RIP Pele

He was next thing to God in Football. Chief architect of Brazil's 3 time win in the World Cups of 1958, 1962 and 1970, his skills of passing and scoring was simply impeccable and insurmountable. Hailed from a soccer crazy nation he carved is niche as arguably the greatest football ⚽️ player of all time. 

In a country known to produce Soccer Stars he was undoubtedly the Superstar. In 1960s and 70s Soccer (called Football in the world outside United States) was synonymous with Pele. Though Brazil was a soccer nation even before he came to represent them as a 17 year old, he single handedly put his nation in forefront on the world map by being a major contributor to Brazil's victories. Come World Cup every 4 years, most fans all over the globe irrespective of their allegiance, want to watch Brazil play. Pele marked an era where Brazillians played the game in tandem with its Samba music. Watching Brazil play was akin to viewing poetry in motion. 

After retirement Pele joined Cosmos club in New York in 1975 to try promote Football, oops Soccer in America. He had limited success. America started qualifying in World Cups starting from 1998 (it played 1994 World Cup as the host nation). Now it is a much improved soccer nation though never came anywhere close to winning the Cup. 

In 1977 Pele arrived at the Dum Dum Airport in Calcutta on a  sultry August night to find to his surprise that thousands were waiting outside braving pouring rains to have a glimpse of him. Mesmerized by such adulation he was amazed at his fan following in a nation which forget about playing in World Cup, hardly got any closer to qualifying for the coveted tournament. 

While in Spain watching the 1982 edition of the World Cup as Brazil peaked early on a winning spree, juggernauting its way ahead, a confident Pele proclaimed - "Playing like this we are going to win the Cup". Everyone thought so. But Paolo Rossi of Italy crashed the Brazilian dream by scoring a hat trick and eliminating Brazil at a crucial stage of the tournament. It took 12 more years for Brazil to win a World Cup in 1994 edition held in the United States. Pele was seen openly dancing in the stadium with tears of joy in his eyes. 

Stars are born everyday, superstars once in a century. Pele was one of them who passed away today after a long tryst with illness. RIP Pele. You will forever be synonymous with World's most popular sports.

Zindagi Na Milega Dobara

 It is so heartening to see my junior batches of my Alma Mater NIT (Then REC) Rourkela celebrating their Silver Jubilee Anniversary of passing out from the coveted institute at this time of year. It is the equivalent of College reunion in American parlance. I was present there for the same occasion in December 2015. The occasion was a pure mix of joy and nostalgia.

On that balmy Rourkela winter afternoon while taking a stroll around the campus on the semi paved, dusty road, I met a group of students, a veritable mix of young boys and girls who obliged me by agreeing to take a selfie with them. In course of our tete-a-tete they were surprised to discover that I passed out from the institute before they were born. 

I was asked where I am now and what I do ? I replied back - "I live in Georgia, US and work for an IT Company". One of them shoot me this, "You must be a big shot". "No, I am not", I replied - "I am a very small fry compared to numerous NITians who are highly successful around the globe". The institute has its stamp in Technocracy, Bureaucracy, Research and higher echelons of the Corporate world. I told them how proud I am of my Alma Mater and you all should be, whatever you do, wherever you go.

On hearing to what I just said, their cup of joy was full, spilling all over in form of smiles from the boys and giggles from the girls, as if they just won an event in Spring Fest defeating their rivals. I added further, saying how pleased I was seeing so many girls in NIT, compared to hardly a dozen from our batch. And how during our days a Rengcolian boy's dream was to get the dream job of DARWAAN (the Gate Keeper) of the Ladies Hostel, to watch the damsels toing and froing at the gates of their Mecca. 

I narrated them this episode from my ragging days when I was in my first year. A senior entered my room and found a photo of Lord Shiva hanging on the wall. He ordered me to stand with folded hands 🙏 in front of the deity and pray - "O Lord Shiva. My present life is wasted as an Engineer. Please bless me in my next life by making me the Gate Keeper of the Ladies Hostel where I can watch damsels all day and night long". My roommate was also forced to do the same.

It brought the young folks laughter to its crest. It was a heroic gesture to someone who did nothing heroic but was visiting his Alma Mater after decades. I cherished my 2 minutes of fame. When solicited, my parting advise to them was - "You are young, follow your dreams, even if it's the dream of being the Ladies Hostel DARWAAN. I could still hear their laughter and giggles which slowly waned as they melted away. I walked ahead.

When I told all these to the youngsters, making eye contact with them I wanted to dive into their dreamy eyes, live my halcyon days in their eyes, akin to a ghost entering a human body to revisit his past. I wasn't exaggerating my feeling. It was deja vu moment for me, for like them at their age I was young, I too had a dream, so I could very well relate to the dreams in their innocent eyes. Rengcolians are now in myriad professions, all over the globe from Timbuktu to Turkmenistan. Nowhere you will find so many students spread out after graduating, in such a wide spectrum of professional fields. 

We have our folks in Civil Services, Post grads from IIMs, Xaviers, IITs and many prominent American Universities. Top class techies, managers, bankers, businesspersons, entrepreneurs dime a dozen from NIT, Rourkela they have spread their tentacles in 6 continents, probably with the exception of Antarctica. It's said that if you throw a stone in California Bay area, the center of creativity and innovation, it might hit the head of a Rengcolian (as a NIT, Rourkela person from my time is referenced as), followed by choicest of expletives from Rengcolian vocabulary.

Next day, we woke up to a sunnier and chillier Rourkela. A fun filled day awaited us at our batchmate Hardeep's farmhouse in Panposh on the outskirts of Rourkela. Secluded, but filled with modern amenities and lush green foliage looking gray due to winter dust. The venue had ample of space and facilities to host an event. In the middle of winter, I discovered a bunch of green mangoes hanging in clusters, barely few feet above ground. Varieties of lavishly laid food platters were spread out for us, munch on through out the day.

As the day progressed, it felt exhilarating to catch up with the past quarter of century and beyond. Our Sardar friends, Hardeep and Gurmeet were conspicuous by their bright turbans, shining like the sands of River Brahmani on a sunny day. Sands of time has seen many of us losing our hairs, apparent from receding hairlines and eggheads, but we hadn't lost our sense of humor and camaraderie. Many of us have put on weight, developed paunch and double chins, some looking mature with their salt & pepper top.

We shook our salt & pepper tops and protruding bellies to the tune of songs from our batchmates, especially from Rajesh Dhabre, who kept on churning out one number after another. A Mechanical Engineer, now with IRS, a part of Civil Services, he has become a great singer, having produced his own album. Rajesh entertained us with a plethora of hits from 60s and 70. The long day finally came to the end, as the dusty twilight was soaked with our farewell tears.

ZINDAGI NA MILLEGA DOBAARA, life won't come again the second time. Such encounters in life reminds me of a passage from our epic BHAGVAT GEETA - two logs floating in the middle of Ocean collide with each other, to get separated forever, never ever to meet again. Back of my mind I knew, the same awaits me after the rendezvous with batchmates, some of whom I am sure destined not to meet again, never ever.

Mohammad Ali Jinnah

 He famously said - "Failure is a word unknown to me.” The man Muhammad Ali Jinnah, who was born on this day December 25 certainly succeeded in the main goal of his life - creating his dream nation of Pakistan. He certainly got it, though a moth eaten one sans Kashmir. Kashmir was very much part of the envisioned PAKISTAN which stands for (Punjab - Afghanistan - Kashmir - Sindh - TAN), a name coined by a young student of Law, Choudhury Rehmat Ali in London in 1933. The idea was regarded strictly as a fantasy of a young man and promptly dismissed.

Jinnah wasn't wrong when he said that failure was a word unknown to him. From eloping with his friend's daughter who was barely 16 year old and 24 years younger to her father's friend on whom she had a serious crush, to becoming the champion of Indian Muslims and single handedly forming Pakistan, Jinnah saw no failure in his life.

Jinnah who heard about the young lawyer's dream about forming a separate homeland for Indian Muslims, didn't entirely dismissed the idea and kept it on the back of his mind for another day. He eventually formed his Muslim League. As the clarion call for Pakistan grew louder, his popularity among Muslims continued to grow, especially in the Muslim majority areas of India. He finally managed to get his Pakistan after a lot of bloodshed.

But Jinnah wasn't a typical Mullah, as he was a wine drinking, pork eating Muslim. His personal doctor was a Hindu who was aware of Jinnah's terminal cancer but kept it a secret. He had his vision of Hindus and Sikhs in Pakistan continuing to live as before. In fact Jinnah had offered the writer Khushwant Singh the position of Chief Justice of Lahore High Court. But destiny had its way.

Jinnah, who was synonymous with the making of Pakistan admitted one failure in his life. As retold by his personal doctor he regretted making Pakistan at his death bed as he passed away shortly after the country came into existence. Pakistan is still a failed nation after 75 years of its formation.

Khudiram Bose - the unsung freedom fighter

 He is one of our innumerable forgotten heroes who sacrificed their lives for the sake of freedom for our motherland. All of them were young, they too had a dream. They were aware of the risk they were taking, fully knowing the consequence that their taking up arms against the might British Empire didn't have a great chance to succeed or remove the well entrenched British from their country. Yet they chose to fight their battle, leaving their indelible mark to inspire generations to come.

Khudiram Bose was one of them. Born in the state of Bengal this month of December 3, 1889, he was inspired by Sri Aurobindo who before taking the path of spiritualism was an active participant in the struggle for freedom against the British. Sri Aurobindo used to give a series of public lectures and private session with the existing revolutionary groups fighting for independence. 

As a teenager Khudiram heard his speech and started plotting against British. He along with his revolutionary accomplice Prafulla Chaki threw bombs at a British judge, Magistrate Douglas Kingsford. The Magistrate however was seated in a different carriage, hence escaped. The bombs killed two British women. Prafulla Chaki shot himself fatally before the arrest. Khudiram was arrested and tried for the murder of the two women, ultimately being sentenced to death. He was one of the first Indian revolutionaries in Bengal to be executed by the British, just short of his 19th Birthday. It is said that he happily walked to the gallows singing "Vande Mataram" - Hail to the motherland.

Khudiram Bose brings to my mind couple more revolutionaries who gave their life for their country at a tender age - Saheed Bhagat Singh and Chandrasekhar Azad. Bhagat Singh along with his revolutionary friend Shivaram Rajguru were hanged for the killing a British police officer in Punjab. Both of them said to have proudly walked to the gallows.

But another revolutionary Chandrasekhar Azad was of different breed. He changed his last name to Azad (independent), who rather than surrendering preferred to kill himself with the last bullet left in his revolver when he was cornered by British police in a park in the city of Allahabad.

Born in the Indian state of Madhya Pradesh, Chandrasekhar was a born AZAD (free) revolutionary who destested living under the British rule. Once when asked his name, his impromptu answer was Chandrasekhar, followed by Azad. Azad was not his last name. He coined it to emphasize his penchant for remaining independent as a free man, as free as a bird. 

As a young man Chandrasekhar had little patience to succumb to British rule. He, along with his small band of merry men were perennial thorn in the flesh, fly on ointment of the local administration. Led by him, his gang surreptitiously launched some spectacular guerilla attacks on various British interests. But eventually he was betrayed by one of his close associates and was cornered by the police in a park in Allahabad. He fought tooth and nail until he realized that he was wounded and surrounded with a single bullet left in his repertoire. He shot himself with that bullet, preferring to die free (AZAD) rather than in hands of the British. He was only 24 years old.

We see numerous Gandhi Jayanti, Nehru Jayanti, again Gandhi Jayanti of another kind of Gandhi family - Indira, Rajeev et all. Many stadiums, airports and what not are named after them. But rarely we see the forgotten heroes a la Khudiram Bose, Bhagat Singh, Rajguru, Chandrasekhar Azad given their due credit they earned by their indepth patriotism and fierce sense of independence. Their revolutionary acts though unorganized and isolated in nature left their patriotic mark. My thousands of salute to our unsung heroes.

30th Anniversary of Destruction of Babri Masjid

 Exactly 30 years ago, this day on 6th of December 1992 the controversial Babri Masjid in Ayodha was pulled down by an irate mob. Next day morning headlines on newspapers and subsequently on magazines flashed the famous (rather infamous) picture of folks climbing on that ill fated dome, a la termites on a molehill. 

The appropriate caption on all the print media (social media was absent those days) was "NATION'S SHAME". In two words it summarized my feelings at that time. I was ashamed that we once upon a time used to call ourselves a great civilization.

Many may not be aware of another piece of news emanating the same night. It was then reported on media that not far from the plains of Ayodhya in the hilly township of Mussoorie where the National Academy of Administration is located, some of our elite Civil Services trainees and the prospective custodians of law & order acted extremely Civil by going berserk - cheering anf celebrating this colossal break of law and order earlier that evening. 

In Odia we say "RAKHYAKA BHAKHYAKA HELE KANA HABA", meaning - What will happen if the protector turns into tormentor. In other words what will happen if the fence starts eating the crops it should protect ? That impromptu zamboree made me wonder if we are in Zimbabwe and how safe our nation is with such future administrators at helm.

The intention of this post is not to start a debate on communal vs secular, Hindu vs Muslims and so on. As a nation of plurality and civility the rule of laws should rule the roost, above everything else. 

A dispute needs to be settled in the court of law, not on streets by taking law into one's own hands. If rule of law and the confidence of the citizenry on the administration is not restored this allusion of "Nation's Shame" is gonna hunt us forever.

KHAKEE - The Netflix web series

 Finished binge watching KHAKEE - a web series on Netflix based on the story of an honest, efficient IPS officer who struggles in the badlands of Bihar where rampant lawlessness, casteism, corruption and crime rules. Where unholy nexus between criminals - politicians - bureaucrats is the sine qua non of the state. Ironically this story is from a state which has produced stalwarts who were epitomes of honesty and integrity like Dr. Rajendra Prasad, the first President of India, revolutionary Jay Prakash Narayan (famously known as JP) and Justice Jagmohan Sinha who gave the famous verdict against Indira Gandhi disqualifying her from her from Parliament.

The young IPS officer Amit Lodha arrives in Bihar to be welcomed by electricity outages and extremely bad roads. Once the cheeky politician from Bihar, Laloo Yadav promised to make the roads of Bihar as smooth as the cheeks of Hema Malini. But down the road, the roads of Bihar still resemble the small pox pore filled face of the actor Om Puri rather than the cheek of the chick dream girl of yesteryears. Om Puri's poke marked cheek found its mark as something noteworthy to drive a point.

Not to mention casteism being shown on this Netflix series as a way of life in Bihar. I am reminded of my Engineering college days in REC (now NIT), Rourkela where 50% of the students came from outside, including Bihar (it was undivided Bihar then, Jharkhand was yet to be carved out of it). A few of my Bihari classmates who were great guys nevertheless, would occasionally whisper around my ears "ISKA JAAT KAA HAI" (what's his caste), curious to know about the caste of us Odias and then try to connect to their counterparts in Bihar. 

For example, they linked our KARANA caste to KAYAST in Bihar. The caste Brahmin was self explanatory for their last names shared with North Indian counterparts like Mishra, Tripathy, Nanda. They were confused with my last name, but it didn't take them long to figure out that I am a Brahmin as my PAITA (sacred thread around my shoulder) gave me away. They struggled a lot, whether to align our KHANDAYAT caste to Rajputs or Bhumihars. 

As a teenager, who had hardly ever travelled outside Odisha, I found this rather weird. Soon I noticed, a few of the upper caste folks from Bihar would avoid sitting on the Dining Hall called "Mess" with certain guys, whom they perceived as from lower caste or strata of the society. Odias might have tons of shortcomings, but such rampant and naked casteism is not one of them. The thought of not sharing a meal with someone due to caste barrier never ever came to my mind.

Casteism is not just limited to the cowbelt of UP and Bihar. It has its tentacles in other states too. Once in Delhi I found my ex-boss, one Sharma jee being over friendly towards me. One day he told me on face - TUM BRAHMAN HO, IS LIYE SAF SUTRE LAGTE HO. TUMHARE CHEHRE MEIN JO CHAMAK HAI, "You are Brahmin. That's why you look clean, there is a glare in your looks". I didn't find it very flattering.

It also reminds me of an episode narrated to me by a friend, whose father retired as a senior bureaucrat in Delhi. He was in PMO when Indira Gandhi was at the helm of affairs. During Cabinet meetings, the ministers would break for lunch. Once, Indira Gandhi walked towards Kamalapati Tripathy, a Brahmin and Railway minister from Uttar Pradesh and asked him "Tripathy JEE. BABU JAGJIVAN RAM (a minister from Scheduled Caste in her cabinet) KEHTE HAIN KI AAP UNKE SAATH NAHI KHAATE (Mr. Tripathy, Jagjivan Ram complains that you don't eat with him)". 

Kamalapati replied - MADAM, MEIN AAP KE SAATH BHI NAHI KHAATA, WOH TO CHAMAAR HAI (Madam, I don't even eat with you, he is from a low caste of shoe makers). Indira, though born a Brahmin, lost her caste as well as religion after her marriage to Feroz Gandhi and was never allowed inside Lord Jaganntah Temple post marriage for same reason.

This episode could be apocryphal but is accompanied by an underlying message. In this background, KHAKEE, the story of Bihari gangster and his relentless pursuit by a diligent police officer is a recommended watch unless you don't like violence and gory scenes. 

Thanksgiving 2022

 It's Thanksgivings time in America. Like every year on this day I take the opportunity to thank all my friends for taking pain to patiently to go through my my blogs. As far as possible I try to inform you, amuse you by playing the role of a raconteur and occasionally irritate you. But I love you all. Your comments and "Likes", all good, bad and ugly keep me going.

Facebook taught me writing. Ever since I discovered my blogging skill a decade or so ago, never in my wildest of dreams ever I imagined coming this far. From a few lines of scrolls in the beginning to a wide variety of thoughts kept flowing like streams, merging and taking the shape of a larger river on social media, I have taken a long road. A decent number of kudos started trickling in, motivated me to pen more and more. Like women and fire who never say enough, I say never enough to writing as I haven't stopped penning ever since. 

Soon compliments started pouring in. Many of them from unknowns who admit (some grudgingly) of enjoying my writing. One went further, "even if you write junk, don't know why, I still make it a point to read it. You have converted bullshit into a form of art." I took it as a compliment. It's not easy to sell bullshit.

I thrive to be a raconteur of human foibles. Folks love spicy stuff, be it food or writing. I readily oblige them. People may give long speeches about the health and nutritional values of the Odia dish SANTULA (a boiled mix veg dish) and DALMA (a dish of boiled Dal & Veggies). But in reality they cherish spicy chilli chicken or mutton curry. Human character is full of contradictions. I cater to the taste of my audience, unabashdly dishing out spicy stuff.

It feels flattered when on occasions folks I barely know walk towards me to compliment on my writing. It's no doubt a very pleasing experience to know that there is a silent majority out there who love reading my posts. Some who never put a "like" or comment on my posts, surprise me by doing the same verbally. Writing as an art I discovered fairly late in my life. Sometimes I secretly wish that Facebook was there when I was young and single.

Occasionally few solicit my advice to improve their writing ability (anyway I don't consider myself of having any great writing skill). I get pleasantly shocked by the heroic adulation from many having done nothing heroic other than posting tons of crap on my Facebook wall. My answer to them - there is no magic or silver bullet on writing. Like any creative skill if it's inside you, one day it will burst open like a dam unable to control the surging water. So just go ahead, pen your thoughts and let it take its own shape.

Some even suggested me to chose writing as a professional career. It is a great creative outlet and escape from the daily drudgery in life, accompanied by a sense of pleasure and fulfillment. I don't have an iota of doubt about it. Hence I plan to keep penning my thoughts till I go over the hills.

But writing as a profession? I don't think it is a pragmatic path to chose at this stage in my life. There is an immense sense of satisfaction as a writer, but frankly there is no money in this line. No offence to their professions, even the PAANA and MADA DOKANIs (betel and liquor shop owners), petty DALAALs (brokers) make more money than writers these days. Sad, but it is the reality of our time.

My current profession does not pay me a whole lot, but pays my bills - with a few additional safety net of some post retirement benefits. A la the electrical main switch of a house, it keeps my home lighted, warm and fuzzy during winter and keeps a roof above my head for rainy days. Everything else falls in place and would stop the moment the main switch gets turned off. So at most I will keep writing as a hobby, with a book or collection of articles down the road.  

Having bored you to death with this long monologue, wish you all a HAPPY THANKSGIVING. Happy Turkey gobble day. Stay safe. Enjoy the occasion with family and friends.

Happy birthday Indira Gandhi

 On this day, 105 years ago, a girl was born to Jawaharlal and Kamala Nehru. She was named Indira Priyadarshini by her parents and would later become a 3 term Prime Minister of India as Indira Gandhi, a name she took after she defied her family to tie the marital knot with her beau Feroze Gandhi.

Indira Gandhi became a widow at a very young age of 32. Per the writer Khushwant Singh who once upon a time was very close to the her family, especially to her favorite son Sanjay Gandhi, Indira had many affairs. She had a long time relationship with Nehru's moon faced Private Secretary M.O. Mathai before she got bored with him and shifted to her Yoga teacher Dhiren Brahmachari who was much younger and stronger with a slim, yogic body with a flat stomach. It is rumored that her elder son Rajiv Gandhi was old enough to know about his mother's affairs with Dhiren Brahmachari. No wonder the controversial Yoga teacher died in a mysterious plane crash few months after Rajiv Gandhi becoming India's Prime Minister.

Indira Gandhi was a legend of her time. She earned the tag of "Iron Lady". Though a woman, she is the only manly Prime Minister India ever had. Unlike her illustrated father, she was poor in academics. Her known qualification is High School Matriculation - her division unknown. As a student she dropped out of several institutes, from Santiniketan to Oxford, failing to acquire a post High school degree. She also had a failed marriage. After her husband's death she moved with her two kids to her father Nehru's Prime Ministerial residence.

Politics was in her blood and she carved her niche in it. She was made the Prime MMinister in 1966 after the untimely death of Lal Bahadur Sashtri by a bunch of old faddists and obscurantists leaders in Congress. The ruling Syndicate of Congress Party, a cabal which included the likes of Morarjee Desai and Atulya Ghosh sarcastically branded her as GUNGI GUDIA (dumb doll) so that they can rule by pulling the string from behind. 

But she proved them wrong by taking over the party and then the country - using her charisma and powerful oratory skills to single handedly sweep the National elections of 1971, destroying all her detractors in her party. She was hard working and a tireless campaigner. Post India's victory over Pakistan and carving out a new country named Bangladesh under her leadership she was branded as Goddess DURGA not just by her supporters, even by then opposition stalwart and later PM of India, Atal Vihari Vajpayee who extolled her then as part of Jan Sangh, precursor to current BJP.

Soon Indira became a cult figure. In South India she came to be known as "AMMA INDIRAMMA (mother Indira) and stood by her even during her electoral losses elsewhere. With cult status came sycophancy - the Congress style. D K Barooah, a party leader from Assam famously said "India is Indira, Indira is India". He also said Congress will never lose as long as ALLI and COOLIE vote for it. Muslims and poor class people formed the backbone of Congress party's votebank then.

An insecure Indira (she had an insecure, lonely Childhood as her mother died young and father was jailed) imposed Emergency in 1975 when the court declared her election as illegal. She lost the election that followed, again making a comeback in 1980 as the Janata Party experiment at center failed miserably.

But after her young, favorite son Sanjay whom she groomed to follow her in politics killed himself in an air crash, Indira was never the same decisive leader. She dithered on Punjab where terrorism peaked in early 1980s and ultimately paid for her life. 

One fine Fall morning of October 31, 1984 she was shot dead by her own Sikh bodyguards. It came like a bold from the blue, shocking the entire nation. More aftershocks were to follow in the form of riots in Delhi and other places where hundreds of Sikhs were made Sikh KABAABs (Barbrcue) as they were doused with gasoline and burnt alive by Congress goons. The inept and corrupt authorities turned a blind away to this massacre. It was ghastly.

In 38 years after her death a lot of water has flown under the bridge. Yet in her life and death, she was a significant figure, a newsmaker. Love or hate her, you can't deny her space in India's history. 

Her tenure was a mixed bag, a saga of lack of vision and missing opportunities when China and many Asian nations took the path of Capitalism and moved droves out of poverty when she steadfastly stuck to her brand of socialism, accentuating poverty in India. But her biggest contribution was her single handendly disfiguring India's perennially pugnacious and obnoxious nation called Pakistan, keeping it at bay. On her Birth Anniversary, she duly deserves kudos for the astute boldness and leadership she showed in handling the Bangladesh crisis - India's one and only one manly woman Prime Minister.

Adios Windy city - Chicago trip 2022

 Bulls and Bears aren't just limited to the Wall Street. The Football team Chicago Bears and the city's basketball team Chicago Bulls are household names here. The sporting teams are butts of jokes too. Papa and Mama Bear were going through a divorce settlement. The judge asked Teddy Bear to make the choice of going with either Papa or Mama Bear. 'No' I will go with Chicago Bears. "Why ?" the perflexed judge asked. "Because they never beat anybody" said the cute Teddy Bear. 

As icing on the cake was the snow which fell on the day of my departure. The white snow started falling like tiny cotton fluffs bursting out of torn pillows after a pillow fight between two lovebirds. The snow blanketed the ground, looking like a vast cotton plantation in Dixieland or a large flock of sheeps in some Scottish Highland. The supine maiden on on the front yard covered with snow looked like taking a foam bath after a tired day. What a wonderful sight of pristine white everywhere, from tree top to chimney, from cars to shrubs all covered in spectacular white beauty.

From the windows I watched the last yellow color leaf from a tree falling down, then defying gravity as it went upwards floating like a butterfly before hitting the ground, rolling over a few feet before lying still. It reminded me the poignant story "The Last leaf" penned by the great American writer O'Henry. Many works of creativity emanate from restless minds. O Henry was one such writer who wrote his classics from jail including this one.

Since childhood, most from my generation have been fed with this idea of controlling our restless mind for creativity. Now I am fed up with this notion. I have reason to believe that a controlled mind achieved via controlled breathing and meditation might earn you a great Job or higher Grades, but shouldn't be seen as the best bet for innovation.

I can site several example to contradict this myth. The best example to bet against this prevalent theory are the eminent writers R.K. Narayan and Khushwant Singh. Both were never academically brilliant. The ebullient, unorthodox Sardar, the perpetual agnostic admitted that college exams gave him nightmares. He hated Yogas and Asanas prescribed to him, as it hardly made any difference to his fertile mind. One of my favorite poets John Keats wrote his best poems when Consumption (Tuberculosis) was consuming him.

Many creative brains and innovators are poor degree holders. So also Toru Dutt, the talented Bengali poetess of 19th Century, who wrote some masterpieces before she died at the tragic young age of 21. Most of her poems were composed during her painful battle with terminal tuberculosis, which eventually claimed her.

Earnest Hemmingway, the brilliant American writer was suffering from depression, eventually committing suicide. So also the Oscar winning Robin Williams and our own legendary Guru Dutt. An Oscar winning Hollywood movie "The Beautiful Mind" best depicts the story of another eccentric genius with turbulent mind.

Kishore Kumar, arguably the most complete artist in Bollywood - an actor, singer, music director etc, was a genius but an outright eccentric. He was known to be extremely restless on the sets, but no one could match his versatility. The actors Shah Rukh Khan and the cricketer Tendulkar are also known to be extremely energetic, but are known to channel their ebullience to positive endeavor. The popular actor is a chain smoker and self proclaimed addict to video games - both tell tell signs of mental agitations.

Tendulkar, probably the best batsman India has ever produced, rarely gets a good night sleep before an important game. Yet, he hardly shows any sign of fatigue on field, eking out one master knocks after another.

And there are many such examples. The mind of a normal person like me may benefit from a boost from reigning it in using meditations and mind control. For a genius, a restless mind is the best bet. Geniuses are always born - rarely made. Their minds need not be altered, best left to themselves.

Now the time has arrived to bid adieu to the Windy city, post my staycation (a vacation where I mostly stayed at my sister's home) some wonderful time spent with the cherished company of family and friends. Advancing age and having lived  long in South has taken a toll on my cold tolerance. Struggled a bit to adjust to the cold, but enjoyed the snow on my day of departure. Goodbye Chicago. Catch you later...

Chicago Trip 2022 - Part II

 Suddenly the windy city turned cold, damn cold. It felt really like the real Chicago as by evening the temperature dropped down to freezing point. The cold snap accompanied by howling wind gusts of 25 miles per hour gave me a cold slap, forcing me cover my other cheek with the jacket hood and rush seeking warmer comfort.

For someone from deep South it felt as if I reached the foothills of the Himalayas. The most exciting human experience is not joy but relief. I was relieved when I entered from a cold, heartless outside into the warm comfort of home. It felt like the warm hug of the beloved, her sweet, warm breath from the lungs filling the heart of the lover.

It's not unusual for the weather in middle America to plummet in a few hours, as unlike India, there is no Himalayas in North to protect the cold winds blasting its way from Canada. Himalayas stands tall as a barrier from the marauding chill of the Pamir plateau giving India its unique geography and demography. While the runt Rocky Mountains in USA running from the North to South hardly prevents the intrusion of the Canadian artic chill which blasts through America's heartland.

The north-western Chicago suburb is as white as snow, with a few Desis (Indians) and Chinese strewn in. Having stayed in the Dixie Land for a long period of time, the demography here felt distinctly different. Chicago is located in the midst of the Northern Prairies. One can sees miles of its famous grasslands, scattered lakes, undulated mounds of meadows interspersed with a few bald trees, some of them still sporting a few golden colored fall leaves glistening under a setting fall sun, like Donald Trump's hair, ready to fall off from its height from pedestal.

The commercial minded Americans have converted these rolling Meadows into Golf courses, a few I saw criss crossing the Chicago suburbs where I am staying. The accent of the midwesterners is as flat as the flatlands of the Prairies. It is far cry from the Southern drawl I am more conversant with. Didn't hear anybody talking y'all at all.

The English accent varies a lot between the North and South, with the New Yorkers having their own Yankee accent. The midwesterners have a flat accent. I can see that the English accent of my nephews and neice who grew up in Chicago quite diferent from my son which has a southern tinge.

Same in Odisha where we have Katati,  Puri, Baleswari, Barhampuri style southern accent as well as the Sambalpuri western Odisha accent. When a Minnesotan says "you betcha", it reminds me of "GAMATA EKKA" (Fun only) in Barhampuri Odia. Same as Mein (in pure Allahabadi Hindi), Hum (Bihari Hindi) vs Apoon Ka Hindi in Mumbai. Accents do vary, so also slangs with their regional punch exist in every language across the world. More later...

Arrival in Chicago - November 2022

 I love Chicago, Illinois, the richest state of America's midwest which has a rich history. It is the state of Abraham Lincoln who saved United States from getting divided after a bloody Civil War from 1861 to 1865. I have been to this city no less than a dozen times and excited to visit it once again.

The holiday season is yet to start but the flight from Atlanta's Hartsfield International Airport was full for middle of the week. It was packed like sardines. That's probably why the Airlines was offering $500 flight vouchers to be used for any future flights, if I rebook on another flight leaving next day. I passed this generous offer.

The Delta airliner from Atlanta Airport roared like a gargantuan bird, gently gliding into the sky leaving the Atlanta skyline behind. It shuddered and wobbled a bit trying to beat the haze amidst the gray nimbus cloud brushing against the airliner like white bristles cleaning a vehicle in a car wash. Slowly it ascended into the sky, diving into an enormous darkness of the distance. The fading lights below flickered like stars in some distance galaxy

A blustery windy night welcomed me to the aptly named Windy city of Chicago. Bursts of fresh air swarmed around me, caressing me with its soft, open hands embracing me as I stepped out of the Chicago O'Hare airport. The balmy weather of 66 degrees close to around 10 O'Clock in the night approaching middle of November in Chicago felt really unreal.

Soon I realized that I have become a slave of social media, vindicated by the fact that no sooner the flight landed than I started checking my text messages on phone. When I looked around I discovered that I wasn't alone as almost everyone except an infant sitting on her mother's lap drooped their heads on their phones. Two hours without access to social media is eternity these days.

The full flight makes me think that may be one day, a la town buses in Bhubaneswar, people will be allowed to stand in flights. At the time of landing, take off and turbulence, one can hang on to the plastic covered metal linked chains, hanging like hangman's noose stuck to horizontal metal bars at the top. I am sure folks won't mind, especially in the short duration flights around holiday seasons.

During my REC (Now NIT) Rourkela days I once sat on a stool in an overnight bus service from Rourkela to Bhubaneswar as all the seats were occupied. In the middle of journey, a junk movie named PAAP KA ANT (End of evil) was playing on the hazy TV screen, as the bus topsy-turvied its way forward. To my drowsy eyes the name looked Italian - PAAPA KA ANTA (Dad's Waist).

As I rubbed my eyes trying to figure out the movie, the driver suddenly slammed the brakes. Every one surged forward in sequence, same way a bunch of bricks standing in a line would fall upon one another, if the chain reaction is triggered by kicking the brick at one end.

Thankfully I was in the middle. The guy on the stool in front who was gaping at the screen with his mouth wide open savoring a scene from the cinema was not so lucky. He bore the brunt of  Newton's Law of Motion (a body continues to be in rest or motion unless an external force is applied) as he was flung foward, his phalanx of front teeth hitting the thick metallic rod in front of him. Ouch, it must have hurt him bad.

We Odias are genuinely peace loving Gandhians with a high sense of tolerance and a higher forgiving mindset. Rather than being annoyed, he smiled back, exposing his swollen lips and bloody teeth, continuing watching the movie. It may so happen in our lifetime stools will be placed in the middle for a Boing 757 to accomodate the overbooked passengers. More later...

 

Living in a fake vainglorious world

 A whole bunch of BJP leaders, at least one Chief Minister, a Governor, multiple Ministers of state and center from the party talk about our glorious past in the year 3548 BC when we used to fly Airplanes, used TV and internet - not to mention the extensive usage of plastic surgery and nuclear missiles.

India was the El Dorado of past. It was not only rich, it has a rich ancient history, its glorious culture and traditions can be the traced to thousands of years. I am aware and immensely proud of our magnificent temple architectures, medios "Charak and Shushruta" and India's contributions towards numeral zero. But what I am not proud is GULLIS killed (telling lies) in the name of our great history for scoring cheap political goals.

You may think our politicians don't know what they are saying. Wrong. They know what they're saying. After all, they're politician who are playing to the gallery of gullible people using nationalism as their trump card - scientific temper being damned. Every thing is fair in love, war and now days as vindicated by recent incidents - Politics.

When I was a child our grandmother used to tell us stories to put her recalcitrant grandchildren to sleep. She used to warn us - If you don't sleep soon I will take you to the witches who hang late night owl kids like you upside down from a Banyan tree and slowly roast them using the flame from a pyre barely inches below the body. These unique witches can be identified by looking at their feet which have their toes pointing backwards. 

The oil which drips out of the victims body from this process of slow combustion similar to chickens getting barbecued on a summer grill were carefully collected in bottles. They were later sold to the GORA rulers (the British) who used it to join the cut off limbs of their soldiers injured in the war using these drips.

She could be right, stem cell existed not long ago. The witches simply kept the secret to themselves. They were too modest to patent their product and get Nobel Prize for Medicine. Or may be they didn't want their feet to be seen in public during their trip to Stockholm to collect the coveted award.

Reminds me of a neighbor who lived in our Colony (As Residential neighborhood is called a colony back home in Bhubaneswar) living in his fantasy filled vainglorious past. He use to boast - 40 years back I was a KUSTI (wrestling) expert who could wrestle down 3 people at a time. His fragile figure belied that. He also bragged - years ago, Biju Patnaik used to take advice from me on politcal matters. 

Once he went further - As a child Janaki Patnaik used to kiss and fondle me (he maint that JB, an ex CM of Odisha was affectionate toward to him) inviting muffled chuckles from his audience. I tried to change the topic to save him from further embarrassmen. He retorted back, "ARRE TU KANA JANICHU, JANAKI AU MORE AJA NAATI SAMPARKA (Hey, what you know ? Janaki had a maternal grand fatherly instict for me). 

I used to tell myself - "BICHARA BUDHA GULLI MARUCHI" (Poor Old man is killing Gullies, or uttering lies). As he was not doing so well in his profession as a lawyer, he used to fantasize about a vain (glorious) past and cherish it. I accepted it, but unlike others who pooh poohed him "KAHI MAUSA GULLI MARUCHA" (Uncle, why are you killing Gullis or uttering lies), I patiently to his fables and let him have his few minutes of fame. Not that I believed an iota of what he said, yet tried to be polite giving a patient hearing, letting him live in the castle in the air he built for himself.  

Not many know the famous Scientist Einstein was Aintha Sahoo from the Aitalang village, not far from Bhubaneswar. After migrating to Germany he converted into Judaism and became Ein-Stein. Hope this qualifies me to get a BJP ticket from Bhubaneswar - Ekamra constituency, which includes the birthplace of Aintha Sahoo.

Happy Halloween 2022

 Halloween always reminds me this spooky episode of my grandmother's tryst with the outer world. She used to narrate us this story from her childhood which till date fascinates me.

When she was about 10 years old, she was seriously ill. Those were the days when incurable diseases like Cholera not Condom which kept India's population under control. Her parents quit on her, when they saw her eyes closed and her body became cold. She remembered floating above her body, watching her parents crying. She saw some of her dead relatives. That included her sister who was close to her and succumbed a year earlier to Small Pox. She told my grandma, not to worry about the nether world, as she got familiar company.

Then a big burly guy came from nowhere, yelling - "What she is doing here ? She needs to go back, her time hasn't come yet." Soon she opened her eyes, to see her sobbing parents relax and wipe off tears from their eyes. She started to miraculously recover from that day. She lived a long life, well into her 90s, never ever suffering any major ailment after this and leading a very smooth life until the age of 95. Till she died, she was active, taking care of herself and passed away peacefully in sleep while taking afternoon siesta. A blessed death for any human.

In modern day clinical terms, it is called NDE (Near Death Experience). I would think, this was a short term Nether Death Experience, her tryst with the outer realms. Whatever it may be, my grandma forever insisted on this event, took RAANA (swore on the lives of her near and dear ones) of speaking the truth. I do have reasons to trust her, as ladies from that generation took their RAANA seriously, especially when it comes to their kids and grand kids.

Anniversary of devastating 1999 cyclone in Odisha

 Touched by Bay Of Bengal on its Eastern frontier, Odisha, my state back home in India is prone to Cyclones (counterpart of Hurricanes in North America) which come churning their way through Indian Ocean before making landfall anywhere on the vast Eastern Coromondel Coast.

It took my memory back to this day in the month of October, 1999 exactly 23 years ago when arguably the worst cyclone in my lifetime to hit Odisha in the form of Category 5 winds close to 150 miles per hour knocking out trees, houses, killing humans and livestocks in several thousands. 

Caught pants down, the inept and corrupt administration in Odisha was unprepared for such an eventuality. It was completely caught by surprise, like a fox in front of searchlight - completely stunned, stoned and clueless. By the time the hapless authority could recover and gather strength and resources to launch some semblance of relief and rescue operation, the damage was already done in terms of life, property and reputation.

On that day in America, I was travelling on a new Consulting assignment to the state of Arkansas and just arrived at my hotel when my sister called and blasted me in one breath conveying the bad news from home. I rang up my father in Bhubaneswar expecting my call not to go through. It was a pleasant surprised to hear his voice at the other end, as our home phone was back working less than 24 hours after the storm. I was glad my folks were safe and sound, sans couple of fallen Papaya trees in our backyard.

There was no smartphone and Wifi those days. Face and book were two separate words - juxtaposing them into one entity was strictly fantasy. My hotel lobby had a few computers where I promptly logged into internet via now defunct AOL (America Online). There was a handful of Odia websites those days, but they were yet to carry any news of damage. Probably they were not in a position to carry news due to the power outage. Only a few web editions of national  newspapers provided some glimpse of the horrendous loss of life and property.

The picture got clearer after couple of days, as the weather cleared up. National media carried clear pictures of bloated corpses of humans and livestock floating in swamps created by retreating sea water. Stuck in the debris, there were no dogs, jackals, crows or vultures left to feed on them. The sight was ghastly, still etched in my memory.

It was rumored that Giridhari Gomango, the Chief Minister of Odisha (equivalent of a Governor in US) at that time ignored the warning about the Cyclone based on the advice of his personal Astrologers who sooth-sayed him with confidence not to worry, as the the Cyclone would skip his state. But the Super Cyclone hit the heart of Odisha with full force. Gomango took the brunt of widespread criticism on the aftermath of devastation and was subseqently forced out of his job. 

The powerful and disgruntled Congress leader JB Patnaik, the man Gomango replaced not long ago supposedly played some deliberate politics to accentuate the later's removal. Previously in power for 14 years he activated his widespread contacts and sleeper cells inside the all powerful Bureaucracy calling shots in Odisha to indulge in tardy distribution of relief materials, causing further damage to the reputation of CM Gomango who was unceremoniously removed. 

Since then things have changed a lot over last two decades. Lessons were learnt from the mistake of 1999. The subsequent administrations have been doing a commendable job in disaster management. Technology in the meantime has grown leaps and bound. Modern day satellites are able to predict the path of Cyclones days ahead of landfall with accuracy. Time being the essence, prior anticipation and tracking of the behemoth single eyed monster has led to evacuation of public en masse, drastically reducing the casualty. This time prior to Fani hitting the Odisha shore, a million have been evacuated to Cyclone shelters. Though damages to property was extensive but valuable human lives were saved.

What hasn't changed is the corruption in the post cyclone relief distribution which may have gone from bad to worse. As my friend, young man Pravat Pruseth questioned - ୧୯୯୯ ମହାବାତ୍ୟାରେ ଆମେରିକା ସରକାର ପଠେଇ ଥିବା ପାଞ୍ଚ ହଜାର ଟଙ୍କା ମୂଲ୍ଯର ଗୋଟିଏ ଗୋଟିଏ କମ୍ବଳ  ଫାଇଭ ଷ୍ଟାର ହୋଟେଲ ଗୁଡିକରେ ପହଞ୍ଚିଲା କେମିତି ? (How come the blankets sent by the US government during super Cyclone 1999 manage to reach the 5 Star Hotels) ?

There were talks of some of the high quality tarpolenes donated by  Western nations to act as shelter cover ended up covering the cars of the BADA BADIA (Big Shots) in Bhubaneswar. The relief somehow manages to reach the greedy, not the needy. Good luck to my folks in Odisha. Take care and Stay safe from Cyclones 🌀 in this season.

20 years with TSYS

When I arrived in America on a cool, late Spring day of 1996 I wasn't in best of shape and spirit, going through a bad phase in life. As goes the popular Bhojpuri saying - "ZINDAGI JHOOND BAA (Life is all messed up), my life was a mess. My ties to a girl just broke up a month before marriage. I was having a horrible time with my boss at work. Living in Calcutta in the mid 1990s I was looking for an escape route, to travel somewhere far from the madding crowd as my surrounding milieu seemed to be mocking at me. I was insecure, unsure of myself and at my vulnerable best.

Still I had no immediate plans to come to the United States. Being the only son of my parents I was a pampered kid. Living in Calcutta was just an overnight train journey away from Bhubaneswar which I visited every other weekend to eat my favorite fish curry and Mansa Jhola (goat meat curry) cooked by my mom. Like many things in my life, I hadn't planned coming to America at that juncture. It just happened to happen all too quickly.

A friend of mine in the US took my resume and circulated around body shoppers, a term used for the placement agencies who hired folks from India on H1B Visa. From bolt from the blue came a decent offer from a Pittsburgh based Company called Mastech Incorporated (now iGate). So I landed here in the United States and been here ever since.

It was the beginning of a long journey. Four years later I got my US Green Card. A year later on a Fall afternoon my wife and I arrived in Columbus, Georgia on a rainy day to start my new job at the Total systems Inc. which at that time was the 5th best company in America to work for (no. 1 in the year 1999). My first day at work was on October 28, 2022 - exactly 20 years ago.

No sooner I entered into our new apartment, a teenage girl came from nowhere and rear ended my vehicle. The damage to the car was minimal, but perhaps as I was Bonded to the place I was shaken, not stirred. There is a DHAGA (proverb) in Odia - "GHARE PASU PASU MUNDA RE CHALA BAJILA" (No sooner I entered my home, my head hit the roof). I thought this freak accident was a bad Omen, harbinger of worst things to come.

It didn't turn exactly that way. Many good things happened in due course of time, though a few stood out. Our son arrived in our life in the year 2005. A year later I acquired US Citizenship as the same year saw the arrival Facebook as a social media platform. It taught me writing when I joined Facebook in 2009 and haven't stopped ever since. Please excuse me for some self bragging here -currently with nearly 5,000 on my friend list and almost an equal number of followers I have come a long way.

But the most important thing happened to me was my tryst with Total Systems Inc. For all these years I have seen many ups and downs in life and company as a lot of water has flown under the bridge over river Chattahoochee. But what hasn't changed is my unwavering commitment and bondage to the company all these years as I feel proud to be associated with it 20 years down the road.

Slangs of Bhubaneswar

 Akin to most Americans who have a middle name, majority of those back home in Odisha, my home state back home, from my generation carry a nick name. The first name is also called good name. It is not so uncommon to be asked in India - "What's your good name".

While the first name is used in educational institutes and paperworks, the nicknames given by parents are the ones preferably used by friends and relatives. A common way of addressing a person in the twin city of Cuttack - Bhubaneswar is by using the unique combo of nickname and last (sur) name. For example Bunu Panda, Muna Sahoo, Lulu Patnaik and so on. Don't know why the nickname overrides the first name, with the last name remaining constant.

Nicknames are often juxtaposed with the following terms to form an alias, giving an peculiar identity to that individual.  For example, MOTA or MOTU (fatty), PETA (potbellied), POTALA (rotund), GEDA or BANGURU (shorty), LAMBU or DENGU (tall), TERA (squint), MIAN or PATHANA for Muslims. For example, Budu PETA, GEDA Gopala, Haq MIAN and so on. 

Sometimes certain activities or actions get stuck to names as tattoos get stuck to human body for whole life, refusing to go away. Once in our school one guy farted loudly, followed by bursts of laughter as Chinese crackers on a Diwali night. He was nicknamed as "So and So the Farter". After leaving school he entered the college and thought that the episode will be forgotton. Or so he thought. He asked another guy, a junior from his school asking him if his name "So and So" rings a bell. His  junior gave an impromptu answer - "Oh, So and so the farter". It further his disappointed senior who remorsefully walked away.

Another common and reverent form of addressing is the last name followed by "Babu". In Odisha I have been addressed as Dash Babu on numerous occasions, not yet sure why I am not addressed as Sambeet Babu ! Being referenced as a "Babu" invariably brings an image of a Head Clerk wearing thick framed glass in me, but I never take any offence. 

In REC (now NIT) our teachers with a doctorate degree preferred to be addressed with the prefix Dr. So and So. If someone inadvertently addressed a faculty constipated with tons of ego by his Doctorate degree as a "Mr" instead of "Dr", he was inviting trouble. That was the time I was enlightened that there are two kinds of doctors who live in this world, one PADHAIWALA (teaching) type doctors and the other DAWAIWALA, the medicine kind who treat diseases.

Here you go with a few popular slangs of our time, mostly from the twin city of Bhubaneswar - Cuttack.

MANDU - Nubile Girls

LUNGUDA - A habitual girl chaser

PENA - Nincompoop.

GHODI - Literally meaning mare but denotes a Tom Boyish girl lacking feminine qualities. A tall, lanky girl those days, however pretty she might be would be written off a DENGI GHODI (Tall Mare) versus a plump, fair, short, stocky girl adored as a DAUL DOWL (Chubby) beauty.

LULLA, CHOCHALA - Thoroughy useless, Good for nothing guy.

DHAEEN or DHAIYAAN - Literally means a person with respiratory ailments gasping for breath. As a slang it means a worthless guy, an abject failure in life.

MUNDA - A naive, slow witted person who can be dangerously moronic.

Those days the BADAGADIYAs, the folks living in a village called BADAGADA in the outskirts of the city perfectly fitted the bill as MUNDAs - naive, slow witted folks who can be dangerously stupid. Their heads were rumored to be stuffed with cow dung.

There used to be a popular anecdote about the residents of Badagada. One day the head of the village who was getting persistent headache visited a doctor. He came back triumphantly announcing "Doctor checked my head and found nothing in it" which was followed by cheers from his fellow villagers. Though we were in awe of their muscle power, it did not deterred us from poking fun at the Baragadiyas.

A fly-in encounter

 The other day I was buying lunch from a drive through window at a local restaurant when a fly from nowhere suddenly entered into my car. I frantically tried to shoo it away, but the fly refused to fly away. I kept the windows of my car open for a while to let the barging air suck the fly out. But the tiny insect managed to swing inside the car, toing and froing from one corner to another like a pendulum, mocking at my predicament.

The fly reminded me of that drunken uncle in a house party who comes uninvited and refuses to leave. I have some interesting anecdotes from my childhood days to share. The father of my friend happened to be a reputed Contractor in Odisha who got some lucrative government contracts. During the marriage ceremony of my friend's sister, I noticed a middle aged man in an inebriated state passing lewd, uncomfortable sounding double entendres at girls old enough to be his daughter. The guests maintained a safe distance from this obnoxious person for his mouth smelled a unique blend of smoking tobacco, Pyorrhea and Whisky. 

Couple of years later I bumped into the same man again, this time during the marriage reception ceremony of the same friend's brother. Our drunken guy from the previous marriage reception was in a bachhanalian mood was giving lascivious looks at young girls, ogling them with his shrunken red eyes and passing disparaging remarks, his countenance reeking of lecherous intent. The history was just repeating itself.

Feeling irritated and now a bit curious I asked my friend - "Who is the person ? Why Mausa (Uncle) keeps on inviting such folks to your family gatherings ?" My friend got a bit defensive and replied hesitantly - "After all he is a family friend and very close to my dad." Later on I discovered that this abominable person was an Engineer who passed the bills submitted by contractors and hence was deemed tolerable and given a free pass.

The fly was still humming inside my car when I remembered this incident. During my childhood days this man from our village used to visit our home quite often. My parents were gracious hosts. His peculiarity was that he would always arrive close to lunch or dinner time. One day just out of curiosity I asked my father - "Why this gentleman turns up exactly close to the time when we eat our meal ?" My father replied back - "Once upon a time this man not only used to be rich, he was a well known spendthrift. Back in those days he would never blink an eye or think twice while lavishly entertaining me out of utmost regard for educated folks. We shouldn't forget his generosity during his torrid time. Never underestimate the power of a hungry man's blessings".

Both incidents could be construed as two similar incidents separated by a common sentiment in different times. In both cases two different men were considered as fly on the ointment in my eyes in two separate situations, the licentious Engineer who had a choice and the poor man from village who didn't have much of a choice. What I remembered on a fly flooded my memory while I drove back and it ebbed as I reached home. 

Suddenly the fly in mymy car swung by and sat on my lap. My reflex action tried to swat it off while I opened my car door. The fly flew away towards the bright and blue sunny sky hovering on the misty grass on my front yard and soon melted away to its freedom. My fly-in encounter left me alone, still slave of the memories from the past. 

Back to work at office post pandemic

 Went back to work at my office location after 2 years and 7 months. The attendance in the office was frugal. There were not many people around as some of them are working remotely following the new "2 days at office - 3 days from home" schedule. I have now started to work Mondays and Tuesdays at office and rest three days, Wednesday to Friday from home.

Last time I worked at office was on March 17, 2020 when Donald Trump was the President of the United States and Joe Biden was struggling in the Democratic Primaries. A lot of water has flown in the river Chattahoochee since then when I started working from home due to the Covid pandemic until today.

It was mixed feelings going back to work after such a long time. I was excited as I missed the office and my coworkers for such a long time. Missed the fun, chat, eating lunch at the campus cafeteria and the office gossips. I had my share of fun and chat with my team mates as and when I encountered them. 

During the lunch time I decided to take a walk to the cafeteria. My ever alert ears receptive to spice, juicy stories overheard two ladies walking ahead of me. They were gossiping, doing character assassination of their Mother-in-laws. I heard one of them saying - "My Mother-in-law would listen to everyone but me". The other one nodded - "mine is no better".

There was hardly anyone around. It seemed I was walking through some ghost town as I encoured only a couple of souls on the entire stretch of little less than a furlong from the elevator to the cafeteria. It was peak lunch hour, so I expected some line and the place streaming with people. 

But I was so wrong. The cafeteria had no more than half a dozen people looking around as they hadn't much of a choice. There was no soup, the popular salad bar was missing. Only the grill section was open with only a handful items on menu. The usually busy lady at the cash counter was yawning waiting patiently for the next customer. It felt like something was missing in the millieu, like an orange whose juice has been sucked out.

A few team members complimented me after a long time no see for shedding a few pounds and my salt and pepper hair which has started growing like weeds on an uncared lawn. It was a long day being Monday today, but nevertheless felt great to get back to work after a long hiatus. 

Happy birthday Lok Nayak

 Jayaprakash Narayan is amongst the numerous great persons born in the month of October (incidentally he died in the same month also). For me, he is synonymous with his opposition to the historic Emergency imposed in 1975 and his role in the Lok Sabha (Parliament) elections that followed in March 1977, when Indira Gandhi called off emergency and announced fresh election only to be drowned by the Janata (Party) Tsunami.

As a 8 year old, I have faint memories of the Emergency, remembering the headlines on the newspaper Times of India "JP WAVE UNABATED" (used to be delivered in Bhubaneswar by flights from Delhi in the evening). Jayaprakash Narayan fondly called as JP and LOK NAYAK (Leader Of The People) was creating waves across North India which wiped away the entire Congress from the cow belt. His slogan "SINGHASAN KHALI KARO, KI JANATA A RAHI HAI (Relinquish power, as Janata Juggernaut is on its way) caught the imagination of the masses in North India where the Congress Party was literally wiped out.

I remember my father and uncle clinging to the radio to get the latest election results from BBC whom the public at the time trusted more for authenticity than AIR (All India radio). Late in the night came the news of Indira Gandhi and her son Sanjay's defeat followed by spontaneous celebrations on streets.

Indira Gandhi was defeated by Raj Narain, a political buffoon of the time and her son Sanjay by a local goon. I remember fireworks going up lighting the sky and celebrations near SOOCHANA BHAWAN (Information center) in Bhubaneswar, only source of latest news those days, when internet, social media and for many TV was strictly fantasy.

Delhi also didn't sleep that night when its denizens went on a frenzied celebration spree. I still remember the pictures next day of folks in bell bottom pants and long sideburns dancing on streets of our capital city flashed on Newspapers.

The man who sowed the seeds of the first anti-Congress government at the center with his concept of "Total Revolution" is India's is now a much forgotten and neglected hero. Khushwant Singh who interacted with many Who's & Who's during his long life span, admires JP as the top 5 personalities he admired -  "this man was so powerful and charismatic, yet so down to earth that though an extremely busy person he would give an audience and a patient hearing to everyone who visited him". 

Without him, Indira Gandhi could have defeated the fragmented opposition (she in fact swept the South and portions of Gujarat and Maharashtra who stood solidly with her despite the Emergeny) and possibly christened herself as the Queen of India and her son Sanjay as the Crown Prince. Thanks mostly to JP,  it didn't happen and democracy survived in India. Indira was to be taught a lesson. Otherwise she could might have made India her dictatorship. Emergency was probably her testing ground for that.

Soon after his death, the Janata Party splintered. Many likes Laloo Yadav who grew under JP's shadow promising to help the poor, ended up making himself and his family rich by indulging in rampant corruption. His followers forgot him and his ideology. HAPPY BIRTHDAY Lok Nayak Jayaprakash Narayan, one more of our forgotten heroes.

The saga of Archana Nag

 Her name is Archana Nag. A small town girl from Bolangir she came to Bhubaneswar, the city of opportunities in Odisha to study law and dream big. Not sure how far she went on her academic pursuit, she was posing as a lawyer and as an active member of a leading political party. In this process she got married and had a child.

Then she hit the jackpot and stuck gold earning the tag of honey bee with her horny escapades. Soon she figured out the ugly underbelly of the city. As reported by media luring the high and mighty of Bhubaneswar which includes at least three politicians and a leading Odia movie producer, policemen, she had sex with them in her house while recording the steamy scenes. She then used those raunchy videos to her advantage by blackmailing her victims and extorting exorbitant amounts.

She apparently succeeded in her profession as the result spoke for itself and living quite well for herself. Soon she started living a lavish lifestyle in the capital city, owning an expensive bunglow, a fleet of fancy cars. As pets she not only had her henpecked husband and suiters, she owned exotic animals - a white horse and a brood of foreign breed dogs. Not to mention she was seen hobnobbing with the high and mighty of Bhubaneswar.

But soon fate caught up with her and her luck ran out. One of her alleged victims, a movie producer complained to the police that she was extorting 3 crore (Rs.30 million) from her, leading to her arrest. Stay tuned for more spicy news as skeletons are bound to come stumbling out of her cupboard as the hounding media has already smelled blood.

Bhubaneswar is no more the sleepy township of a couple of lakh (200,000) folks of mostly salaried, educated and intellectual class I grew up with. It has now turned into a melting pot, a city of immigrants from all over Odisha. The city has grown beyond its means, now harbors an estimated number of 1.2 million people. This unplanned growth was accompanied by unpleasant rise in people living in squalors strewn all over the city, rampant rise in crime, drug and prostitution. No wonder, such juicy news keeps coming out once in a while. May Lord Jagannath bless my home city back home.

Durga Puja memories

 Durga Puja is thick in the air. Today being ASHTAMI (the 8th day of worship of Goddess Maa Durga), we are right at peak of the Puja before it culminates in DASAHARA (10th day). The air is filled with its unique flavor - the smell of "JHUNA" (A sweet smelling powder sourced from bark of a tree when lit emits perfumed smoke), the sound of music blaring and the sight of huge idols of Maa Durga on the PENDAL (pedestal). Puja always puts me on a Time Machine, propelling me back to my growing up days in Odisha and certain related events forever etched in my memory.

Once I brought some PRASAD (offering to deities) from Lord Jagannath temple, Puri for the priest at my local temple in the United States. The priest, a Brahmin from Gujarat, was very pleased with what I got for him from the sacred Jagannath DHAM (abode).

We sat down chatting, as he asked me about my trip. I told him how much I cherish the fish and goat meat curry in Odisha. He was appalled and could not believe a Brahmin being a voracious eater of fish and a four legged animal. He asked me "AAP KAISE EK JEEV KO KHA SAKTE HAIN" - How could you eat an animal ?

I had no answer, but narrated to him my childhood experience when we used to religiously visit our ancestral village near Puri during Durga Puja vacation - the equivalence of Christmas break in US. It was fun time when post monsoon the air was calm, the school and college would be in holidays and us in a festive mood. Unlike Diwali in most parts of India, Durga Puja ending in DASAHARA (Dussera) used to the major attraction in Odisha followed by the festival of Kumar Purnima on the following full moon day. Of late this has been somewhat diluted due to rapid cultural invasion from  outside - DIPAABALI got converted to DIWALI. 

The most awaited event would be the ASHTAMI (8th day) for the annual ritual of goat sacrifice. On that fateful day villagers would walk in droves to catch a glimpse of BODA HANA(Goat slaughter). The sacrificial BODA (a non-castrated male goat with goatee and smelling horrible) destined for slaughter would be brought in and tied to a post. The priest would arrive chanting MANTRA (hymns) amidst the cacophony of the beating of GHANTA (large brass circular plates). 

A strongly built DHOBA (washerman) of our village with twitched Walrus moustache with its thick end pointing downward would arrive on scene. Wiping off the layers of beads of sweat from his forehead, he would unleash a sharp sword glittering under the morning Fall (Autumn) sun. With one massive blow he would detach the head of the goat from its body.

The disoriented torso of the goat would meander a few feet before collapsing, with its eyes wide open, still gaping at the crowd. The priest would collect its blood and offer it to the Goddess. Later the goat would be skinned and its meat divided equally among the villagers as PRASAD (sacred offering).

This whole episode which created an earthquake in my mind wasn't free from aftershocks. For the next few days all that glittered wasn't gold, rather the unforgettable glittering sword slashing through the goat's neck gave me nightmares of the torso chasing me, the detached head hovering over it, the eyes still open and staring at me. As I fleed, it was catching up on me. I tried to outrun, but still unable to move as the goatly apparition closed on me. I would be up in a flash sweating profusely. My sister sacrificed meat eating after watching one such goat sacrifice on this auspicious day of ASHTAMI. 

Back to the future - the same aftershock came back to life, as our priest from Gujarat in Georgia who was patiently hearing my narration almost fainted. He could not digest this scene happening in a Brahmin village where his counterparts had no issues digesting the scene, followed by meat. I can vouch he was glad that I did not bring any PRASAD from my village. Happy Ashtami and Durga Puja to all.

Happy birthday Sashtri jee

 The birthday of Mahatma Gandhi always overshadows that of a hardworking, honest, patriot Indian, a great leader who shares October 2 with Bapuji as his birthday. He was our ex-Prime Minster, Lal Bahadur Sastri, albeight for a short time.

If Lal Bahadur Sastri did not die that fateful day in January 1966, Rahul Gandhi would most likely be a mid level manager in some private company, only to boast about his great grand father being the first Prime Minister of India and grandma being a Central Minister, instead of being the CEO and Scion of Congress Inc. Only difference, the CEO of a company is accountable to its share holders, whereas Rahul Gandhi is accountable to none.

Lal Bahadur Sastri was a diminutive man with a towering personality. A charismatic person whose personal integraty was beyond question. During his one and half years of being at the helm of affairs, he could capture the imagination of millions of Indians. He resigned as Railway minister talking responsibility for a train crash, something inconceivable these days.

Thinking him as weak, Pakistan attacked India in 1965, soon to be resoundingly rebuffed. His slogan of the time JAI JAWAN, JAI KISAAN (Hail Soldiers, Hail Farmers) swiftly yielded results in form of yield by farmers which was enough to wipe out India's perennial grain shortage and in the form of motivating soldiers who gave a befitting response to our attacking western neighbor by reaching the outskirts of the city of Lahore. It raised him to the zenith of popularity which unfortunately didn't last long due to his untimely death in January, 1966.

Sastri's premature death brought Indira Gandhi to power, who soon consolidated her position by making the Congress Party her family fiefdom or BOPA ZAMINDARI (Father's feudal property). Soon others emulated her, except the Communists (though I have no love for them, I admire them for resisting the family fiefdom politics) and to some extent BJP, almost all parties, regional or otherwise are now family held Inc.

From the Badal dynasty of Punjab in North to Karunanidhi dynasty in South, from the Biju Dynasty in East, to Siv Sena Dynasty in West, we have examples aplenty. I am sure the history of India would have been different and our generation who were born in late 1960s and early 1970s would have seen a different India today, if Sastri Jee did not die on that fateful cold Soviet night in Tashkent of 11th January 1966.

Happy birthday Bapu - 2022

 Albert Einstein once described him as - "It's hard to believe such a man in flesh and blood ever walked on the surface of earth". The world famous scientist wasn't far from the truth, as the man he was referring to rightly earned his accolades. We are talking about non other than our BAPU (Father of the Nation), Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, popularly known as MAHATMA (the famous soul) Gandhi.

Newton's 3rd Law says every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Same is applicable to human emotions. Every violent action would naturally follow with an equal or more violent reaction, often leading to a continuous, never ending cycles of revenge. But Mahatma Gandhi decided to fight violence in an exactly opposite manner, something different and out of box concept called "Non - violence". 

It was another matter that when Gandhi came back from South Africa in January, 1915 violence was not an option as India was not in a position to take the might of the British by force. The last latgest organized mutiny was firmly squashed by the British in 1857. Unlike many who believe that the British shat in their pants and fled away on the sight of Subash Chandra Bose, militarily Indians never posed any serious threat to the British rule. (For those now ridiculing Gandhi for his nonviolent method of resistance should ask themselves how many Battalions were raised by their idols RSS and Hindu Mahasabha - both were present prior to our independence).

Born in Gujarat to an upper middle class family, educated in England, Mohandas Gandhi first experimented his peaceful protests against the brutally racist Apartheid regime in South Africa. He subsequently applied the same against the British rule in India. 

Gandhiji (as he was popularly addressed as) experimented with different vices and virtues early in his life, prompting him to write "My Experiment with Truth", where he frankly admitted his distaste for sex when a young Gandhi had a sexual urge while attending to his ailing father and slipped away momentarily to his wife's bed to fulfill his desire. When he returned, his father wasn't any more. This incident filled him with remorse and anathema towards sex.

But sometimes his experiments went little too far. At an old age of 67 after his wife's death, his experiment of sleeping naked with his nubile niece to test his control over libido attracted a lot of controversy. Tongues started wagging of a man sleeping naked cajoling his neice to get naked and sleep next to him. His opponents, notably the Muslim League made a big deal out of it. Gandhi finally discontinued this practice after some persuasion by an image conscious Congress party. What happened in dark, stayed in dark.

However, his method of protest being unique immediately caught the eyes of the world at a time when the electronic media was at its infancy but upcoming. The world stood up and took notice, appalled by the sight of the "DANDI" march protesters brutally mowed down by the DANDA (stick) of British Police (Indians who were majority in the police force had no qualms hitting or killing their own when ordered by their English masters). The victims didn't show an iota of retaliation or remorse and went ahead with their protest, still taking the blows from police baton and falling injured one after one another, until they couldn't carry on any further. 

This incident was covered extensively by the western media which brought Gandhi and his unique mode of protest to the limelight. Gandhi was an idealist, whose idealism did not fail in his missions, though finally he fell to an assassin's bullet. His ideology of non-violence was later replicated by Dr. Martin Luther King Junior half a world away in The United States to fight for the Civil Rights for the Black minorities. Dr. King, like his idol Gandhi was too assassinated, but both vindicated the efficacy of "Non-violence" as a mode of protest.

When India celebrated its independence, arguably brought to by his non-violence means, instead of celebrating, Gandhiji spent the day praying and fasting. He was steadfast in his pursuit for Hindu -Muslim unity, but India was partitioned amidst bloody violence on communal lines, opposite to what he stood for. Gandhi failed to stop the partition from happening.

Post partition, Pakistan asked India to pay Rs.48 crore (480 million), a princely sum those days. India refused to oblige. Bapu wanted India to pay the money to younger brother Pakistan and went on fasting, forcing India to relent and pay the money to its western neighbor. Pakistan used that lump sum amount of money to buy arms and attack India.

As mentioned by the eminent Freedom Fighter and Social reformer from Odisha, Pandit Nilakantha Das who was a contemporary of Gandhijee, the later visited the Satyavadi School in Sakhigopal, near Puri during his trip to Odisha in 1923. Sri Das disagreed with his mode of operandi by getting freedom through spinning wheel of CHARKHA. After completing his public meeting at Puri, it was Gandhi's turn to proceed towards his next stop - Cuttack. 

Gandhi's team suggested that half of them would travel by train and the rest by PADAYATRA (March on foot). But Pandit Nilakantha advised all of them to take the walk, so as to build the momentum of public enthusiasm, giving Gandhi an opportunity to better connect with the local polulace. Gandhijee heeded to Pandit Das's advice, opting for a walk in coastal Odisha. 

On their entire journey Gandhi's entourage survived on boiled rice and vegetables. It was tough on Pandit Nilakantha, a typical Brahmin from Puri who loved his fish curry. Midway, he came across a leper and donated his hand spun KHADADA (crude cotton cloth) to the destitute. Next day, Bapuji encountered a group of KELA (nomads) feasting on Barbecued KATASA (wild cat) who strayed into their camp. 

He went on preaching vegetarianism to them, trying to dissuade them from eating meat. Gandhijee advised them - "Eat milk and ghee which are good for health. Stop committing the HIMSA (violence) of killing animals". But for the poor nomads, milk and ghee were pipe dream, a distance luxury and KATASA MANSA (Wild cat meat) was the crude reality.

After his death, his countrymen hardly retained his ideologies. India continued to be riddled with violence of all sorts, later in the form of terrorism. The current affairs of our nation may aptly described by these few lines lifted from the Odia song LE NABEENA from 1981, depicting the sad saga of the Mahatma. (Naveena here depicts the typical down to earth Odia guy, no relationship to any person bearing the same name).

LE NABEENA TIKE PACHHAKU ANA,
HATHE BAADI DHARI THIA BAPUJI NANA,
BAPUJI BUDHA RA AAKHI RE LUHA,
TA RAMA RAIJE AAJI YAMA RA BHAYA

(O' Nabeena, take a peek behind.
Stick in hand Old man Bapuji is standing,
The old man's eyes are filled with tears,
Yama, the God of death has filled
His Dream Land with fear).

Happy 152nd Birthday to Bapu, the Father of the nation. We may or may not agree with what you did or what you could have done, or whether your out of box experiment with non violence was an useful weapon. But you carved your niche to be the greatest amongst the greats who ever walked on the surface of earth.

Congress party in crisis

 The current imbroglio in Rajastan where its Chief Minister Ashok Gehlot refusing the high command, an euphemism for the Gandhi Dynasty duo of Sonia and Rahul heading the Congress party speaks volumes. That's because been an old Congress hand he is aware of the fact that the party is in its death bed and he wants to cling to his position in power as long as he can, for power is world's biggest aphrodisiac.

Rats are the first to jump off a sinking ship. It's not surprising that many Congressmen and women are leaving the party for greener pastures. Those still clinging to power may leave the party as soon as they are out of power. During the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857 there was a saying alluding to the old, weak Mughal Emperor Bahadur Shah Zaffer - "SULTAN SAHA-E-ALAM, AAJ DILLI SE PALAM", which means the writ of the great Emperor of the Universe today runs from Delhi to Palam (a Delhi suburb).

Sonia - Rahul led Congress should know that it is not 1988 when Rajiv Gandhi whimsically replaced Harideo Joshi the CM of Rajasthan who had the support of 80% MLAs with Siv Charan Mathur. Then Congress was in power at center with massive mandate of 425 MPs and at ruling most of the states. Rajiv Gandhi as the scion of Gandhi family could change Chief Ministers like his underwear and get away with impunity. The situation is different now. Congress is in death bed and a la the Mughal Kingdom of Bahadur Shah Jaffer in 1857 its writ only runs from Delhi to Jaipur.

Now the party leadership's conundrum can be best defined by the Odia DHAGA (Proverb) - "BINASA KALE BIPARITA BUDDHI", which means at time of devastation the mind travels in the opposite direction". On its last throes the high command of grand old party is hell bent on committing blunder after blunder. The Gandhi led Congress may be anathema to many, but asset to BJP. The longer the Gandhi family stays at the helm of affairs, the better is BJP's prospects in the next General Election. Modi should give Rahul Gandhi a big thanks if he wins a record third term in 2024.