A night of full moon

 Today being the Lunar eclipse night I went out to see the blood moon as predicted. Alas, on the semi cloudy, full moon night I could barely see the moon, but was awed by staring at several sparkling stars on the western horizon. I could see on the crispy fall night couple of airplanes high on the sky were looking like walking stars on the dark sky amidst a plethora of stars, big and small, bright and pale.

The stars looked like tall, beautiful fairies in some distance land, smiling, probing the sky, savoring the beauty of the cool weather beneath, showering their "MUKTA JHARA HASA", a la thousands of pearls sparkling on their lips, smiling at us mere mortals below. I was immediately reminded of this stanza from this Kishore & Lata duet from the 1970s Hindi movie "MEHBOOBA" about a lover and his beloved -

"TAARON KI SAATH WOH 

JAGTE HAIN RAAT KO,

JHARNON HI SAAT BEHTE HAIN"...

Roughly transliterated...

"They awake in the night amidst the stars,

Flow together along with the streams".

All my romantic thoughts were brutally, rudely interrupted, coming to standstill as a moon headed guy came walking his dog and walking past my driveway, waving his hands at me. The white doggy with his conspicuous rock and roll walk was looking golden under the neon lights on the street, trying to keep pace with the man as the guy's bald head acted like a convex mirror reflecting the street lamp.

The blood moon was still elusive, partially visible, still playing hide and seek in the floating cloud, shy behind the gargantuan looking pine trees in the dark. I was reminded of another Bollywood song :

"CHAND CHUPA BADAL MEIN 

SHARMA KE MERI JANAA;

SEENE SE LAG JAA TU,

BALKHA KE MERI JANAA".

Transliterated into English.

"Moon is hiding behind the clouds,

Feeling shy, my love;

Come close to my heart".

Finally the moon suddenly showed up out of the veneer of bluish, fleece like clouds like out of the blue a pretty Iranian girl took out her veil in a soccer match I saw a while back

WOH ACHANAK A GAYEE

YOON NAZAR KE SAMNE,

JAISE NIKAL AYEE

GHATA SE CHAAND...

Transliterated from Hindi.

"She suddenly arrives

 In front of my eyes;

 Bolstering my mood

 as moon ventures out of cloud".

It finally made my day, rather the night of moon watching on a full moon night. 

Teachers Day 2025

Today is TEACHER's Day, all other brands are prohibited. (Teachers is a popular brand of Scotch). Joke apart, I salute to all my teachers who have made a huge difference in my life by shaping my knowledge and character. It is not just limited to my teachers in school and college. My parents were my first teachers. Then came some friends, relatives, acquaintances as teachers in various forms at different stages in my life. There is always something to learn from every human being, a prince or a pauper, a beggar or a sorcerer, an animal or an inanimate object. Life is the biggest teacher. 

A good movie can be a good teacher too. In the iconic movie 3 IDIOTs, on the Teacher's Day of 5 September, the character Chatur Ramalingam goes on stage to recite a Sanskrit Sloka (hymn) eulogizing the teachers of his college. He rotes the Sloka by memory, without understanding a single word of it, nor caring about its content, without realizing that the original speech was altered by a playful and witty Rancho (played by Aamir Khan). As Chatur on the stage was about to vomit the Sloka he rote from what Rancho wrote, the later told his friends to get ready to hear a sermon about the former's farting prowess. Chatur recites:

UTTAMAM GAD GADATA PADAM,
MADHYAM PADAM TUCHAK TUCHAK;
THUR THURIYA KANISTAM PADAM,
SUR SURIYA PRANA GHATAKAM.

Roughly transliterated...

"Loud farts are majestically thundering;
Medium farts come along stuttering,
Small Farts arrive whisteling & sirening;
The silent ones can be life threatening."

As the crowd goes berserk rupturing with laughter and poor Chatur gets kicked out of the stage, Racho's dark humor taught us another lesson in academics - Knowledge acquired through roting sans understanding may earn you a Degree, but will take you nowhere. My father always emphasized on learning through understanding rather than roting.

Decades ago there was this incident, when a sub-collector in Sonepur district of Odisha did this shameful, cowardly act of kicking a hapless school teacher, abusing him as a poor MASTRA (the way the word master is often pronounced in Odia, a term mostly used in derogatory sense for teachers back home). 

I remember a cartoon related to the above incident which came out on the local vernacular Newspaper with the following caption, (rhyming with our famous Sloka "GURU BRAHMA GURU BISHNU... "

GURU DEENA GURU HEENA
GURU SAMANYA MASTARA;
KANDOOKA SAMAN GURU
TASME SRHEE GOITHA MARA
ITI UPA- COLLECTOR
JILLA NAMA SONAPUR.

Transliterating in the same rhyme form to keep the theme intact,

"Teacher is poor, Teacher is mere;
Teacher is just an ordinary Master.
Teacher is akin to a football;
To be kicked for sure.
Courtesy Sub-Collector,
From the district of Sonepur."

I have heard parents asking in Odia to their children "KIRE MASTRA AJI KANA PADHEILA" meaning "Hey, what did the master teach you today". The English transliteration may not sound so bad but the way it is delivered in the native language is not a sign of great adulation. It shows the respect they the guardians give to their teachers.

My simple take - A society which does not respect its teachers, can never  prosper. Period. Great nations are made by great men. Great men (and women) are shaped by their teachers. HAPPY TEACHER'S DAY to all.

Uttam Kumar - the legend

Today, September 3, is the birthday of Bengali actor Uttam Kumar. Many girls confide that he is the only Bengali man they ever had a crush on and could have readily married him as women of that era swooned over him. The man had grace, style and a killer smile. It is said that talented artists are "Gandharvas" reborn who live for a small time, but leave early leaving their mark. He died early too, a week before the death of legendary singer Mohammed Rafi. Both were of the same age.

Uttam Kumar’s death at a young age of 53 brought Calcutta to standstill on July 24, 1980. The Bengali hero of all ages was a natural actor who won over generations with his charm and persistence. After getting symptoms of a heart attack he drove himself to a clinic in Calcutta where he was attended by a team of cardiologists. But he died the next day in spite of the best effort of the doctors to save him, stunning the entire state of Bengal and nation.

Sharing a small incident of his life which stands testimony of his polularity and his stature as "Mahanayak" or the mega Star by his fans. Sometime in May 1966, the famous director Satyajit Ray called Uttam Kumar - “Uttam, my movie 'Nayak' premieres tomorrow at Indira Cinema. I hope you will be there".

"But Manikda (the nickname of Satyajit Ray in movie industry), the press and public will be in attendance. Do you think I should go? There possibly will be pandemonium,” he replied.

“Uttam, don’t forget it is a Satyajit Ray film (movie is also widely called as film in India, especially in Odisha and Bengal, the two states bear a lot of resemblance in language and culture). Please be there,” - Satyajit Ray commanded. It wasn't easy to say no to Manikda, even for a man of superstar status. Uttam Kumar relented, though reluctantly.

The next day, the news of Uttam Kumar’s appearance at the cinema house spread like wildfire and all the hell broke loose. By late afternoon, roads leading to Bhowanipore in Calcutta had to be barricaded. Uttam's car (probably a Chevrolet Impala) was piloted through the bylanes. The theatre was shaking under the weight of uproarious chanting, ‘Guru, Guru’ (Uttam's nick name given by his fans) with demands to see the Star. 

The hall manager rushed to Ray. “Sir, if we don’t bring him up on stage there will be a serious law-and-order issue.” 

Minutes later, the lights came on and Uttam Kumar was seen standing on the platform in front of the screen. He raised his hand. The crowd fell silent, as if by the waving of a magic wand. “I request you to please be silent and watch the film. Don’t forget it is a Satyajit Ray film.”

This story, a piquant testimonial to two of Bengal’s foremost immortals, is probably apocryphal. But that takes nothing away from what this tale protrays, which testifies two stalwarts in 1966 – from Ray’s sway over his cast, the pliant theatre manager and finally the phenomenal stardom of Uttam Kumar. In some ways, this story encapsulates the fantasy that was Bengali cinema. But as is known, it is not Ray who colonised that cinema, either as fantasy or as commerce. It was Uttam Kumar, and the one and only Uttam Kumar. Happy Birthday to the Mahanayak who if alive would have been 98 today.

Ides of August

August, one of the longest months of the dog days of summer finally coming to an end. This month has been hot, humid. It has seen devastating floods and lots of political heat in the Indian subcontinent, its two prominent nations who were partitioned this month celebrated their 78th birthday and 78 years of separation. US President Trump who imposed a  hefty tariff on goods from India keeps Indian subcontinent in news by claiming to have brokered the ceasefire during their short lived conflict few months ago. keeping it as a flashpoint of nuclear conflict still in the news. India's bette noire Pakistan as usual is basking in all the attention it is getting. Asim Munir, the Chief of Pakistan's all powerful Army is pulling all strings and basking in the limelight he is getting from the American President. In contrast, the otherwise self proclaimed self confident government of India is following a confused foreign policy like a fox caught in front of headlight and running like a headless chicken. Its blabbermouth supporters akin to frogs inside a well and a la Ostriches with their heads dug inside the desert sand, churning out one nonsense - the same way I churn out my nonsense blogs on daily basis.

August has been a disturbing month for our Western frontier neighbor. It is this month of August Imran Khan, Pakistan's better known Alpha male, playboy Cricketer who has a history of bedding a number of lasses and producing at least one bastard child from his groin was coronated as the country's Prime Minister few years ago. his month also saw with the 37th Anniversary of the death of another all powerful Army man and ex-President of Pakistan who once successfully persuaded the charismatic, cricketer Imran Khan to reverse his decision to retire from cricket after the 1987 world cup. Imran's comeback resulted in him leading Pakistan to win the Cricket world cup only time in history in the 1992 version of the Cup. That  President was General Zia Ul Haq. 

For Pakistan it would be the case of "The Ides Of August". It reminds me of one muggy day in August many monsoons ago in year 1988 when inside my hostel room in NIT (then REC), Rourkela BBC radio broke the Breaking News. It was the death of Pakistani President Zia Ul Haq in a plane crash. I also remember many of us ragging our juniors by forcing them to dance to celebrate the death of India's bete noire Zia-Ul-Haq whom the Indians loved to hate. At the same time I heard from a friend from our counterpart REC in Srinagar, J&K about the Muslim dominated College campus mourning the untimely death of the Pakistani leader. He said - "UDHAR ZIA KE SAMARTHAK SAALE NAACH RAHE THE JAISE UNKA BAAP MAR GAYA", roughly transliterated - "Those guys whose sisters I seduce were mourning as if their dads died". (Sala means wife's brother but in this context it means I am the seducer of the sister of whomsoever at the receiving end).

Zia was a diminutive soldier and a shrewd strategist. His regime would shape the politics of the subcontinent for long time to come. He set the stepping stone to keep its rival India in check by getting his country nuclear and bleeding India in Kashmir and Punjab. He once reportedly said referring to his support to Sikh terrorism - "Keep the water boiling just enough to the right temperature, so that it doesn't spill over but simmers enough to give our enemy, aka India a hard time". Hard time he did gave to India - so much so that he emboldened the Pakistani secret service ISI enough to subsequently stage spectacular attacks after attacks inside India, successfully protraying India over time as a clueless weak state.

Born in India, educated in St. Stephens College, Delhi Zia migrated to Pakistan where he rose his way up in the Army. He was a frail man with a short height, but a master strategist. He was lucky to be recruited by the British Indian Army as Officers were is shortage towards the end of World War II. Promotions were hard to come by until fortune favored him after Bhutto became Prime Minister of Pakistan. Bhutto trusted Zia against the advices of his close confidants,  as he thought his diminutive Army Chief as harmless and malleable, as the later was always obsequious to the Prime minister. Bhutto promoted Zia making him the Army Chief superseding others.

Bhutto used to poke fun at Zia by calling him our "Monkey General" in front of the foreign dignitaries, alluding to the later's short stature and long protruding teeth. Zia would always respond with his inscrutable smile. But these innocuous teeth would later become fangs with a vengeance, delivering a venomous bite to Bhutto as the "monkey general" had his last laugh by dislodging the PM in a military coup and hanging him in less than couple of years of ascending power. It is said he ordered Bhutto's genitals to be checked post hanging to ensure that the ex Prime Minister wasn't a closeted Hindu, a prevalent rumor in Pakistan.

It's said that Zia was a champion conversationalist. He would call his contemporary Indian Prime minister Morarjee Desai and flatter him by asking the formers view on benefits of drinking urine (Desai used to drink his own urine first thing in morning). Soon our first PM from Gujarat was conferred "Nishan-e- Pakistan", their highest civilian award. God knows what transpired between them but I am sure the cunning Zia didn't give Pakistan's highest award to the Prime Minister of their sworn enemy country for the Desai's sermon on Urine therapy.

An alumni of St. Stephens College Delhi,  he once invited a delegation of its ex-students, fed them well and gave them free luxury rides across the scenic and historic sites of Pakistan. The entire team, a member of which was K Natwar Singh would heap paeans of praise about Zia's hospitality. At the same time he pushed terrorists into Punjab and Kashmir. This Pakistani general proved himself a master Jekyll and Hyde personality.

Pakistan is a nation where Allah, Army and America rule. General was a staunch Mullah who permanently veered Pakistan towards fundamentalism. In the movie CHARLIE WILSON's WAR based on the Soviets involvement in Afghanistan actor Tom Hanks who plays the role of the Texan Congressman arrives in Pakistan and immediately proceeds to meet Zia. After meeting he asks for "Bourbon on the Rocks", eager to unwind a long travel from United States. 

He was bluntly told that alcohol is not served in the Presidential Palace and he has to shift to a hotel or American Embassy which is usually stuffed with alcohol to have his desire fulfilled. In another scene when the Congressman asks Zia (played by Om Puri) if any legislative approval is needed to supply weapons to the Mujahideens Zia retorted back - "I am the Constitution and my words are Law". He sure was. Had he survived assassination he could have hung all of Pakistan military's top brass if he suspected them of involvement.

He allowed Pakistan as a conduit for the Americans to supply shoulder fired missiles (ironically one of the experts in firing them was Osama Bin Laden). Those weapons each costing $50,000 brought down Soviet military aircrafts which cost millions. The financial loss was devastating for the Soviets already toiling under a bad drought and down spiraling economy. The mighty USSR was brought to its knees so much so that during Breznev's funeral they approached Zia for a face saver exit. But the shrewd Zia knew on which side the the wind was blowing and kept quite.  Rest we know is history.

Nothing lasts forever. The all powerful Zia's more than a decade of power came to an abrupt end as he died in a mysterious plane crash. It's rumored that KGB took him out as a revenge on him for openly siding with America in their Afghanistan imbroglio, bringing the Soviets to their knees. Only Allah knows the truth about Zia's death. Asim Munir should learn something from history and beware of the Ides of August as he steers his country through these turbulent times - his nation facing floods, bankruptcy although he has managed by make Trump dance to his tune, at least for now. 

The Day I of 50% tariff

 So, the 50% tariff on India went off the blocks starting today. All major markets in the world who were watching this closely went through a major sell off, including the New York Stock exchange. Pressure was mounting on Trump administration to come down to a negotiated settlement with India and reduce the tariff to a manageable level.

Nothing of that sort happened. I just woke from my midsummer daydream, getting up startled. However, something close to my dream happened not long ago, but not with regard to India, but China when Trump announced tariffs against China. The Dow Jones and Nasdaq were on free fall. When China sneezes USA catches the cold, when China farts, the whole world can smell it. Sensex in India has made some major loss today while it was a normal trading day in the Wall Street. It yet vindicates that Mumbai isn't Sanghai, China has already moved 50 years ahead of us. We missed the manufacturing bus in 1978 when China ran with it. Now our "Make in India" move is a classic case of too little, too little. Even if we get closer to China some time in future, our generation won't be there to see it.

Today, the beginning of 50% tariff imposed on Indian exports to America negates a steady and healthy relationship between India and United States built-up over 25 years, going poof in a period of 6 months. It is a classic enacting of the popular Odia Adage - "BAARA BARSA RA TAPASYA SUKHUA PODA RE GALA", transliterated, "Twelve years of penance has been swept away by consuming barbecued dry fish". It simply means, down the time travelled road all the accumulated efforts and perseverance in creating the image of India as a powerful, emerging economy, a vibrant, aspiring middle class, a burgeoning global powerhouse - all stand decimated by a single stroke of multiple events in sequence. Like the story of the monkey on a bamboo pole, we climb one foot on the Indo-US development ladder, only to be brought down by couple of feet - now back to square one.

The relationship between India and USA has been on a steep decline ever since India fought a 4 day, inconclusive war with Pakistan on the aftermath of the heinous, cold blooded killing of tourists in Pahalgam, before agreeing to a ceasefire. It nose dived further with India's attempt to demonstrate its superiority over Pakistan didn't yield the intended result, but backfired with downing of an unclear number of Indian fighter jets in the dog fight. Despite bravado Pakistan had its share of heavy losses, so had no interest in a long protracted fight. It readily took the exit ramp by agreeing to ceasefire and giving the credit to the US. But India didn't do so for two reasons. One, it would have impacted the 56" strongman image of Prime Minister Modi, senting a wrong message to electorates in the upcoming crucial election in the state Bihar. Two, it will internationalize the Kashmir issue which India has succintly avoided for decades.

However, India ended up earning Trump's wrath who wanted to bask in the glory of ending the war and thought India denied him that right. The Chief of Pakistan's all powerful Army, Chief Munir displayed consistency in his strategic outlook and messaging where India spectacularly failed. Not sure how long the bromance between Trump and Munir will last knowing the former's mercurial tantrums, the so called brotherly bonhomie and love between Modi and Trump fantasized by Indian PM's followers didn't last very long. Modi's supporters ever since are behaving like jilted lovers.

For now, the score is Pakistan - 1, India - 0. Pakistan's Army Chief Munir yet vindicated that crass opportunism and pragmatism displayed by grabbing the right moment at the right time with substantive diplomatic engagement works better than hugs, scripted events which are good for optics but yield nothing concrete. Foreign policy isn't done in media glare. If we couldn't see this coming given the fickle nature of Trump, then we have ourselves to blame for miscalculation.

It is reported that in recent past Trump has called Modi 4 times with the later refusing to take the call. Many Modi supporters are elated see this snobbing as the expansion of 56 inch chest of their leader. They should understand this is not a fight over a piece of land between the villages of Kapileswar and Sundarpada in Bhubaneswar, where one village Sarpanch gloats over the rejection of any overture of his counterpart from other. Foreign policy is much complicated and nuanced. It is an extension of one's national interest, done best away from media - social or otherwise.

We did a lot of Puja and Yagna (worship) back home, praying for Trump's victory expecting him to be more friendly towards India. Last April when I was in India our neighborhood "Kirana" (grocery) store owner told me - "TRAWMPAW ASILE AMA DESHA PAI BHALA. Pakistan UPARE BOMA PAKEIBA (Trump is going to be good for our country. He is going to bomb Pakistan). He must be a sad man. As Puja and Yagna didn't work, may be bringing a Tantrik to so some "Jaadu Tona" (black magic) on Trump could change his mind in the future. Foreign policy and international relationships aren't T20 cricket matches, it's a long drawn Test Series where fortune swings like pendulum.

Happy Birthday Mother Teresa

 I lived in Calcutta, a metropolitan city on East coast of India in the mid 1990s. One day I happened to see a leper whose almost entire torso was covered in wounds filled with yellowish-white pus oozing out of them. Let's face it - on his face flies swarmed around, feasting on his entire body from his head to toe.

I was too scared to stare, soon turned away my head and turned my back on this helpless guy. Engraved in memory, that abominable sight still refuses to go away. I feel short of kudos for those who shelter them and nurse their wound. MOTHER TERESA was one such person.

She has admirers and critics. I belong to the former category. In this age of 24×7 media, social or otherwise, it's imperative for the folks at the helm of affairs, to be judicious in what they say. We are a free country. There is no harm in being a critic of Mother Teresa or anyone else for that matter. Our Constitution does allow its citizenry to freely express their thoughts and practice their religion. If Mother Teresa or anyone else tried to convert within the parameters of state law, nothing prevents them to do so.

Christian missionaries do convert but they do some real good work of charity. My cousin was once the SP, Police in a remote district of Chattisgarh. He narrated me his AANKHON DEKHA HAAL (First Hand Information) of a densely forested area which was under his supervision to maintain Law and Order. Most part of that district was remote and totally inaccessible, evenly infested with Maoists and Mosquitoes who can carry you for miles. (He incidentally was infected with cerebral malaria and luckily survived). The district administration was virtually non-existent. Only folks who treaded inside and tend to the tribals were the local Christian Missionaries. They provided them food, shelter, education and healthcare. They did where our government spectacularly failed to do - to provide the basic necessities and governance to public.

If I am suffering from hunger and shivering from malaria, it may not take me long to prefer Jesus over Ram or Rahim if the need arises. We have a saying in Sanskrit, BUBHUKHITAM KIM NAKAROTI PAPAM (Why a hungry mouth will not commit a crime). In 1970s an Airliner carrying an Uruguay Rugby team crash landed on the Andes mountains. Without food for many days some players turned cannibals, did not think twice before eating the flesh of their dead fellow mates and attempting to kill live ones. It is also rumored that in the late 1950s and early 1960s China was so impoverished that cannibalism was reported. (It's is another matter China has come a long way since). Hence, in comparison, if we step into their shoes changing one's religion would be a walk in the park. If the missionaries take the gullible tribals for a ride, the fault lies in the system. They just take advantage of a failed system. As water turns to ice under right temperature and pressure, as long as poverty and hunger remains, Jesus could triumph over Ram and Rahim under right circumstances.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY (August 26) to Mother Teresa. The sick and destitute whom you whole heartedly served and the whole world forever will be indebted to you. You truly earned your Nobel prize for peace.

Stockholm syndrome

 Exactly 52 years ago, on August 23, 1973 a group of people were taken hostages in a bank in Stockholm, Sweden by Jan Erik Olsson - high on drugs and holding a gun. The world has seen several hostage dramas before and after this event. But what makes this one uniquely different is the hostages developing an emotional bond with their captors giving birth to a new phrase called  "Stockholm Syndrome".

The whole hostage drama got wide television coverage. The entire Sweden was glued to the TV round the clock. The audience were surprised when one of the girls taken hostage while talking to the authorities over phone started defending her captor. She had already developed a huge crush on her hostage taker who was a charismatic speaker and humored her by telling stories and playing Checkers. The drama ended on day six when police sprayed gas into the bank, forcing the culprit to surrender, freeing the hostages and ending the crisis. But the "Stockholm syndrome"  never ended and stuck around like a chewing gum stuck to your pants, refusing to go. It still continues unabated in many places, in various forms.

I have seen some of my college mates idolizing those professors who harassed them to no end, going an extra yard to eulogizing them, both before and after their demise. I am a son of a professor and I have ultimate respect for teaching profession. But needless harassing of young minds isn't something to be eulogized. It's Okay to admire the good things about our teachers, but to my surprise I have seen many victims of harassment needlessly going a long way harboring "Stockholm syndrome" towards them. The famous writer Khushwant Singh who didn't spare any one including himself once wrote - "A person doesn't become better after his or her death". He never spared anyone in his eulogy, he didn’t even spare himself when he wrote an self eulogy years before he passed away.

Coming from a feudal society, I heard folks eulogizing Babus (Bureaucrats), often smitten by them and the power they wield. It is not unusual to see victims at the receiving end of the Babus in Odisha saying -"ARRE SEY IAS OFFICER PEE KI BADEILA" (So and So IAS officer got drunk and beat some hapless folks). As if getting drunk and beating innocents by taking law into their own hands and taking advantage of their position is something praiseworthy. I know many who are forever stuck like glue to their marriages with "Stockholm syndrome" in spite of being in an abusive relationship. Once a girl confided to me about her abusive relationship from a perennially cheating husband. When I questioned her compulsion of clinging to marriage and being stuck to a toxic relationship, her response was reminding me the title of a Hindi song -

"BHALA HAI BURA HAI, JAISE BHI HAI.
MERA PATI MERA DEVTA HAI".

Roughly transliterated,

"Good, Bad or Ugly, Wherever he stands.
After all, he is my husband".

We see lots of examples of the "Stockholm syndrome" in real life. Psychologically many of us tend to sympathize with our perpetrators. Part of it is due to our inferiority complex which makes us see them as stronger persons doing things which we aspire to do but can't due to various reasons - it could be lack of courage, the societal pressure etc etc. We get a vicarious pleasure by seeing our wishes replicated by someone else. What happens then is a perfect example of - "if you can't beat them, join them". More than 50 years since we are stuck with the "Stockholm syndrome" forever.