcomes below expectations and at times even grave disappointments. Some losses or failures we encounter can be so devastating that we could end up questioning the very purpose of life. Many succumb to such losses while a few manage to take it in their stride and move on. 

How did Boldt fare in his personal war of attrition?

Born on 25th April 1851 in Bergen auf RĂ¼gen in Prussia, Boldt came to America in his teens. He started as a dishwasher in a hotel and rose up the chain doing other low-level jobs. His ability to preempt requirements  of guests earned him recognition. He went on to manage the famous Bellevue hotel in Philadelphia. He transformed the hotel and made it a niche place for the elite. He became the name in luxury hospitality by bringing class, style and sophistication to the hotel industry. His success brought him wealth. His flair  of doing everything on a lavish scale seemed to have brought him to own Heart Island. 

The loss of his wife impacted him but his business continued to flourish. He managed his estates and hotels till he died on 5th December 1916. Obviously, he managed to contain his loss, isolate it from everything else and win the war of attrition. 

It is not necessary to be rich like Boldt to have a heart like him. When we face adversities, which we think are insurmountable, we too can make our hearts strong and steel our will to fight as long it takes, yet retaining our ability to live and love like George C Boldt.

(You can see more of the castle on my Instagram reels.)










Thursday, 14 November 2024

Isthiri Poorniya, a Reality?

 Isthiri Poorniya? 

Date - 05 Nov 2024.

Time: 06:20 AM. It's cold and still dark outside.

Place: Boylston, MA, USA.

Mission - Catch the seven o'clock Logan Express from Framingham Bus Station so that we could reach the airport by eight o'clock. The journey from home to the Bus station typically takes about thirty minutes. Getting out of the car, getting the luggage and getting in would consume five minutes. By all calculations we had five minutes to spare. The bus typically takes about 40 to 45 minutes to reach the airport. That would allow us to be in time for checking ourselves in.

The roads towards the airport get packed early in the morning with the Boston bound traffic. We had been caught in the traffic once earlier and caught the flight only because the flight had been delayed. The next bus would leave the station only at 7:30 AM. That would reach the airport only by 8:15, the earliest. I wanted to avoid gut wrenching adrenaline moments. Everything, so far, was going fine.

Issac, my brother-in-law, was at the wheel. As we were entering the main road he stopped at the line. I could see a pair of lights of a vehicle slowly approaching from the right side. It was not very far away but not close enough to warrant a stop and wait. We could have driven comfortably ahead of it. Issac waited. “You can easily go ahead,” I wanted to say. I desisted because I knew he would say, “yeah, but he has the right of way.” Anyway, we had a five minute cushion. It took about a minute for the vehicle to cross us. It was a slow moving trailer truck. There were three cars patiently driving behind it. With no other alternative, we joined the queue. The road to the left was empty and all the cars could have easily overtaken the trailer truck. The continuous yellow line was the only barrier that prevented the four drivers from overtaking the slow truck. Nobody honked. Given the manner in which we were making progress, I knew I was in for another adrenaline rush. After a little while when the yellow line turned dotted the truck driver pulled to the side and waited for the cars to overtake him. 

“Nice, seeing people obeying rules with nobody watching over them,"I remarked, relieved at the thought that we might just about catch the bus.

“Yeah,” Isaac replied. We reached just in time to board the bus which left the station exactly at seven.

It was not the first time I had seen common people adhering to rules without supervision, giving others a chance to go ahead, greeting total strangers, giving a helping hand to somebody in need, or waving to acknowledge a pass given.

My wife and I landed in Raleigh before time. It was bright, sunny and warm. Within minutes, Joseph Samuel, my wife's cousin, came to take us home in the Searstone retirement community. Joe had come to the USA for his education in the sixties. After that he joined a MNC in Canada which took him all over the world. In the meanwhile, he also migrated to the USA. He did exceptionally well in his career, invested smartly, made enough to retire, live comfortably and settle down in a palatial retirement home. 

Joe is a benevolent, loving and caring elder brother to my wife. We had briefly met a couple of times before but never had the chance to speak with them at leisure. Our jobs and schedules prevented our calendars from converging. I retired from service and was home when they last visited Kerala. He and Valsa, his gracious wife, visited us, had a meal with us and invited us over to their place. He followed it up, insisted, and that is how we landed up  in Raleigh.

Joe was always a man of very few words. His conversations over the phone were always short and to the point. When we met and talked on earlier occasions, he spoke less and listened more. That was my impression when we sat down to the first of our seven post-dinner talks. When nostalgia takes over, even the most reserved of people can open up.

“Have you heard of Isthiri Poornya?” he asked. I don't recall the exact context of how that came about but we were talking about our childhood days. He is about a decade older than me.

“Isthiri Poornya? No,” I replied. 

“My grandfather used to say, so and so is from Isthiri Poornya,” he said.

“What does that mean ?” I asked.

“I think he meant those people belonged to some fantasy or idealistic land. Maybe he associated it with people who acted differently or unlike others. I do not know what he meant. I checked but could find nothing meaningful. I think it must have been some fictional place,” he replied. 

Technology has made life far easier than before. I Googled the word but even Google could not come up with anything meaningful. I searched the Google map. It asked me if I wanted to add a new place. I was not the one to give up so easily. I tried the Chat GPT. It kept throwing up new things, each time I asked. None of it fitted the context in which the old man would have uttered those words. The closest I came to something worthwhile, after repeated trials and modified prompts, was that it could be something in Malayalam or Tamil related to “Sthree” meaning lady and “poornya” implying, complete. Anyway, Isthiri Poornya could have meant something that was exceptional, good, unbelievable or impossible.


I have this habit of carrying my thoughts to bed. “Can there be such a place where everything is good and everybody is law-abiding, honest, kind, and selfless?” 

Well the answer was pretty easy and clear. “No. It is not possible.”

“Is it possible that each one of us has the innate quality of being immaculate?”I asked myself.

“Maybe,” my mind replied.

Suddenly the morning drive to Logan flashed. If only everyone was like those drivers, then ‘Isthiri Poornya’ could be real sometime, somewhere. It was a beautiful thought to sleep with.

The next day the four of us were invited to dinner by a couple, residents of the same retirement community and longtime friends of Joe and Valsa. When the waiter presented the bill after dinner, the host noticed that the two glasses of margarita ordered for the ladies had not been billed. He called the waiter, insisted the items be included and charged. I was impressed; insignificant amount, significant act of honesty.

Two days later we were hosted to dinner by another couple, Joe’s neighbours. The wine, food, and banter made our last dinner at the community memorable. Then the waiter brought the bill. I saw our host’s face change. He called the waiter and said, “we are not the people you billed. Please correct it.” The waiter had inadvertently billed the dinner to another person with the same surname staying in another Villa. The waiter looked confused. After a while he realised the mistake and brought the new bill and apologised.

We often wish everybody adheres to rules and be truthful. Most of us sit in judgment even on small transgressions of others conveniently forgetting even the big ones we inadvertently or consciously make. It is easy for many of us to look into the mirror and pardon the person in the mirror with no remorse. Some of us even call it smartness and take pride in being smart. Many of us propagate the concept of such smartness in work which essentially means shortcuts and circumventing rules. We preach Isthiri Poornya, at the same time striking hard at its very roots.

Citizenship of Isthiri Poornya is voluntary and doesn't cost much but does not come easy. It will require us to ask hard questions and answer them truthfully. The easiest of them all would be, “am I smart or am I morally correct?”

The choice could be hard when it's not mutually exclusive. Even if a few of us could do it, Isthiri Poornya could become a reality. It only calls for continuous insignificant acts of honesty, compassion and respect for law. But it could be tough too.

Now can you please help me define the term Isthiri Poornya.

Share your thoughts in the comments section.

That will be the first step of kindness you would do after reading!!!

Monday, 4 November 2024

Prevent Pellattisation and Secure Your Success

Successful? You stand a good chance being ‘Pellattised ’

Not making much headway despite your best efforts? Are you being Pellattised?

“Pellattised? There is no such English word. Did you mean, palletized?”

“No. I said, Pellattised.”

It is not yet in the English dictionary. I coined the word. There is a true story behind it. It happened in Ontario, Canada many years ago. 

But, let me first tell you what led me to the word.

My wife, her brother Issac, and I had gone on a vacation to Toronto. We stayed with Colonel Reji and his gracious wife for a few days. Reji, a fellow veteran and friend with a huge heart, was more than kind. Reji was incharge and he drew up our itinerary. The Welland Canal, an interesting feat of engineering, was our first destination. Through a well choreographed and remotely controlled process, the authorities let water flow in or out of portions of the canal called locks, to lift or lower ships. At lock number three, we witnessed a ship being lifted ten meters in a matter of ten minutes. It was an exhilarating experience. From the Welland Canal we went to Niagara falls. After spending time enjoying the beauty of the falls we went to see the Niagara electricity generation station before returning home. Colonel Reji is well informed. At every place we stopped, he had some interesting details to share. The facts, figures, dates and anecdotes he shared made the visit interesting and meaningful. That is how I heard of Major General Sir Henry Pellatt. 

Niagara is a great source of hydro-electric power to both the USA and Canada. Though transmission of power from Niagara started first in 1896 with sending electricity to the City of Buffalo in New York, Sir Henry Pellatt came to the scene in 1903 as president of the Company that won rights to distribute power to Ontario. Time was on his side and business was good. Sir Henry Pellatt made a fortune supplying electricity to Ontario. It was also the time when the debate on private versus public holding of the natural resource was at its peak. The movement led by Legislator Adam Beck calling to make hydro-electric power produced by Niagara ‘as free as air’ became loud and politically compelling. Henry Pellatt's company was soon expropriated. There is no clarity about how much compensation he received. If at all he received something it was far below what he had invested.

Such takeovers are said to be dictated by socio- political compulsions and done allegedly for the good of the people in general, while the real reasons and players behind the scene are seldom known. Once Hydro Electric Power Commission of Ontario, a Government entity, wrested control from Toronto Electric Light Company owned by Henry Pellatt, the tariffs came down because it was subsidised. Records however, do not show that citizens ever received free power from Niagara Falls, as promised. Political promises are like that. The good is promised and the promise never made good. It was so then and it is so now; the public at large, always the cannon fodder, gullible and lured by freebies they were led to bleed themselves.

The next day Colonel Reji took us to visit Casa Loma, a mansion and a prominent tourist attraction of Toronto. Incidentally, it was once owned by Sir Henry Pellatt. With Toronto Electric Light Company, his cash cow, expropriated, Sir Pellatt could not complete the construction of the grand mansion he had ambitiously envisioned. A series of reverses followed. The world war made things worse. His real estate and other investments tanked. Cascading losses turned the rich man into a pauper. The government of the day was not kind either. The astronomical increase in annual property taxes from $600 to $12000, they imposed, broke the man. Pellatt, once a man with the Midas touch, was forced to move into his chauffeur's home to spend his last days and breathe his last. The grand burial ceremony with full military honours meant nothing to the man in shrouds, locked in the coffin, and with no chance of ever staging a comeback. 

As we walked through the passages in the mansion, the halloween theme playing out had a different feel. For the better part of the day, I felt sad for the man. I felt that the system had been more than unfair to him. It looked as if he was broken by intent. “Was it a conspiracy?” 

A few days later a second thought occurred. “Was he fair to himself?” How could a man capable of investing and reaping dividends in a vast range of economic activities be so oblivious to adversaries and adversities? That is when I coined the term ‘Pellattised.’ 

When an individual becomes exceedingly successful, people around tend to go out of the way to make things easy for him or her. The political system often becomes subservient if not subordinate to such people. With everything on their side they tend to roughshod people and subvert procedures. The “winner taking it all,” both the individual and society turn blind eye to illegalities. By no means, I am suggesting that Sir Pellatt ever did something irregular or illegal.

However, lost in the din of success and assumed sense of infallibility, the successful tend to become unaware of the undercurrents and storm building up over the horizon. Amidst the many, singing praises and bending backwards to make things happen, are people, bitten, bitter, bruised, and looking for ways to get even. Drunk with success, the person normally becomes arrogant and blind to loud and visible symptoms of erosion and signs of corrosion. They consider adversaries insignificant and fail to recognise signs of them forming coalitions. I do not know what afflicted Sir Pellatt. But, he certainly did not see or realize the potential of the current against him. Whatever countermeasures he might have taken were too little and too late. 

I felt bad for Sir Henry Pellatt. The government could have been more considerate. It is possible that it had caused or accelerated his call. His success might have been an eyesore for his adversaries. They would have colluded with those in power to chart his fall and stamp out any chance of revival. We do not know. Though we claim to be evolved beings, we cannot forget that we still live in a dog eat dog world. When competition is to garner money and power anything is possible, any means is good means and there is no end going to any end.

“Pellattisation” denotes one's failure through a series of commissions and omissions to read the ominous. Compassion history cedes while judging may not help because you may be history yourself. 

So, if you feel you are successful, secure your success by preventing pellattisation. If you are finding things hard, check for signs of pellattisation.