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Hindustan Times
19 hours ago
- Business
- Hindustan Times
Cow's milk, as well as Russian oil, fuels the US-India trade war
Donald Trump has beef with India for buying oil from Russia. But the American president's tariffs totalling 50% on many Indian exports—set to come into force later this month—are not just about geopolitics. Agriculture and dairy have been the most contentious issues in India's talks with America, which broke down this month. And it is over farming that India's equally combative prime minister, Narendra Modi, has chosen to fight back. 'India will never compromise on the wellbeing of its farmers, dairy and fishermen,' he thundered in Delhi on August 7th, a day after Mr Trump's announcement. For Hindu-nationalist politicians like Mr Modi, the dairy industry has particular importance (the cow is sacred in Hinduism). But it is also a source of national pride, seen as a poverty-alleviating triumph of enlightened policymaking, technological advance and international co-operation. India is a milk superpower. For nearly three decades it has been the world's biggest producer and is now the source of about a quarter of the global total. Yet, from the point of view of India's trading partners, notably America, the industry seems to sum up all that is wrong with India. It is grossly inefficient, subsidised, polluting (all that methane) and heavily protected by high tariff barriers and a perplexing lattice of arcane non-tariff ones. Can these diametrically opposed views be reconciled? The answer matters a lot to India's trade diplomacy. It is not just America that complains about access to the Indian market. It is a sticking-point in negotiations with the European Union, too, and was one of the thorniest issues in the negotiations leading to a free-trade agreement with Britain signed last month. It may also have been the main reason why India pulled out of a big regional trade deal in 2019. Indian dairy still basks in the glow of a 'white revolution' launched in 1970. At the time Indians already had more cattle than any other country, but they consumed an average of about 100 millilitres of milk a day, far below recommended nutritional standards. Some of that had to be imported. By the turn of the century India had virtually doubled the availability of milk per person. Dairy practices had been modernised and the cross-breeding of cattle had boosted yields. A network of tens of thousands of co-operatives had been established, improving distribution and logistics, financed by the sale of skimmed milk powder and butter donated by the European Economic Community, the EU's forebear. Yields have continued to improve this century, but the structure of the industry remains unchanged. 'White Revolution 2.0', launched by the government last year, aims not to reform but expand it, with co-operatives increasing milk procurement by 50% over five years. Production will still depend on tens of millions of smallholders—families with a cow that grazes on their plot, produces dung and urine to be used as fertiliser, and provides milk for the family, sometimes with a surplus to sell. Himanshu (who goes by one name), a professor of economics at Jawaharlal Nehru University in Delhi, points out that Mr Modi and Mr Trump are both very 'pro-farmer'. But their farmers, including dairy farmers, could hardly be more different. India has about 200m cattle, of which the United States Department of Agriculture estimates 62m are dairy cows. Yet the average 'herd' consists of fewer than four, and the average landholding of just one hectare. A number widely used is that 80m families have one or more cows or buffaloes. America has just 24,000 dairy farms, with an average herd size of about 390. Co-operatives guarantee Indian farmers a buyer for their milk, and pay them bonuses when prices rise. A handful have become big national organisations—notably Amul, from Gujarat, home state of Mr Modi and his powerful cabinet minister, Amit Shah. So vaunted is the success of the agricultural co-operative system that in July Mr Shah unveiled plans to extend it to other businesses such as tourism, taxis and green energy. Proud as Indians are of their cows and their dairy farmers, they have to admit that both are, by international standards, woefully unproductive. The average American cow produces about seven times as much milk as her Indian competitor. India protects its dairy farmers with import tariffs comparable to those Mr Trump is now imposing on Indian exporters: 40% on most butter and cheese and 60% on powdered milk. Without these protections, says Shashi Kumar, boss of Akshayakalpa, a privately owned organic-dairy business in southern India that works with 2,200 small farmers, 'smallholder farms will collapse'. It is not just tariffs that Mr Trump's negotiators object to. India excludes imports of all genetically modified crops except cotton, and in dairy there is a ban on what has become known as 'non-veg milk'—with a requirement that imported dairy products be certified to come from cows that had not been fed animal products such as bonemeal. The ban is often decried as a non-tariff barrier dressed up in politically correct Hindu-nationalist clothes. Vijay Sardana, a lawyer and agri-economist, points out it was in fact introduced in 2003, when he drafted the law in response to the BSE (mad-cow disease) scare in Europe. Still, the perception that the Indian government will use any available tactic to protect its farmers is probably justified. Harish Damodaran, the agriculture editor of the Indian Express, a newspaper, points out that twice in four years India's farmers have fended off attempts at reform. In 2021 their prolonged, angry protests in Delhi forced Mr Modi to repeal three laws introducing sensible deregulatory reforms. Mr Trump's effort to impose change through diplomacy may prove equally fruitless.
Mint
a day ago
- Business
- Mint
Cow's milk, as well as Russian oil, fuels the US-India trade war
Donald Trump has beef with India for buying oil from Russia. But the American president's tariffs totalling 50% on many Indian exports—set to come into force later this month—are not just about geopolitics. Agriculture and dairy have been the most contentious issues in India's talks with America, which broke down this month. And it is over farming that India's equally combative prime minister, Narendra Modi, has chosen to fight back. 'India will never compromise on the wellbeing of its farmers, dairy and fishermen," he thundered in Delhi on August 7th, a day after Mr Trump's announcement. For Hindu-nationalist politicians like Mr Modi, the dairy industry has particular importance (the cow is sacred in Hinduism). But it is also a source of national pride, seen as a poverty-alleviating triumph of enlightened policymaking, technological advance and international co-operation. India is a milk superpower. For nearly three decades it has been the world's biggest producer and is now the source of about a quarter of the global total. Yet, from the point of view of India's trading partners, notably America, the industry seems to sum up all that is wrong with India. It is grossly inefficient, subsidised, polluting (all that methane) and heavily protected by high tariff barriers and a perplexing lattice of arcane non-tariff ones. Can these diametrically opposed views be reconciled? The answer matters a lot to India's trade diplomacy. It is not just America that complains about access to the Indian market. It is a sticking-point in negotiations with the European Union, too, and was one of the thorniest issues in the negotiations leading to a free-trade agreement with Britain signed last month. It may also have been the main reason why India pulled out of a big regional trade deal in 2019. Indian dairy still basks in the glow of a 'white revolution" launched in 1970. At the time Indians already had more cattle than any other country, but they consumed an average of about 100 millilitres of milk a day, far below recommended nutritional standards. Some of that had to be imported. By the turn of the century India had virtually doubled the availability of milk per person. Dairy practices had been modernised and the cross-breeding of cattle had boosted yields. A network of tens of thousands of co-operatives had been established, improving distribution and logistics, financed by the sale of skimmed milk powder and butter donated by the European Economic Community, the EU's forebear. Yields have continued to improve this century, but the structure of the industry remains unchanged. 'White Revolution 2.0", launched by the government last year, aims not to reform but expand it, with co-operatives increasing milk procurement by 50% over five years. Production will still depend on tens of millions of smallholders—families with a cow that grazes on their plot, produces dung and urine to be used as fertiliser, and provides milk for the family, sometimes with a surplus to sell. Himanshu (who goes by one name), a professor of economics at Jawaharlal Nehru University in Delhi, points out that Mr Modi and Mr Trump are both very 'pro-farmer". But their farmers, including dairy farmers, could hardly be more different. India has about 200m cattle, of which the United States Department of Agriculture estimates 62m are dairy cows. Yet the average 'herd" consists of fewer than four, and the average landholding of just one hectare. A number widely used is that 80m families have one or more cows or buffaloes. America has just 24,000 dairy farms, with an average herd size of about 390. Co-operatives guarantee Indian farmers a buyer for their milk, and pay them bonuses when prices rise. A handful have become big national organisations—notably Amul, from Gujarat, home state of Mr Modi and his powerful cabinet minister, Amit Shah. So vaunted is the success of the agricultural co-operative system that in July Mr Shah unveiled plans to extend it to other businesses such as tourism, taxis and green energy. Proud as Indians are of their cows and their dairy farmers, they have to admit that both are, by international standards, woefully unproductive. The average American cow produces about seven times as much milk as her Indian competitor. India protects its dairy farmers with import tariffs comparable to those Mr Trump is now imposing on Indian exporters: 40% on most butter and cheese and 60% on powdered milk. Without these protections, says Shashi Kumar, boss of Akshayakalpa, a privately owned organic-dairy business in southern India that works with 2,200 small farmers, 'smallholder farms will collapse". It is not just tariffs that Mr Trump's negotiators object to. India excludes imports of all genetically modified crops except cotton, and in dairy there is a ban on what has become known as 'non-veg milk"—with a requirement that imported dairy products be certified to come from cows that had not been fed animal products such as bonemeal. The ban is often decried as a non-tariff barrier dressed up in politically correct Hindu-nationalist clothes. Vijay Sardana, a lawyer and agri-economist, points out it was in fact introduced in 2003, when he drafted the law in response to the BSE (mad-cow disease) scare in Europe. Still, the perception that the Indian government will use any available tactic to protect its farmers is probably justified. Harish Damodaran, the agriculture editor of the Indian Express, a newspaper, points out that twice in four years India's farmers have fended off attempts at reform. In 2021 their prolonged, angry protests in Delhi forced Mr Modi to repeal three laws introducing sensible deregulatory reforms. Mr Trump's effort to impose change through diplomacy may prove equally fruitless.
CNN
25-07-2025
- CNN
Toasting the god of destruction and renewal, these Hindu pilgrims party hard. Not everyone is thrilled.
Buckets of holy water slung over their shoulders, millions of Hindu devotees have been walking for days. The water, scooped up from the holy river Ganges, is destined for the pilgrims' local temples. And the precious cargo must be treated delicately: spilling a single drop, or touching another person before reaching their hometown, would cancel out the devotional deed. Breaking up the wearying journey, devotees gather for outbreaks of extravagant revelry – ground-shaking music and dancing fueled by devotion, ganja and alcohol, as befits in their eyes Shiva, the Hindu god of destruction and renewal, to whom the festival is dedicated. This is the Kanwar Yatra festival, which draws tens of millions onto northern India's roads each year. It's gotten louder and rowdier in recent years – and increasingly bound up with the Hindu-nationalist politics of Prime Minister Narendra Modi. Inside a tent along the route, the air was thick with marijuana and music. Devotees sipped bhang, a preparation of cannabis with milk and other fruits, and broke into dance. As monsoon rain poured outside, Pankaj, an auto-rickshaw driver from New Delhi who goes by one name, led the dancing. He said this was his 21st time performing the ritual. 'I always get lost in the city of Bhole Baba (Lord Shiva), like slipping into a trance,' he told CNN. 'He [Shiva] ensured we did the entire journey peacefully, dancing, praying and enjoying ourselves. He makes sure we are happy.' The bhang also helps, he said. The concoction is 'a religious offering,' he said. 'Bhang is something all devotees share with each other. We drink and also make others drink.' In Delhi, some of the millions of devotees could be seen, holy water balanced in pails, or containers hanging from each end of the kanwar pole that gives the festival its name. Along the roadway, trucks mounted with huge speakers played pounding religious music set to bass-heavy beats, making the ground tremble. Aarti Kumar, 21, a former bouncer, was on the way back to her hometown with her friends. She said they had walked 280 kilometers (175 miles) so far with the sacred cargo. 'We are looking forward to offering the holy water and completing the pilgrimage, we are awaiting it in anticipation and excitement that our hard work of so many days will pay off.' Pushkar Singh Dhami, chief minister of Uttarakhand, said the state witnessed an 'unprecedented confluence of faith and order,' with more than 45 million devotees visiting to take the sacred water of the Ganges. But each step can spell devotional disaster. If the holy water spills or falls to the ground, or if a devotee comes into physical contact with another person, then the water becomes impure and the ritual is forfeit. Kumar described seeing one man whose water had fallen. 'He broke down in tears and I cried looking at him,' she said. The water is meant to show thanks to god, or provide spiritual relief, including purifying the devotee's soul of sin. 'Devotees hold this water close to their heart and bring it back with such care and warmth. So it is heartbreaking when it falls and becomes impure.' The tension of the challenge, combined with the drugs and alcohol going about, can make for a combustible atmosphere around the devotees – who are almost all young men. The Kanwar Yatra passes through the northern states that form the bedrock of support for Modi's Hindu-nationalist government, which critics accuse of attacking the secular ideals enshrined in India's constitution. Recent pilgrimages have been marred by reports of violence against authorities, and tensions have risen when crowds pass through Muslim areas. This year, authorities in Uttarakhand and Uttar Pradesh states, through which the Ganges runs, banned devotees from carrying the swords and tridents associated with Shiva, due to fears of violence. They also mandated that restaurants along the journey display the names and details of their owners via QR codes. Critics say displaying those details may encourage some observing the festival to boycott shops owned by those of another faith – an attack on the secularism enshrined in the constitution. On 14 July, local media reported, citing police, that a group of devotees had vandalized a restaurant in Meerapur, Uttar Pradesh, alleging that the owners, who were Muslims, had not displayed their identities as local authorities had mandated. Days earlier, a member of the state legislature, apparently took matters in his own hands. Video posted online allegedly showed him Nandkishor Gurjar shutting down a butcher's shop in the town of Loni. 'This is the (pilgrimage route),' the man was heard shouting in the video. 'Meat shops cannot open here.' Authorities are also unwilling to intervene when devotees run amok, said businessman Danish Khan. 'These kanwars behave like they are the owners of state and national highways, dancing on high-volume DJs, sometimes drunk and beating people. The police are often just watching and giving them a free hand,' he said. Yogi Adityanath, chief minister of Uttar Pradesh, appealed to devotees to participate in the pilgrimage responsibly. 'Some elements are working constantly to disrupt the faith and devotion of this pilgrimage,' he told a press conference. 'They're doing this through posts on social media and other ways. These elements are trying to defame the pilgrimage.' Another complaint is that social media has turned the festival into just another opportunity for self-promotion. 'Before social media no one was competing on the amount of water they were bringing back, the size of the DJ, how loud the music is, or the speed with which you are doing the pilgrimage,' Sandy N, an entrepreneur from Delhi, told CNN. 'Now everything has become a gimmick and it is being done irresponsibly,' the 50-year-old said. But for the majority, the journey is still a way to find peace. In one of the tents set up for the devotees in the capital, laborer Ankit Gupta put out plates and food in anticipation of the arrival of the next group of pilgrims. 'This is our devotion for Lord Shiva… Tomorrow it will come to an end,' he said ruefully. 'It is a break from the otherwise hectic lives we live to make ends meet.'
CNN
25-07-2025
- CNN
Toasting the god of destruction and renewal, these Hindu pilgrims party hard. Not everyone is thrilled.
Religion FacebookTweetLink Buckets of holy water slung over their shoulders, millions of Hindu devotees have been walking for days. The water, scooped up from the holy river Ganges, is destined for the pilgrims' local temples. And the precious cargo must be treated delicately: spilling a single drop, or touching another person before reaching their hometown, would cancel out the devotional deed. Breaking up the wearying journey, devotees gather for outbreaks of extravagant revelry – ground-shaking music and dancing fueled by devotion, ganja and alcohol, as befits in their eyes Shiva, the Hindu god of destruction and renewal, to whom the festival is dedicated. This is the Kanwar Yatra festival, which draws tens of millions onto northern India's roads each year. It's gotten louder and rowdier in recent years – and increasingly bound up with the Hindu-nationalist politics of Prime Minister Narendra Modi. Inside a tent along the route, the air was thick with marijuana and music. Devotees sipped bhang, a preparation of cannabis with milk and other fruits, and broke into dance. As monsoon rain poured outside, Pankaj, an auto-rickshaw driver from New Delhi who goes by one name, led the dancing. He said this was his 21st time performing the ritual. 'I always get lost in the city of Bhole Baba (Lord Shiva), like slipping into a trance,' he told CNN. 'He [Shiva] ensured we did the entire journey peacefully, dancing, praying and enjoying ourselves. He makes sure we are happy.' The bhang also helps, he said. The concoction is 'a religious offering,' he said. 'Bhang is something all devotees share with each other. We drink and also make others drink.' In Delhi, some of the millions of devotees could be seen, holy water balanced in pails, or containers hanging from each end of the kanwar pole that gives the festival its name. Along the roadway, trucks mounted with huge speakers played pounding religious music set to bass-heavy beats, making the ground tremble. Aarti Kumar, 21, a former bouncer, was on the way back to her hometown with her friends. She said they had walked 280 kilometers (175 miles) so far with the sacred cargo. 'We are looking forward to offering the holy water and completing the pilgrimage, we are awaiting it in anticipation and excitement that our hard work of so many days will pay off.' Pushkar Singh Dhami, chief minister of Uttarakhand, said the state witnessed an 'unprecedented confluence of faith and order,' with more than 45 million devotees visiting to take the sacred water of the Ganges. But each step can spell devotional disaster. If the holy water spills or falls to the ground, or if a devotee comes into physical contact with another person, then the water becomes impure and the ritual is forfeit. Kumar described seeing one man whose water had fallen. 'He broke down in tears and I cried looking at him,' she said. The water is meant to show thanks to god, or provide spiritual relief, including purifying the devotee's soul of sin. 'Devotees hold this water close to their heart and bring it back with such care and warmth. So it is heartbreaking when it falls and becomes impure.' The tension of the challenge, combined with the drugs and alcohol going about, can make for a combustible atmosphere around the devotees – who are almost all young men. The Kanwar Yatra passes through the northern states that form the bedrock of support for Modi's Hindu-nationalist government, which critics accuse of attacking the secular ideals enshrined in India's constitution. Recent pilgrimages have been marred by reports of violence against authorities, and tensions have risen when crowds pass through Muslim areas. This year, authorities in Uttarakhand and Uttar Pradesh states, through which the Ganges runs, banned devotees from carrying the swords and tridents associated with Shiva, due to fears of violence. They also mandated that restaurants along the journey display the names and details of their owners via QR codes. Critics say displaying those details may encourage some observing the festival to boycott shops owned by those of another faith – an attack on the secularism enshrined in the constitution. On 14 July, local media reported, citing police, that a group of devotees had vandalized a restaurant in Meerapur, Uttar Pradesh, alleging that the owners, who were Muslims, had not displayed their identities as local authorities had mandated. Days earlier, a member of the state legislature, apparently took matters in his own hands. Video posted online allegedly showed him Nandkishor Gurjar shutting down a butcher's shop in the town of Loni. 'This is the (pilgrimage route),' the man was heard shouting in the video. 'Meat shops cannot open here.' Authorities are also unwilling to intervene when devotees run amok, said businessman Danish Khan. 'These kanwars behave like they are the owners of state and national highways, dancing on high-volume DJs, sometimes drunk and beating people. The police are often just watching and giving them a free hand,' he said. Yogi Adityanath, chief minister of Uttar Pradesh, appealed to devotees to participate in the pilgrimage responsibly. 'Some elements are working constantly to disrupt the faith and devotion of this pilgrimage,' he told a press conference. 'They're doing this through posts on social media and other ways. These elements are trying to defame the pilgrimage.' Another complaint is that social media has turned the festival into just another opportunity for self-promotion. 'Before social media no one was competing on the amount of water they were bringing back, the size of the DJ, how loud the music is, or the speed with which you are doing the pilgrimage,' Sandy N, an entrepreneur from Delhi, told CNN. 'Now everything has become a gimmick and it is being done irresponsibly,' the 50-year-old said. But for the majority, the journey is still a way to find peace. In one of the tents set up for the devotees in the capital, laborer Ankit Gupta put out plates and food in anticipation of the arrival of the next group of pilgrims. 'This is our devotion for Lord Shiva… Tomorrow it will come to an end,' he said ruefully. 'It is a break from the otherwise hectic lives we live to make ends meet.'
CNN
25-07-2025
- CNN
Toasting the god of destruction and renewal, these Hindu pilgrims party hard. Not everyone is thrilled.
Religion FacebookTweetLink Buckets of holy water slung over their shoulders, millions of Hindu devotees have been walking for days. The water, scooped up from the holy river Ganges, is destined for the pilgrims' local temples. And the precious cargo must be treated delicately: spilling a single drop, or touching another person before reaching their hometown, would cancel out the devotional deed. Breaking up the wearying journey, devotees gather for outbreaks of extravagant revelry – ground-shaking music and dancing fueled by devotion, ganja and alcohol, as befits in their eyes Shiva, the Hindu god of destruction and renewal, to whom the festival is dedicated. This is the Kanwar Yatra festival, which draws tens of millions onto northern India's roads each year. It's gotten louder and rowdier in recent years – and increasingly bound up with the Hindu-nationalist politics of Prime Minister Narendra Modi. Inside a tent along the route, the air was thick with marijuana and music. Devotees sipped bhang, a preparation of cannabis with milk and other fruits, and broke into dance. As monsoon rain poured outside, Pankaj, an auto-rickshaw driver from New Delhi who goes by one name, led the dancing. He said this was his 21st time performing the ritual. 'I always get lost in the city of Bhole Baba (Lord Shiva), like slipping into a trance,' he told CNN. 'He [Shiva] ensured we did the entire journey peacefully, dancing, praying and enjoying ourselves. He makes sure we are happy.' The bhang also helps, he said. The concoction is 'a religious offering,' he said. 'Bhang is something all devotees share with each other. We drink and also make others drink.' In Delhi, some of the millions of devotees could be seen, holy water balanced in pails, or containers hanging from each end of the kanwar pole that gives the festival its name. Along the roadway, trucks mounted with huge speakers played pounding religious music set to bass-heavy beats, making the ground tremble. Aarti Kumar, 21, a former bouncer, was on the way back to her hometown with her friends. She said they had walked 280 kilometers (175 miles) so far with the sacred cargo. 'We are looking forward to offering the holy water and completing the pilgrimage, we are awaiting it in anticipation and excitement that our hard work of so many days will pay off.' Pushkar Singh Dhami, chief minister of Uttarakhand, said the state witnessed an 'unprecedented confluence of faith and order,' with more than 45 million devotees visiting to take the sacred water of the Ganges. But each step can spell devotional disaster. If the holy water spills or falls to the ground, or if a devotee comes into physical contact with another person, then the water becomes impure and the ritual is forfeit. Kumar described seeing one man whose water had fallen. 'He broke down in tears and I cried looking at him,' she said. The water is meant to show thanks to god, or provide spiritual relief, including purifying the devotee's soul of sin. 'Devotees hold this water close to their heart and bring it back with such care and warmth. So it is heartbreaking when it falls and becomes impure.' The tension of the challenge, combined with the drugs and alcohol going about, can make for a combustible atmosphere around the devotees – who are almost all young men. The Kanwar Yatra passes through the northern states that form the bedrock of support for Modi's Hindu-nationalist government, which critics accuse of attacking the secular ideals enshrined in India's constitution. Recent pilgrimages have been marred by reports of violence against authorities, and tensions have risen when crowds pass through Muslim areas. This year, authorities in Uttarakhand and Uttar Pradesh states, through which the Ganges runs, banned devotees from carrying the swords and tridents associated with Shiva, due to fears of violence. They also mandated that restaurants along the journey display the names and details of their owners via QR codes. Critics say displaying those details may encourage some observing the festival to boycott shops owned by those of another faith – an attack on the secularism enshrined in the constitution. On 14 July, local media reported, citing police, that a group of devotees had vandalized a restaurant in Meerapur, Uttar Pradesh, alleging that the owners, who were Muslims, had not displayed their identities as local authorities had mandated. Days earlier, a member of the state legislature, apparently took matters in his own hands. Video posted online allegedly showed him Nandkishor Gurjar shutting down a butcher's shop in the town of Loni. 'This is the (pilgrimage route),' the man was heard shouting in the video. 'Meat shops cannot open here.' Authorities are also unwilling to intervene when devotees run amok, said businessman Danish Khan. 'These kanwars behave like they are the owners of state and national highways, dancing on high-volume DJs, sometimes drunk and beating people. The police are often just watching and giving them a free hand,' he said. Yogi Adityanath, chief minister of Uttar Pradesh, appealed to devotees to participate in the pilgrimage responsibly. 'Some elements are working constantly to disrupt the faith and devotion of this pilgrimage,' he told a press conference. 'They're doing this through posts on social media and other ways. These elements are trying to defame the pilgrimage.' Another complaint is that social media has turned the festival into just another opportunity for self-promotion. 'Before social media no one was competing on the amount of water they were bringing back, the size of the DJ, how loud the music is, or the speed with which you are doing the pilgrimage,' Sandy N, an entrepreneur from Delhi, told CNN. 'Now everything has become a gimmick and it is being done irresponsibly,' the 50-year-old said. But for the majority, the journey is still a way to find peace. In one of the tents set up for the devotees in the capital, laborer Ankit Gupta put out plates and food in anticipation of the arrival of the next group of pilgrims. 'This is our devotion for Lord Shiva… Tomorrow it will come to an end,' he said ruefully. 'It is a break from the otherwise hectic lives we live to make ends meet.'
