Arrival at Bhubaneswar- India trip 2025

 While loitering inside the Airport after checking in and clearing the security before boarding my flight to Bhubaneswar, I saw Samosa displayed at Rs.250 a piece behind glass cover at a store. It reminded me another saying in Hindi - "BOSS PE BHAROSA AUR AIRPORT ME SAMOSA, DONO MEHNGA HOTI HAI" (Trust on Boss and Samosa at Airport could be costly).

The Air India flight to Bhubaneswar starts from from Domestic Terminal 3. No sooner I checked in for my last leg of flight to Odisha's capital, than I settled down on one of several empty chairs next to the boarding area around 3 AM in the morning. Another 4 hours of waiting time before I catch my flight to Bhubaneswar, so I tried to catch up my lost sleep. But the jet lag refused to cooperate. Eyes and ears wide open I spent looking at loitering passengers. Eyes soothed by staring at neatly dressed air hostesses sliding their wheeled bags in one hand and speaking on cell phone in another. Ears not as I could distinctly hear a guy passing by farting loudly as it faded due to what we studied in Physics called Doppler's effect.

As it neared the scheduled departure time of 7AM, the sparcely populated area slowly started to fill out. The sun brightened the horizon, revealing the array of Aircrafts on the turmac, spraying golden hue on  the Orange colored Air India Aircrafts. I could recognize the typical Odia crowd close by from their looks, language and manners. We Odias are world's champion in mannerism. In one of my earlier trips I saw a guy surreptitiously scratching their private parts in public while waiting to board the flight, grimacing with an orgasmic pleasure of big sighs "Aah, Ooh" laced relief from the itch as the heat and humidity of India can cause real havoc down under. When our eyes met he pretended to adjust his belts with a "Not I" look on his face. 

The Air India flight took off from Delhi turmac slicing through the morning air and thin, low hanging clouds like a hot knife through butter. I looked outside the window. Up in the dust free air the orange sun on the Eastern horizon popped up, looking like the sunny side of poached egg for breakfast. Crimson color cloud on the far eastern horizon suddenly looked like hot lava flowing from a dormant volcano turning active. The world above the clouds is dream, taking you to Cloud 9. The world below it is the reality. The roaring big bird was flying high, whizzing past low lying clouds, enabling me to take a peek outside to get a Bird's eye view. The plane was flying over snow white fleece of cloud looking like a vast cotton plantation. Huge mushroom clouds looked like the snow capped castles of some distant planet in the Guardian of the Galaxy.

There was quite bit of turbulence in the first hour of the flight to my final destination. A bunch of kids from a group which looked like a joint family were running around even if the cabin service was suspended with clear instructions from the pilot for everyone to get seated with fastened seat belts. But the recalcitrant kids were running helter skelter. I don't blame the innocent kids, but rather was appalled by the lack of safety concerns from the parents.

Inside domestic flight to Bhubaneswar I have grabbed opportunity to interact with many interesting personalities. Once a man sitting next to me was a garrulous guy full of hot air. He boasted how like Hercules he carries all his company's responsibility on his shoulders and without his expertise it would collapse like a pack of cards. How indispensable he was and has visited all the 75 states of India on various company trips (never knew there were 75 states in India, even if you include the Union territories). 

Years ago in one such homeward flight, groggy with jet lag, I dozed off to the humming of the airplane engine for the first half an hour of the flight, my head drooping sideward. The Airhostess politely woke me up - "Veyzz (veg) or Non - Veyzz, Sir ?". "I like non-veg", was my impromptu, reflex action reply in a semi asleep state. She served the food, suspiciously glancing at me, thinking I passed a double entendre. In India non-Veg means food containing meat, fish or poultry, but colloquially it denotes a person with carnal or amorous instinct. Bawdy, dirty jokes in India are often termed as "Non-veg" jokes. Living outside India for a long time had taken its toll on me. I better be careful lest I am branded as a dirty, middle aged man. 

As the plane lowered itself preparing to land at Bhubaneswar, the rivulets meandering through the grayish landscape down below formed a spectacular sight, basking in a foggy, grayish and bit dimmed morning sun. The green, undulating waves of Eastern Ghat mountains were swimming in the misty fog. River Mahanadi looked like a huge cold blooded Anaconda taking a sunbath on golden sand to stay warm. Approaching Airport, the river Daya down below appeared like a gargantuan brown horseshoe covered in greenish water.

Every other year I fly over Bhubaneswar, the city I moved into as a 7 year old in 1976 and never left, sadly I see more concrete and asphalt, less green foliage as the asthetic city once known for its salubrious weather slowly turning into an urban jungle. Peeked below to take a view of the city I grew up with to notice that has outgrown itself. Saw multiple skyscrapers staring at the plane from down below as vehicles looking like match boxes were snaking on the highways. I left Bhubaneswar for good for more than a quarter of a century now, but the city has never left me. Way too many skyrises see from the top have gone over the top. They are becoming a growing environmental concern - gonna to bite this city big time sooner or later.

How contrasting is the worms eye view of the sky from the ground to the bird's eye view from the top. It makes me understand the meaning of the phrase "Down To Earth". When it all seems you are on top of the world, in minutes you are back on the ground. So are the vagaries of life. How much and how high you fly you have to come down - in no time you must descent from 39000 feet to ground zero. Airplane teaches us a lesson on life than anything else. My day dreaming came to an abrupt end by by the voice of the stewardess "Please keep your seat belt fastened until the plane comes to a full stop". No sooner the announcement was made than I heard incessant clicks of opening up the seat belts. Surrounding me mobile went up likes the hands in a Baba Ramdev Yoga camp followed by chatters. 

Stepping out of Biju Patnaik Airport welcomed by a hot and muggy Bhubaneswar weather, though it was not as bad as it had been during my recent summer visits. My ride was 15 minutes due to no fault with him. His car was stopped for 15 minutes by a police to set some "NETA" (politician) and his entourage pass though. We are probably the only country on earth still clinging to this sick VIP culture, Odisha being in the forefront of it.

I rolled over the windows to take a view of the city where I spent my childhood and youth, savoring the sights of the millieu, as vehicles yonked their way through in a zizzag manner. The breeeze breezing through the window caressed me, drying off the beads of sweat swelling on my chin and forehead. Apparently, the old law of Physics "Evaporation caused cooling" still holds good. 

As I stepped out of the vehicle in from of our house, a burst of breeze from South-West made the strangs of hanging green mangoes swung like pendulum. A Koel sitting on the mango tree was cooing, echoing the sweetest sound of the nature from the shadows of the summer heat. A little birdie, smaller in size than Koel on the branch was on a Twitting spree which would have given Donald Trump run for money - "Tweetwoo...tweetwoo.. tweetwoo..", without bothering about character limit. Couple of mongrels seeing new kids in the block gaped at us for a while before melting away chasing each other's tail. It is always a pleasure homecoming to home back home. More later...

India trip April 2025 - Arrival in Delhi enroute Bhubaneswar

 I saw a guy sitting next to me at Doha Airport, writing, rather texting in Arabic from right to left. I knew that unlike most languages in the world which are written from left to right, Arabic script is written from right to left. It felt bit odd and interesting to see some on type on phone so fast from right to left.

Kudos to the person who coined the term Cattle Class for the Economy Class which sounds more polite and politically correct. A la Cattles heading for QATAL (kill) loaded in trucks towards slaughter house, the economy class in QATAR Airways from Doha to Delhi was packed like sardines. While getting out of flight, they went helter skelter, scrambling to pluck their carry on bags from the overhead compartment. Only the "HEK HEK" sound of the cowherd goading cattles as seen during twilight in villages of Odisha was missing.

Got reminded of trip eventful trip to Delhi last year. While taking a cat nap, I was suddenly interrupted when a Sardarjee (Sikh) senior citizen in bright brown turban and flowing white beard sitting behind tapped me, gasping heavily, talking in a very thick Punjabi accented Hindi, complaining of breathing difficulties. I immediately alerted an Air Hostess. She tried to communicate with the poor man, but was having trouble as she knew only English and French, whereas our Sikh gentleman could speak neither, for he only spoke Punjabi and a very thick accented Hindi I could barely decipher.

So I became an in-flight translator and managed to figure out that the man was having breathing issues from his words "Sans" (breath), "Taqlif" (difficulties) which started from his connecting flight from Canada to Paris which still persisted. The cabin crew made an announcement looking for a doctor. In minutes walked in a lady Doctor who was travelling from Virginia. The issue again was the Doctor, born in Kenya and settled in USA spoke only English and some Gujarati. Glad I could translate the man's feeble Hindi, explaining his problem to the doctor in English. She measured his BP. It was much higher than normal. She suspected "Sleep Apnea" and suggested putting the patient on an Oxygen mask. It certainly helped as after sometime the Sikh gentleman uttered "Wahe Guru", announcing feeling better. Glad I could help. All the cabin crews, the Sikh man and not to mention the doctor thanked me for my cooperation. Reminded me of Tom Hanks from the movie FOREST GUMP - "Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are going to get". 

The flight to Delhi from Doha lasted  just 4 hours, too short by international flight standard to be eventful. My sole solace was sitting close to the screen separating between economy and business class which offered me occasional glimpse of business class service and derive a vicarious pleasure out of it. Felt extremely relieved, when the aircraft started to descend over New Delhi with the pilot's voice announced - "Welcome to New Delhi's Indira Gandhi International Airport. It's 2 O'clock in morning, hazy, 31C (close to 90° Fahrenheit) outside. 

During one of my earlier trips just before landing at the Delhi Airport came abruptly the voice of an exalted teen sitting close to me exclaiming to his buddy next row, "OI UTTH, BAIN**OD DILLI A GAYEE" (Get up, So and So the sister slammer, Delhi has arrived). More than the pilot, I found the teen's welcome far more enthusiast and the most appropriate way of welcoming to Delhi. As "Jai Maharastra" goes with Mumbai, Oh' Calcutta to Kolkata, "Jay Jagannath" to Odisha,  Behn**od (sister slammer) fits well to Delhi. It was a grandest of grand standing Welcome to Delhi, Punjabi style, where a sentence can start with Bain**od (occasionally sounds as Pain**od, interspersed with a few liberal dosages of Bai**od and ends with Bai**od. It is how the self proclaimed Dill walle (Big Hearted) Dilli walle (Delhites) often greet each other. Reminded of a Delhi limerick -

ASMAAN MEIN CHAAND HAI,

AUR HAI KITNE TAARE,

YAHA KISI SE BHAROSA MAT KARO,

BAIN**OD HAI SAARE

Roughly transliterated.

"Moon is in the sky,

And also so many stars

Don't trust anyone here,

For everyone is a slammer of sister".

At the IGI Airport in Delhi I breezed through the immigration which was a shoo in for me. The Terminal 3 is quite impressive. Restrooms (toilets) were maintained nice and clean. No strong smell of ubiquitous Phenyle and dark brown betel stains at corners of walls. Our International Airports can now be considered truly world class. I saw a digital bill board proudly displaying Mahatma Gandhi's picture, followed by a visual of Chivas Regal Scotch. Ironically our Father of Nation was never a fan of consumerism, nor he ever extolled us to drink Chivas Regal. Many streets in big cities in India bustling with consumerism are named as M.G. Road, after a man who preached simple living and abhorred consumerism. 

I remember that in the year 1998, more than quarter century ago when I was bit excited as I was coming to India to get married, no sooner I came out of the IGI Airport in the middle of night than I was treated like a hapless hare amid hounds baying for my blood in form of haranguing touts. I was forced to do an about turn and beat a hasty retreat, only to come out at break of the dawn to be ragged again. It was not unusual then for hapless  passengers like me to dish out a $20 note (Bill) to buy themselves out of harassment at the Customs department. Such things are long passe. 

Throughout the journey I watched folks drooling over their smartphones. All heads down like Ostrich, they were busy fingering over the glaring screens of their devices. I have seen this in America, not unusual and unexpected in a nation where individualism rules the roost. But I have observed the same in Europe, Middle East, Singapore and in India. Asian culture is more social and group oriented, where people enjoy a tete-a-tete, even with strangers. I saw many, including Airline crew busy dragging bag in one hand and texting using the other, clinging to their phones and baby sitting their devices. At Delhj Airport while waiting to catch my connecting flight to Bhubaneswar, the guy next to me was watching some reel where a guy in thick Barhampur accent in full volume on speaker was yelling - "KI KEYLEE AU GAMAATA KARUCHA HEY (So much fun and jokes you are doing) caring a hoot about others sitting close to them. Why can't he use headphones !

Growing up back in the days in India, we use to chat about anything and everything under the sun, covering topics ranging from "NANA BAHA GHARA RU, NANI BAHA GHAR PARYANTA" (From Dad's marriage to Sister's marriage). Perhaps we have gone electronic doing e-Khatti (chit chat) on social media. In the year 1979, barely a 10 year old, I accompanied my Uncle to a play at his Alma Mater Vani Bihar of Utkal University, Bhubaneswar. It was a symbolic Odia play which I could hardly understand, but still remember those lines by an actor on stage. 

OTA PAKHI PARI JIBA BHAI 
NAHI NAHI HOIRE,
JIBARE MANISHA SABU
OTA PAKHI HEI JIBARE. 

Roughly transliterated, 

You all will become a Ostrich,
Uttering no no,
Humans will become Ostrich as days go.

We have become Ostriches burying our heads  inside our phones, the way an Ostrich buries its head inside sand. The same drama is now enacted in another era more than 40 years later. The nondescript person who wrote this Odia Drama (play) in 1970s was so prophetic and was certainly way ahead of his time. More later...

Arrival at Doha Airport - India trip 2025

 Traveling often throws opportunities at us by delivering chance encounters with some memorable tryst with human foibles. I am reminded of this funny incident at a stop over Airport few years ago. A Virgin Airline flight was about to board and names of passengers not boarded yet were called as it was getting closer to the departure time. An Air hostess swung by, shouting at top of her voice - "ANY VIRGIN HERE", obviously looking for some missing Virgin Airline passengers. Couple of girls raised their hands. Everyone close by started looking at them, some with chuckles and half baked smiles. The shy girls retreated to their privacy by dropping their heads over their smartphones to hide their embarrassment, still peeing through the corner of their eyes to look at the others reactions. Non of them got up to board the flight. We humans are slaves of our inadvertent reflex actions.

I was all excited and bit apprehensive upon my arrival at the Atlanta's Hartsfield - Jackson International Airport, hoping there is no flight delay due to rains like yesterday. Thankfully the clouds bended their spine like gentlemen, opening the door for sun to peek through them spreading its golden wings as sky cleared out. My flight to Doha, Qatar was on time on a relatively cool spring day. I thought both the Airport and flight would be sparsely populated considering schools are open post spring break. But I was wrong. We were on a packed flight to Doha. With the ever growing Indian population in the United States, my observation shouldn't come as surprise.

It is interesting to watch flights taking off and landing in quick succession at Atlanta's  Hartsfield International Airport, the busiest in the world. This being the peak hour, every couple of minutes an airliner lands or takes off. Flights line up one after another in the semi gray sky, forming a string of hazy pearls extending into the horizon, as they wait for their turns to land. The Air Traffic controllers must be doing an amazing job. They are in a profession where error is not an option.

Remembered travelling in our DM School bus in Bhubaneswar when it stopped at Railway level crossings (those days the roads, the arteries of Bhubaneswar were not clogged yet, no bypass in the form of flyover was necessary over the Railway tracks). As a goods train would pass by, we waited inside our school bus counting the number of bogies. Now I don't have patience to watch flights landing and taking off every other minute, forget counting them.

The flight to Doha was filled with a good number families with infants & toddlers - some of them cranky and cacophonous. The plane entered into calmer sky and as it entered Nova Scotia of Canada, the setting sun dropped behind the crimson horizon looking like a gargantuan red vermillion on a Hindu woman's forehead. Due to the diurnal rotation of mother earth, while flying West to East you lose time, see reduced amount of day and night passes by too fast, too soon. Again you gain time flying the other way round, as earth is round, vindicating the fact that what goes around comes around. A few hours of dozing off was all the sleep I got. The short night evaporated as I could see glowing sunlight trying to dazzle through the airplane window of my window seat. I slid off and kept doing off through intermittent "ding dong" of bell from passengers solicitating air crew and pilots making announcements to put on seat belts due to occasional turbulence.

Inside the flight I was boosted by couple of shots of Bloody Mary Cocktails, the best Cattle Class could offer and watching one of my favorite actors Kevin Koster taking shots in "HORIZON SAGA". Being a long flight in order to pass time between sporadic naps I looked down at the fleece of pretty bluish white clouds which would have made another Mary of Little Lamb fame proud. The top view of the spotless white cloud splintering away looked from an unadulterated virgin sky like scores of white furred lambs on move on a bluish-greener pasture. It seemed I was looking at a gigantic milk shakes with cream churned on top.

It was afternoon when the flight got closer to Doha Airport piercing through a hazy, desert sky.  As the slowly descending gigantic bird lowered itself flying in a low altitude, I could see several light blue Oasis amidst giant sand dunes looking like giant sand boa taking sunbath under bright, sparkling sunlight. It was late afternoon, local time as the flight descended piercing through a hazy sky. The gulf next to the Airport looking like faded sky blue ink on a dusty sandpaper as the ground looked gray and listless. As the aircraft descended further, the sea looked much brighter like bubbling blue sapphire with ships looking static from top, a la white rubies garnishing the blue sapphire. As the flight was barely few hundred feet above ground the palm trees on drab sand looked like gray black dots pores on a brown face. After a long flight of 14 hours from Atlanta I reached Doha, Qatar. 

I decided to stretch my legs before I catch my connecting flight from Doha to Delhi. I took time to walk around the glittering Duty Free Shops doing window shopping. Apart from Europeans and Asians, I could see a good number of Africans wearing long gowns. Arabians in white cotton helmets, with their female folks tagging along in black attire from top to bottom peeping through tiny slits cut below their foreheads - looking like Knights from Medieval era in black. Covid virus won't dare penetrate their impregnable visors of these ladies in Burkha attire from tip to toe were looking like Penguins let loose inside the airport. Almost four hours flew fast as four more hours of flight remained as I sat near the boarding gate of my flight from Doha to India. No more Virgins were solicitated as an Air stewardess started calling names of the last minute passengers. More later...

India trip 2025 - leaving Georgia

 Jet, set and a long way to go from Columbus ---> Atlanta -------> Doha -----> Bhubaneswar before I reach my final destination in the state of Odisha in India 🇮🇳. Leaving today on a 3 week trip to India which is going to be a long travel spanning across seven seas, 13 rivers spread across multiple continents in various time zones. Few hours left before I leave and miles to go before I reach.

This journey is going to be my 19th trip I have made so far to India from Coke Land in my 29 years of living in the United States, that means I am a frequent traveler to India on an average of once every 1.5 years. I am flying at a time when it is Spring in the United States whereas it is scorching summer in Odisha. I am fully equipped with the latest Covid shot and the paraphernalia of masks to cover my face in case I need to face this never ending menace. Covid is like that drunk uncle who you don't want to come to your family reunion, but shows its face nevertheless. Not planning to do a whole lot of traveling, restrict myself only to Bhubaneswar, the city I grew up with and like one's first love is always close to heart.

The choice to travel to India is rarely inadvertent, as such trips are planned months ahead, governed by several factors like getting time off from work, social & family occasions, children's school schedules, price of air tickets and of course the weather in India. Although the weather in India isn't exactly salubrious at this time of year, family and social occasion overrode all the above to chose this time to travel as it is my duty to do the "BARSIKIYA SHRADDHA" (the annual death ritual) of my mother who passed away last year. Apart from cricket it is arguably the weather which unites India at this time of the year. Barring a handful of hill stations, from Ahmedabad to Agartala, Chandigarh to Chennai it is invariably hot and muggy right now. Hoping the dog days of Indian summer won't put a spanner on the wheels of my trip.

Summer would be in the air of Bhubaneswar. It's the season of mango, the King of Fruits in India. The mango tree next to our house there must be pregnant with fruits. It is said the hotter the summer is in India, the sweeter gets the mangoes. The Jackfruit tree in our backyard would be having its fruits  protruding out of its trunks and branches like bellies of Japanese Sumo wrestlers. I am longing to eat fresh, raw Jackfruits from our backyard, loaded with vitamins and fiber, in form of Curry, Bhaja (fry) and part of Dalma, a popular Odia dish of Puri origin.

In life the feeling of apprehensive curiosity in anticipation of an event is much more pleasant than the event itself. Right now I am having the same feeling. Excitement would be an understatement, I am so thrilled. As the migratory birds fly South on their perfunctory trips during the winter, NRIs (Non Resident Indian) flocks to their homeland. People usually go out of home on vacation. We Persons of Indian origin go home on vacation. My friends in America find it a bit odd that we visit our homes for vacation, when they travel away from home for the same. Yet there is so much fun homecoming when you are away from home.

Upon arriving in India, the initial days of jet lag and reverse cultural shock gives way to a lot of attention from friends and relatives, a la an infrequent guest is treated more cordially than a regular one. The shorter the trip, more the attention you get. Even if I try not to, I invariably eat like a Pig whatever comes my way, shit like a Bull and end up writing a lot of bullshit blogs. Time is short and finite, engagements are many - way too many things to do, so much food to sample.

Looking forward to this short and sweet trip which will challenge my sweet tooth as I intend on splurging on an array of my favorite Odia sweets which includes but not limited to, CHHENA JHILLI, CHHENA PODA, PAHALA RASAGOLA, RABIDI all very typical of Odisha. Luckily I don't have any sugar issues. The other stuff I love are Cuttack Mixture, freshly baked Naans, numerous Street foods, AVADA, the temple food and much more which I don't get here in the USA. 

I have made a solemn promise to myself not to touch any Pizza, KFC, Subway, visit Burger King or McDonalds. I prefer a 3 rupees freshly fried Street side Bara to a Rs.300 burger at a Mall. Having seen the two biggest Malls in America - the Mall of Minneapolis and King of Prussia Mall in Philadelphia I have no desire to visit Malls. I firmly believe in - Be Roman in Rome, eat Indian in India. I am keeping my fingers crossed, for a nuisance free 3 week trip. Dear Motherland, here I come.

April Fool's day 2025

 March this year ended with a lot of uncertainty with tariffs, stubborn inflation and speculation of impending recession in air. But being an eternal optimist I can see light at end of the tunnel as nothing lasts forever, not even the bad things which happens to us. The first quarter of the year is about to end and the next month starts with April Fool's day, the first day of a new week, a new month and a new quarter. Time to gather some Foolish anecdotes while stepping into the All Fool's day.

April 1 is named FOOL'S DAY, after Steve April. He was born on 1st April of year 1579. He started 105 businesses in his lifetime, but none ever succeeded, losing all his father's assets. So everyone started calling him father of the fools.

At 19, he married a 61-year-old woman who divorced him after a month because of his foolishness. He used to carefully read all kinds of fake stories like we are doing now on social media. So we are no less fools than him.

Every year, 1st of April comes with its share of April Fool jokes. Even when we were keep washing our hands to keep Covid and other diseases away, we shouldn't wash off our sense of humor. A few year's back April Fool joke from Google was - "Equator found to be slipping. Australia at risk of becoming a Northern Hemisphere country by 2055". Many actually believed it.

Not a whole lot are aware of the fact that Equator is an imaginary line. Once Indian President Giani Zail Singh was flying above the Equator. His secretary humored him - "Sir, can you see the equator below" ?  Zail Singh responded "Yes. I can see it and a car is slowly running on it". What he actually saw, was a lice walking on his long strand of hair, which just happened to fall right in front of his eyes.

MIT, Massachusetts which has produced hordes of innovators and Nobel winning Laureates is known for sheer wit and sense of mischief from its bright and creative students. In 1998, on All Fools' Day, MIT's homepage was rebuilt to announce that the Walt Disney Company had bought the famed institute for $6.9 billion. In same year in Pittsburgh where I was living, 1st of April came with a freak snow storm - fooling all on April Fool's day.

One thing I can't fathom - Why the Utkal Dibas (Odisha day) coincides with the April Fool's day ? It would not have hurt our forefathers to chose 31st March or 2nd April instead. We have been living in a Fool's paradise ever since, fooled time and again by all who have taken us for a ride.

Never let a fool kiss you, or a kiss fool you - said Joey Adams, American Comedian (1911-99). Happy Fool's Day.

Our poor sense of humor

Recently a stand up comedian Kunal Kamra and his set has been attacked over making parody of a Mumbai based politician. A few days back I posted a humorous picture related to India's Prime Minister Modi. A few on my friend list who are  wonderful friends otherwise but ardent fans/followers/devotees/Bhakts of Modi got a bit touchy and obviously didn't like it. But when I post a joke related to Rahul Gandhi or Kejriwal it elates them to no end. The same folks commend me, like my post and flood my comment box with ROFL memes if the joke or sarcasm is directed towards Rahul Gandhi. His detractors have a field day liking the satire with their "Likes" giving me thumbs up while his supporters fall conspicuously silent, a few thin skinned folks occasionally go berserk when the joke is directed to their "Mahaprabhu" (ultimate God).

In a healthy democracy we should not be hesitant of lampooning our political leaders, whoever he or she may be. I enjoy the caricature of Trump known for his idiosyncrasies and Biden for his bumblings on Saturday Night Live, a popular late night TV show in America which has a reputation of not sparing anyone. There is no harm in mocking politicians as they are thick skin breed. And we live in a democracy, not in Putin's Russia, Xi's China or Kim's Korea.

The political leaders worst mocked at in America were Bill Clinton post Monica Lewinsky scandal and Donald Trump as it is easier to make cartoons of flamboyant guys. Obama was least prone to caricature because of his cool demeanor. The great Indian cartoonist R.K.Laxman once said he found it most difficult to make caricature of Jawaharlal Nehru for later's cool demeanor. Both Modi and Rahul Gandhi are equally flamboyant to be easily poked fun at.

Unfortunately we have a poor sense of humor, not great at self depreciating humor and jokes directed to us. We laugh at others, but don't laugh at ourselves nor like to be laughed at as we take ourselves very seriously. That's because we harbor tons of fake ego and vanity which prevents us from laughing at ourselves as laxatives to get rid of our constipated egos. We who eat a lot of spicy, stale food are world's champion farters but laugh at others who fart, rarely laughing at ourselves. Same goes with the jokes.

A point to be noted - the famous Sikh writer Khushwant Singh was a great teller of Sardarjee jokes. Such jokes were regular in his columns and he has compiled several Joke books too, mostly directed to his own community. The fearless Sardar never hesitated to speak his mind, nor lose an opportunity to make his own caricature and lamented that we as a nation lack the ability to laugh at ourselves. He didn't spare any one, not even himself. When SGPC, the Sikh religious body rebuked him for making fun at the expense of his fellow Sikhs the old Sardar responded to them - "Go to hell".

I don't mind cracking a joke at my own expense or my community of Odias. I am a Brahmin originally from the vicinity of Puri and have recounted lots of jokes about Puri Panda, the priests of Puri and my brahmin brethen from the nearby Sasana villages, many of whom are GODARA (posess elephant trunk legs) or KURUNDA (men with super size balls) due to fileria disease. I narrate those to friends often at my expense, making them roll with seizures of laughter (those who heard me can vouch for it).

During my Engineering days, a friend from Berhampur, a city from Southern part of Odisha used to crack jokes in his local dialect, often at the expense of himself, followed by volcanic erruption of laughter. Similarly the folks from the undivided district of Dhenkanal, also snubbed as DHENKUs are supposed to have wit as dim as the incandescent bulbs on a low voltage night. A Dhenku is supposed to be naive, slow witted. Only difference - unlike the Sardars, they are not known to run amock with madness at noon. It is another matter that Dhenkanal district has produced many brilliant minds who are far from being dumb or simpletons. 

It is not unusual to see litigations filed in courts against silly jokes on some plea or other. Should we file a petition or case against the producer of the movie "Chennai Express" for its Lungi dance song sequence and few other scenes, mocking at South Indians. Should we troll a Lungi (a loincloth worn around the waist which can easily taken off for convenience and multiple purposes) Mithun Chakraborty for his Bharat Natyam dance to the tune of Tamil accented "YUM KRISHNA AIYYAR YEMME (Hum Krishna Aiyar M.A.) in Amitabh's movie "AGNEEPATH" ? Should we ban the legendary Bengali actor Utpal Dutt (yesterday incidentally was his birthday) for rolling his expanded pupil and snorting "Oodee Baba" ? As a nation, we should know how to laugh and enjoy jokes, rather than being laughed at for lacking a sense of humor.

Jagannath Puri

 A throwback from few years back. One fine noon I arrived at a local Fast food joint operated by a Desi Bhai (as Person of Indian origins are addressed in US). At the counter I asked him, "Which part of India are you from" ? "I am a Gujarati from Bombay and you ?" - he questioned me back. "From Odisha" - I replied. The crunches on his forehead and shrinking eyelids indicated his confusion. "From Bhubaneswar", I added, hoping it would ring a bell to him.

He still looked bewildered. "Jagannath Puri" - I fired my next salvo at him, expecting it will pinpoint to the correct location and clear his nebulousness. He retorted back - Oh yeah "Jagannath Puri Jee, your are a Punjabi then". Now I was sure if he couldn't make a connection to Odisha via the temple town of Puri or its capital Bhubaneswar, and disregarded me as some Punjabi BAIN**OD (sister slammer) with last name Puri. Anyway, it was interesting to discover that our Desi Bhai who was the owner of this popular Chicken based fast food restaurant chain was a strict vegetarian.

Ides of March

 Beware of the Ides of March. As weather warms up with the arrival of spring, the month began with a turbulent world heating up as Russia's war against Ukraine as well as war in the Middle East turmoil continues unabated. It is further accentuated by an uncertain economic future with Trump initiated tariff war. Historically nothing new about a tumultuous March as it brings back memories from a major historical event tied to this month eons ago, when Julius Caesar, the scion of the great Roman Empire was murdered inside the Senate by his own insidious colleagues, many he believed were his friends.

Julius Caesar was a fascinating character in history, a great general and politician, a handsome, muscular, flat stomach man with a magnetic persona, the Knight-in-Shining armor darling of the Roman women, presiding over 50 million people of the Great Roman empire at its zenith of power, extending from Britain to Syria, from Bavarian Alps to North Africa. 50 million was a gargantuan population 2,000 years ago.

With success comes jealousy, rivalry, backstabbers and enemies. This has been since time immemorial, a basic human nature unaffected by passage of time. Caesar was a victim of his own success. In the quest for power a person's near and dear ones (as usual) can be your worst enemies. We have this Odia adage - "ANTI CHHURI TANTI KATE" (the waist knife can cut your throat, or your so called near and dear ones are the first ones to backstab you). It was vindicated two millenniums ago that politics invariably and eventually trumps over military. Most who planned Caesar's assassination were his close friends, especially his closest buddy Brutus of "Et To Brutus" fame. Those were Julius Caesar's last words as Brutus pulled the dagger on him.

Historians differ on how close Brutus was to Caesar. Some say they were extremely close. Others say it wasn't so, as Brutus once unsuccessfully rebelled against Julius and was pardoned by the later for he was the son of Caesar's mistress. He always had a grudge against Julius to settle, for he harbored the humiliation of often taunted for his mother's allegedly affair with Caesar. It is said Brutus's mother simply couldn't resist and succumbed to Julius's charm. Personal anger and jealousy can be a lethal concoction. Brutus was waiting for the opportune moment to push the dagger on Julius to backstab him.

The role of another Mistress of Caesar, the powerful Egyptian Queen Cleopatra in this imbroglio can't be ignored. She from Royal Egyptian bloodline with a legendary blend of beauty and brain, a talented woman who spoke multiple languages and dabled in politics and medicines with equal aplomb. Cleopatra who was rumored to take bath in pure milk to preserve her beauty accentuated Caesar's ambition to be the ruler of great Roman empire by suggesting subjugation of Senate - the people's elected body. She too fell for Julius Caesar's irresistible charm.

Power can be an addictive aphrodisiac. Thousands years down the road we have seen democratically elected leaders soon developing dictatorial tendencies - Indira Gandhi, Trump and Modi included.
Cleopatra, who was the daughter of a politician from Egypt's powerful establishment and quite familiar with the palace intrigues saw this coming. It is said that based on a dream she had the night before her husband's Brutal assassination, she warned Julius Caesar to be on guard. But drunk with sheer public adulation, fame and accompanied over confidence he chose to ignore her, least expecting an assault to come from his close friends on his familiar Senate floor.

Power often prevents the powerful from being aware of the vacuum surrounding them, keeping them myopic not to be able to see the approaching storm, leaving them off guard and vulnerable. China's all powerful President Xi Jinping who has consolidated power in China, the second largest powerful country in world couldn't see Corona virus coming. Trump ignored it only to pay a price of getting defeated after his first term. In India, Indira Gandhi, the iron lady Prime Minister with dictatorial tendencies was assassinated at the peak of her power when she was a pan Indian cult figure.

From Shakespeare's novel it looks as if the attack on Caesar was impromptu on that fateful Spring day inside the Roman Senate. But the sinister plot to kill him was hatched long before which was later implemented to perfection. Gladiators were kept ready as back up, in case the best laid plan went wrong. Caesar was assassinated on the Senate floor as planned.

Plenty of water has flown in the river Tibur (the bank on which the city Rome was established ) since that fateful day in the month of March. Guns, bombs, missiles have replaced dagger as the killing machine. Humans can fly into space and their thought can travel at twinkle of their eyes, with the world shrunk to a global village.

Yet for quest of absolute power politics, backroom deals, back stabbing, jealousy,  assassinations, leaders with dictatorial tendencies vying to consolidate power hasn't changed over the last 2000 years. The basic human nature still remains the same, hasn't changed at all. March has just started, we are not done with it yet. Beware of the Ides of March.

The planned Saudi Cricket league

Indian Premier League (IPL), the annual multi million dollar mega, colorful cricket event held in India starts from today. At the same time, Saudi Arabia has announced its plan to launch in future a mega $500 million Cricket league consisting of 8 teams, with matches to be played in 4 different locations and the Final in Saudi Arabia.

Now the most interesting thing to watch for will be how India's policy of not playing with Pakistan in Pakistan will come into play. BCCI may not be able to have its way with the Saudis the same way it has its influence over ICC. Because, coming to the Geo political influence, forget BCCI, India is no match to MSB led Saudi Arabia which has a huge financial and strategic assets as leverage. It's the only country which is close to all global powers which matter - US, China, Russia and surprisingly (though not so overtly) Israel. Not just its assets of petro dollars and oil reserves, its strategic location in the tinderbox of Middle East makes Saudi Arabia a big and key player in the game, in football, cricket or otherwise.

The country is also close to both India and Pakistan for various geopolitical reasons. India is a strong manpower supplier to the Saudis, and Pakistan's all powerful Army has acted earlier as a mercenary to Saudi's interest, not to mention their Islamic connection. The desert Kingdom could use cricket diplomacy to bring India and Pakistan under the same umbrella. This cricket league will most likely be used for the same, for every one is aware of the popularity of cricket in not only both India and Pakistan, in the entire Indian subcontinent stretching from Afghanistan to Bangladesh. It not Hinduism, Islam, Sikhism or Christianity, but Cricket is the real religion in that part of the world.

Now India has some deft diplomacy work on hand. Don't think BCCI will deal with Saudi Arabia the same way it deals with Pakistan.
Saudi Arabia ain't Pakistan. But because India being a $4 trillion economy and BCCI currently wielding tons of influence in the world of cricket, it definitely going to get some concessions as part of the deal. But it is Pakistan who could turn out to be the real winner as it has nothing to lose. It has everything to gain, for the country is on the verge of bankruptcy with its cricketing set up in shatters with lowest ever moral. Half a billion USD, the planned budget of Saudi Cricket league is big money and can do some wonders, "Kyon Ki Paisa Bolta Hai" (Since Money talks). Let's not forget that BCCI's influence and control over ICC today is mainly due to one factor - it's MONEY stupid !

Reminded me of the liberally Hindi mixed Odia saying, which I read in an Odia short story titled "ANDHARUA" during childhood. 

"ABE PARASU, JABE PARASU,
BABU PARASURAM;
PAISA KYA NA KARE KAAM." 

Roughly transliterated.... 

Come Peter, Go Peter,
Oh My Lord Peter,
Money Can do,
Tremendous wonder". 

Money, Money, Money.
Brighter than sunshine,
Sweeter than honey. 

Tribute to Sashi Kapoor

 He was handsome, successful, kind, compassionate and a dedicated husband - all rolled into one, blended perfectly like the best of blended Scotch Whisky. What more a woman wants ! My tribute to Sashi Kapoor on his Birthday, which is March 18. If alive, he would be 89 today. 

Hailing from Bollywood's legendary Kapoor family, he was an outstanding actor, a handsome gentleman known for his good behavior and benevolence. He was a rare breed apart from his normally arrogance and haughtiness displaying counterparts from Bollywood. As mentioned in an Interview by the actor himself, Sashi Kapoor was the unwanted child whom his mother, the wife of actor Prithviraj Kapoor who wanted to abort him by falling off from bicycle and other crude means when she was carrying Sashi Kapoor in her womb. But he came out to the world regardless, and for a good reason to carve his niche in the celluloid world.

One of my dad's Maternal Uncles lived in Bombay from 1950s till mid 1980s, earning his livelihood as a make up artist in Bollywood. When he came home after a long, tiring train journey from Bombay, he used to take a break at our residence in Bhubaneswar before proceeding to his native place Biragobindpur, a Shasan Brahmin dominated village near Puri, my dad's maternal uncle's village. As a youngster always curious to know about the life in celluloid world, I used to query our "Mamu Aja" (maternal great grandfather) to extract some juicy, spicy tidbits on these film folks from someone who worked in their close proximity.

Once I asked him who he thought as the best person in Bollywood he had ever encountered. He immediately answered without a blink - Amjad Khan and Sashi Kapoor. Amjad Khan was a straight shooter who showed no sign of any air of arrogance and idiosyncratic traits usually associated with actors. Protrayed as a bad guy in many Bollywood blockbusters, Amjad Khan was a complete different person off screen, a "Dil Daar", broad hearted type. Sashi Kapoor was also "Dil Daar" man, perfect gentleman who always asked my "Mamu Aja", his make up artist, about how he and his family were doing back home in his village near Puri. A generous man, Sashi Kapoor gave him hefty tips. Never he would belittle or show any kind of  condescending attitude to a his staff, an ubiquitous forte of our film folks who harbor supercilious, feudal mindset and known to be champion hypocrites.

During shootings, before taking his seat for his make up sessions, Sashi Kapoor would invariably address Mamu Aja with "Aap" rather than "Tum"- "Kaise hain Aap" (how are you) blended in his infectious smile. Unlike others who would seat silently during their make up sessions, Sashi Kapoor would chit chat with him. He was curious about "Oodissa", a state he was barely familiar, often wondering if a decent "Oodiya" film industry existed. The actor was quite oblivious about Bhubaneswar. The only thing he knew about Odisha was Puri because Kapoor family were aware of Lord Jagannath and he was happy to relate with Mamu Aja about the temple town being the abode of Sri Jagannath Jee. The young teen in me was surprised that Sashi Kapoor barely knew about Bhubaneswar, as like the proverbial "KUPA MANDUKA" or the frog inside the well, at that time I was under the impression that Bhubaneswar was the epicenter of the universe. Every one loved Sashi Kapoor at the set. As a youngster I would listen to my Mamu Aja's narration in one breath with rapt attention, still printed and engraved in my memory.

Sashi Kapoor's gentlemanly manner was later corroborated by Simmi Grewal, his co-actress in the Award winning movie SIDDHARTHA based upon Herman Hesse's epic novel bearing the same name. After Sashi Kapoor's death she wrote an eulogy on him where she mentioned about the following episode.

They went to New York city in the Bell Bottom era of early 1970s related to International Award won in the movie "SIDDHARTHA" based on Herman Hesse's famous novel in which both had acted together. They were sitting in a Manhattan restaurant when came down a bunch of girls swooning over Sashi Kapoor and his looks - "Hey look at this cool, cute Italian guy", mistaking an impeccably dressed, smiling handsome dude with dark hair and fair complexion with a gentlemanly smirk (New York city is a haven of folks from Italian origin). Sashi Kapoor, a happily married man, a person of high integrity was hardly perturbed with the female adulation he got and chose to ignore them.

He was different from the Kapoor clan in many ways - look, class and charisma. A rebel of sort, always considered as the unwanted Kapoor as his mother wanted to abort him, Sashi Kapoor marked his presence in the tinsel world after his initial movies didn't run well in the Box Office. But when he the jackpot after the runaway success of movies "Waqt" and "Jab Jab Phool Khile" he never looked back. Unlike Raj Kapoor and Rishi Kapoor he was not a chubby faced chocolate hero. He had class, style and a contagious smile.

Sashi went out of way in conservative Kapoor family to marry Jennifer Kendal, a Firangi (white foreigner) in the year 1958, a first in the Kapoor family and rairest amongst Bollywood movie stars those days. (Karisma Kapoor was another first, the first Kapoor girl to act in Bollywood which was a taboo for the females in Kapoor family). Both Sashi and Jennifer were happily married until her death in 1984. Inspired by his wife, Sashi dabbled in art movies unlike the rest of Kapoor family men. 

No doubt Sashi Kapoor will be remembered in the world of acting and for his generosity. RIP, the gentleman actor. May you keep smiling in heaven.

5 years past Covid

 In 5 years after taking 5 Covid shots, including the original one followed by 4 boosters,  am still a Covid virgin (unless unknown to me I have been asymptomatic at some point without realizing of losing my Covid virginity). It was exactly 5 years ago when the Covid -19 virus, unbeknownst of all just 4 months before March, 2000 was pandemic enough to begin lockdowns and start a new culture of Work From Home for an unforeseen period.

Exactly 5 years ago, today on March the 16, was the first day I began working from home as the Covid-19 Pandemic was starting to take a grip, spreading its malevolent tentacle all over the world including in United States. I thought the pandemic would be over in couple of months or so before I get back to my work location, expecting it to become business as usual soon, but never in my wildest of dreams I thought of working for more than 2 years, 7 months at a stretch from home. This was the harbinger of a new work culture hitherto unknown called working remote and like a hybrid car running on both gas and electricity, a hybrid work model of home and office took birth.

Soon I got familiar with phrases like social distancing, rubbing sanitizers and frequently washing my hands and retrospected how years of pandemic wheezed past and how it  changed my habits. Lazy like a fox, I started shaving only once a week, showing off my prominent 5 O'Clock salt and pepper shadow on my cheek. While I am reminded of the popular Palmolive Shaving Cream Ad on the Doordarshan, the only TV Channel available in India back in those days - "Kapil Dev, tough cricketer, tough beard". I am not a tough guy from any angle, but my razor stumbled on my stubble gained in a week, giving me a tough time.

No more I could say I don't touch alcohol during the day. The Coronavirus forced me to touch alcohol - in the form of hand sanitizers and alcohol soaked hand wipes. While entering a store, I used hand sanitizer and after returning back to my car I used it once again. Washed my hands way too often and way too long, thanks to this nouveau virus. Would have easily been branded as a classic SUCHIBAI ROGI (An Odia slang used for a psychological patient with the habit of washing their hands frequently due to compulsive cleanliness). But I was simply not taking any chances. Had no desire to get infected and gift it to my family. Twitching the usual Odia proverb a bit - "HATHA DHOU THA, GUNA GAU THA" - "Wash you hands, sing paeans of praise (of COVID-19)".

Soon I got bored with the monotony of work from home. I longed for getting back to work at the Campus in downtown Columbus. When ennui overcame me at the Office, I used to take a walk around chatting with my colleauges, loiter aimlessly in the corridor to shrugg off my jaded nerves, occasionally take a stroll on the river walk to fill my lungs with fresh, cool air wafting over the bank of the river Chattahoochee. I started missing eating food in Cafeteria sitting with my coworkers.  Missed the fun and chat about the latest rumor in the air. 

A sucker to spicy stuff, my ever alert ears is perpetually receptive to juicy stories. Once I overheard two ladies walking ahead of me in a narrow corridor. Unknown to them I could listen to their conversation. Both were bitching about their Mother-in-laws, doing the later's character assassination. I heard one of them saying - "My Mother-in-law would sneak inside my home with a duplicate key and smoke inside the house. She would listen to everybody but me". The other one nodded - "Mine is no different from yours. She is such a bitch". No wonder Mother-in-laws and Dauhter-in-laws rarely go together, harboring a "AHI - NAKULA SAMPARKA" or "snake and mongoose" relationship, a la the animals who are born to fight with each other. When I returned back to work, the work place was never the same. The Covid made the work place look like an Orange whose juice has been sucked out.

Two-third of American Economy is fuelled by consumer spending. Uncle Sam soon slid into recession in early 2020 due to a panicking public uncertain about the future put a break on their purse. My expenses were inadvertently curtailed. No vacations, no trip to India, no restaurant visits as I was mostly stuck at home. Even with record low gas price, I rarely drove more than 10 miles a week. Filled gas in my car only once in every couple of months, as I din't have to commute to work. Under normal circumstances, I would fill up my gas tank at least once every other week. Not anymore. That was a first time in US for me in nearly quarter of a century. 

Yet on a positive note, I helped mother earth. Lesser use of car means less emission of toxic greenhouse gases. My support to the "Go Green" cause didn't stop there. Due to working from home there was fewer usage of Office stationaries, Computer printouts, electricity, elevators, AC and so on. I could proudly proclaim of saving many trees from being felled and contributing to keeping the environment Ozone free due to restricted usage of CFC (CloroFluoroCarbon).

My first tryst with Corona was not the virus, rather a brand of shoes. During my childhood days there were only a handful of decent shoe stores in Bhubaneswar, prominent were Bata, Corona and BSC brand carrying stores in Unit - II, all adjacent to each other. I could relate Corona to a friend of mine who had an aura about him. His claim to fame was following the English music - ABBA, Boney M etc. There were hardly anyone to fact check on him. Often he used to sing something with snorted lips, which resembled "Corona Shoes.. my Corona Shoes..Shoooooes... Whoooos". I was completely spellbounded and flabbergasted. Ignorance can be bliss, but it metamorphosed into sheer adulation for the guy around us having knowledge of English music. That's the only Corona I was aware of until the arrival of the virus bearing the same name decades later.

The pandemic could have been stopped at its nascent stage. Stopping the spread of a virus is akin to keeping a secret. If you know a secret and don't want it to spread, just don't tell it to anybody. When you are telling it to some one else, the probability of keeping the secret a secret gets reduced by 50%. If that person tells to another person it get reduced to 25% and so on. Before you realize, the cat is already out of the bag. Like gossip or rumor, diligent imposition of social distancing or quarantine could have stopped the disease from spreading further 5 years ago. But disease had already gone viral and claimed millions of lives.

A la a joke which becomes stale and folks start losing interest after hearing it multiple times, people now have become immune to the news of the death and spread of Covid-19. No one is afraid of the disease anymore.  Since Covid Pandemic forced me to spend longer stretches of time at home, it has opened up a new relationship - interaction with feral cats in our backyard. We love them a lot, especially my wife who leaves no stone unturned in caring and feeding them.

When on March 16, 2020 I started Work from Home, Donald Trump was the President of United States and Joe Biden was still struggling in the Democratic Primaries to challenge Trump. Since then a lot of water has flown in the river Chattahoochee and tables are turned. Now 5 years down the road Trump is back in the saddle. But the fun of pre Covid days is gone forever. Covid has changed everything, leaving a whole different world for us to live on.

Jaya hotel serving beef

 A roadside hotel named "Jaya" near Sakhigopal on the way to Puri not very far from my ancestral village was recently in news for serving Beef masquerading as Goat meat. "BHATA MANSA" (Rice and goat meat) is popular dish among Odias who consume plateful of the curried meat along with mounds of rice followed by evacuating the undigested remnants next day morning in open fields, their bottoms barely an inch above visible Pyramids of shit. 

Two men who ate the Beef curry thinking as goat meat got suspicious only to find their doubt confounded. Full of remorse due to inadvertently committing a sacrilege, in order to do penance by cleansing themselves they sought refuse with Pandits of Muktimandap, an assembly of Brahmins of Sasan villages near Puri and my "Biradaari" (fraternity), most of whom are GODARA (filaria infected thick legs) and KURUNDA (Again filaria infected men with supersize balls). Per the advice of these Pundits, the youth duo tonsured themselves, took bath at Narendra Pond in Puri, drank "GOBARA PANI" (cowdung laced water) followed by a trip to Lord Jagannath temple to purify themselves of any sin they committed out of eating beef. 

Now back in United States 6 years ago during our drive back home from Oklahoma, we made a stop inside the state of Arkansas at a Taco Bell (A Mexican Fast Food Chain) for lunch. It turned out, it turned out what could to be a Taco Hell of an experience to many, especially for the staunch Hindus. No sooner I took a bite of my order of Chicken Taco, than I could taste and smell something different. The Taco had brownish beef inside. The manager profusely apologized and promptly replaced the mistaken order with my original order of Chicken Tacos. 

I immediately rushed to the bathroom, did a "THOO THOO" to spit out everything out of my mouth, followed by a thorough rinsing. It was no fault of the young server of that Taco Bell, rather an apparent case of miscommunication, the message lost in translation and accent, as in remote places in America those not familiar with the Indian accent can have a very tough time understanding them.  

In Hindu mythology, after the legendary "SAGAR MANTHAN" churning of the sea by the "Deva" (Gods) and Asura (Demons) it was decided that the Gods and Demons would share in harmony the "Amrit" (nectar) coming out of sea which would make all immortal. When it came for the demon Rahu's turn to drink the nectar, no sooner he drank it than his head got chopped off. But before that the nectar through the food pipe had already reached Rahu's neck and his head become immortal. Similarly, as the beef didn't go beyond my throat, I stayed brainwashed about beef, though my body still remained pure. 

The default meat in America is Beef, unless otherwise specifically mentioned in the order. A good example is the Cheeseburger. Though sounds vegetarian, the burger is melted Cheese covered default meat is beef. But I didn't go that far to tonsure my head, drink GANGA JAL (water from River Ganga which washes off the sins committed) as I got no access to Cowdung laced water. Nor I bothered to shoulder a new PAITA (sacred thread worn across shoulder by Brahmins).  

A la Narsena Naidoo in the short story "JATIRA DHAKKA" (The jolt from Caste) from our middle school Odia Literature textbook, I lost my caste that day. Before being ostracized, I needed to follow the path of purification prescribed in that epic short story - JA PURI JA. GOBAR PANI PEE, TEBE JAI JATI PHERI PAIBU - Go to Puri (sacred temple city of Hindus). Drink Cow dung laced water, then only you can get your caste back. Never did that and forever lost my caste.

Aurangzeb - the man and the myth

 The other day I saw scenes from the historical movie "Chaava" which is generating controversies and to some extent needless jingoism fuelled and fanned for political purposes. More than anyone else's acting, I was particularly impressed by the actor Akshaye Khanna who played the role of the legendary Mogul King Aurganzeb, the ruthless Emperor of "Hindustan" (India) who ruled with an iron hand for 50 years, but presided over an empire which was on its path to sunset. 

Yet even more than 300 years after his death Aurangzeb still dwells in Indian psyche, dividing our populace still obsessed about him. The last powerful Mughal emperor was a unique man of his kind of the time, for unlike his predecessors who ruled around 25 years he ruled for 50 years. Aurangzeb also lived longest until 90 in an age sans vaccines to tackle incurable diseases when living till 50 was a luxury. Akshaye Khanna's performance in the movie is commendable. He has perfectly portrayed the fascinating character of a merciless, cold, calculative Aurangzeb with his steely, Cobra like piercing eyes (the Mogul Sultan's Cobra like eyes has been corroborated by no other than his bete noire Shivaji during their famous encounter in Mughal court). 

There is a popular saying going back to the medieval period of the Mughal Dynasty's 200 years of rule of India from 1525 to 1739 which goes as "TAKHT YA TAKHTA", meaning "Crown or Coffin". It aptly described the fratricidal wars fought between the Mughal brothers for the prized Kingship which knew no Kinship. In the end one of the brothers ended up with Crown, the rest rested in their graves. 

The last powerful Mughal emperor Aurganzeb was no different. After killing his brothers he captured the prized Peacock Throne and put his ailing father Sahajahan to house arrest overlooking the monument "Taj Mahal" over river Yamuna which he built in memory of his beloved wife Mamtaz Mahal.

Akshaye Khanna playing the role of Aurangzeb in the movie speaks coldly - "HAMAARI ABBUJAAN SAH JAHAN YEH TAAZ HAMARI BHAIJAAN DARA SIKOH KE SAR PAR RAKHNA CHAHTE THE. MAINE WOH SAR KATKE ABBUJAAN KE PAAS BHEJ DIYA (My father Sah Jahan wanted to place this crown on the head of my brother Dara Sikoh. I cut my brother's head and sent it as gift to my father). It is true that Aurangzeb sent his father the severed head of his dad's favorite son and his own blood brother Dara Shikoh served on a platter when Shah Jahan was dining. The old man fainted at the sight of the head of his favorite son and his face crashed into the table, breaking his teeth. 

But Sah Jahan, the old man who fainted at the sight of the ghastly, macabre sight of his son's decapitated head was no lily white. The fifth Mughal emperor had no qualms about blinding and killing his brothers for securing the coveted Peacock throne. He inhereting these traits from his father Jahangir, who blinded his rebellious son Khushru wanting to usurp him for the coveted crown.  

Why was Aurangzeb so cruel ? The question could be reversed. Why did Shah Jahan hated Aurangzeb so much ? It is not easy to understand, but it is true. From a very young age before he was an adult, Aurangzeb was sent out by his father on impossible missions, like reconquering their ancestral lands in modern day Afghanistan, while the pampered eldest son, Prince Dara Shikoh was mollycoddled in Mughal court. Unfortunately, for both father and his favourite son Dara Sikoh, this mistreatment of Aurangzeb produced a hardened and experienced warrior. While the suave Dara sat with Pundits busy learning Sanskrit and translating Upanishad (a sacred Hindu text) to Persian, his younger brother became a hardened warrior learning all the scheming and political maneuvering needed for war. 

The battle tested 3rd son of Sah Jahan soon became a Master in military moves, the first in the Mughal Dynasty since Akbar (Jahangir was a hedonist and Sah Jahan indolent). He defied the odds by making strategic military alliances with his other brothers and then dealing with his main threat and father's blue eyed boy, defeating Dara Sikoh in the battle of Samugarh in spite of the later having the backing of the Imperial Mughal Army. Eventually Aurangzeb killed all his brothers and went on to rule for half a century. 

Aurangzeb was born suspicious and trusted non. Childhood psychology runs late into age - a person who can't trust his father can't trust anybody else. Seeing being ignored by his father who openly favored his elder brother Dara Sikoh, Aurangzeb abhored his dad and took his sweet revenge by killing his brothers and imprisoning his "ABBUJAAN". Sah Jahan groveled over Dara's gruesome death for rest of his life looking vicariously at his mammoth masterpiece Taj Mahal he built on the banks of Yamuna river for 8 years before passing away. It's fate not father who decides "TAKHT YA TAKHTA".

Happy Women's Day

 There is a song from Amitabh Bachchan's blockbuster movie "KHUDDAR" released in the year 1982 where the tall actor who was the unquestioned Superstar, the King and the one man Bollywood industry sings onscreen Kishore Kumar's song -

"MAA KA PYAAR, BEHAN KYA PYAAR,
KABHI KABHI DULHAN KYA PYAR,
TERE PYAAR KA RANG HAZAAR".

Roughly transliterated...

"Mother's love, Sister's love,
Sometimes the love of the beloved,
Their love comes in thousand colors".

March 8 being the women's day reminded me of this song from my teenage years. The love of mother and sister is in its purest form, precious and unadulterated, like the clear Spring water bubbling out of the top of a glacial mountain. It is perennially pristine, unequivocally soothing, unwavering and unflinching. When I went to India, my mother's hug and caressing hands felt so soothing, something I long for days, months and sometimes years. Mother's love is panacea to all ills plaguing mind and body, heart and soul. Unfortunately she is no more and I am yet to get over the loss and probably never will.

The love of the beloved comes next, with the disclaimer of "Kabhi Kabhi" (sometimes) tied to it. It reminds me of another Bollywood movie titled "DULHAN WOHI JO PIYA MAN BHAYE" - "Beloved is the one who keeps her Lover happy". In my opinion, it applies other way round too. It is also the duty of a lover to keep his beloved happy, the men to keep their women happy, but our misogynistic society rarely mentions about it. (Bollywood is still misogynistic institution, filled with nepotism and hypocrisy. Otherwise how could be a silly movie like "Animal" released last December where a woman asks a man to lick his shoes be a big hit making millions) ?

But unfortunately with the progress of time, in an age when thoughts can fly in twinkle of an eye in the age of Artificial Intelligence (AI), the world has turned any less misogynistic. Women are still belittled, harassed, persecuted, suffer from inequality and often treated as sex objects. There are plenty of stories of battered women, not from slums but from the so called elitist families. Discussing it here is beyond the scope of this blog. But I can say with confidence that I personally know many Indians and folks of Indian origin here in America boasting openly about treating their women as doormats, humiliated their wives in public like drop of a hat to prove their masculinity.

I am now reminded of the Hindi saying - "MUCHHE WOHI RAKHTE HAIN JIN KE APNI MARDANGI PAR SHAQ HOTI HAI". Roughly transliterated it means - "Those who keep Moustache are those who got doubts on their masculinity". Similarly, those who needlessly boss over their women have an inferiority complex about their masculinity. I remember a scene from movie "ARJUN PUNDIT" where actor Sunny Deol slaps actress Juhi Chawla. An angry and humiliated Juhi retorts back - "AGLI BAAR IS HAATH KISI MARD PE UTHANA (next time you better try hitting a man using this hand of yours). I consider it isn't masculinity, rather a cowardly, despicable act to physically hit a woman universally considered as the weaker sex.

One guy, who doesn't live very far off from me well known for conquering whores once bragged in front of me that women should be treated as slaves and physically beaten, then quoting an Odia proverb to drive his convoluted logic -

"NAARI, GADHA, BHRUTYA AAU  DHOLA,
TANKU JETE BADEIBA SETE BHALA".

Roughly translated

 "Women, Donkey, Servants and Drum,
The more you beat, the better they Perform". 

It made me feel sick to my stomach. I told that guy impromptu, directly on his face in no uncertain terms, LOUD and CLEAR, that I COMPLETELY DISAGREED with him and believe that beating women, animals or servants is not only utterly disgraceful, it is a cowardice, despicable act and the ultimate form of indecency. 

The fairer sex is no more the weaker sex. Things are changing of late, though not as fast we would desire. Still facing hurdles in their life, women have come a long way, matching mano to womano. They have succeeded, equalled and even bettered men in myriads fields. We still have some catch up to do and miles to go before achieving the gender equality. On the occasion of Women's Day I salute to all women who have made a significant difference to my life, contributing to it, shaping my knowledge and character, shaped my life, like a potter shaping pottery out of clay. Happy Women's Day to all.

Is Trump Putin's Agent Orange

There is accusation of US President Donald Trump being a Russian Secret Service KGB Agent codenamed "Kasnov" since 1987. He was supposedly involved in money laundering using Russian mafia to protect his floundering, bankruptcy driven business empire. The Russian Dictator Vladimir Putin probably got something BIG on Trump, enough to blackmail him and end his Presidency. The Comedian Bill Maher says Trump is Putin's "Agent Orange". Normally I would dismiss this talk as conspiracy theory and calumny raised by Trump's opponents, unless I could see the following telltale signs :

1. Trump who bullies every person has so far been conspicuously soft on Putin. He hasn't spoken a harsh word about the Russian Dictator, though he used the word Dictator against a democratic elected President Zelensky of Ukraine. That perplexes me. 

2. I am all for world peace and would like this Russian- Ukraine war of three years which has led to loss of life, money, property to stop right now. If Trump is doing this for World peace it's fine. But if he is doing this at the behest of Putin who is blackmailing him, it is not only dangerous, it's roblematic. What baffles me is Trump's peace plan which is totally skewed in favor of Russia. In any peace talk both parties need to make concession. It takes two to tango, two hands to clap. But Trump (and his hand pick lackeys in his government) want ONLY Ukraine to make all kinds concession and haven't spelt out yet on the Russian, aka Putin's side of bargain. Incorrigible isn't it ! 

3. We have seen the televised bashing of Zelensky by Trump and his obsequious VP. Would Trump ever behave with Putin 10% of the manner ? I doubt. During Trump's first term in one of his meetings with Putin the body language of a timid Trump before the Russian Dictator was a contrast to his bullying style of diplomacy. That makes me think Trump, once ascribed by Joe Biden as "Putin's puppy" is hiding something. 

Ronald Reagan famously described Russia as "the Evil Empire". He must be turning in his grave as the original Conservatives have turned to Trump, a man whom I believe can sell himself for a price. Hopefully he doesn't give Putin Alaska as gift. 

Unlike many who think in the lines of "My Fraand Dolaand", the geopolitical game is played cut throat where there is no permanent friends or enemy, where only permanent interest thrives. Not surprising under Trump, blackmailed or otherwise, USA and Russia are getting closer similar to what once USA and UK were, a relationship whom Churchill famously described as "Common people speaking common language". Regardless, this unusual, one sided crush of Trump on Putin is "Sochnevali Baat Hai" or "Something to think about".

Forty years of quality telecast

 The live telecast of ongoing Champions Trophy tournament brings back memories from down the lane, transporting me on a time machine back to this day exactly 40 years ago, to March 1 of the year 1985. Those were the days when TV was new to Bhubaneswar. I could barely sleep the night before excited to watch the first ever live telecast from Australia of a match between India and the home team playing Benson and Hedges World Series in Australia. 

When at sharp 5 AM I switched on to Doordarshan, the only Channel available on TV at that time, I heard the clear voice of the long nosed Richie Benaud with his typical cap wearing style hair on Channel 9 from the land Down Under (as Australia is known). Richie's typical Aussie accented punch lines "gid dye (good day) mite (mate) from MCG",  "in the air but saif (safe)", what a keitch (catch)" still reverbates in my mind and refuses to escape my memory. It was so genuinely Australian, like Kookaburra to Kangaroos. 

India was playing with host Australia in a crucial group league match in the series involving all test playing nations of that time. It was a do or die game for Australia as India was just starting to peak after defeating earlier its traditional opponent Pakistan and England. With blurry eyes minutes after the start, I watched Indian bowlers storming into the Aussies batting up. Before they realized they were reduced to 17 for 4 (oops 4 for 17 as they call it there). Kapil Dev and Jackie (as medium pacer Roger Binny was called by his teammates for his Jackfruit shaped round bottom) were in demolition mode. Australia could never recover from the shaky start and was all out for 160 odd runs. India easily won the game, knocking the home team out from the tournament. Alan Border, then Captain of Australia blamed the defeat on their team getting tired due to playing way too much cricket. The Aussie press howled sarcastically - "if we don't play too much we won't lose too often". India went on to win the tournament with Ravi Sastri gifted an Audi car being the Champion of the Champions. 

More than India's victory what stuck me was the excellent quality of the coverage and telecast of the match with the lucid voice of Richie Benaud (along with ziraffe sized Tony Greig who died years ago) as icing on cake. For the first time I saw the telecast from each ends of stumps, showing the front view of the batsman facing the ball as well as cameras on all ends of the field. Such excellent clarity of vision was conspicuous on our Konark TV (a popular government controlled local brand of that time which soon became defunct). The replays were shown like flipping pages on a glossy magazine. It was magical for us audience in India not accustomed to such quality telecast, not to mention the titillating moment to the early teen in me to view the summer milieu of scantily clad girls from the land down under wearing bare minimum and taking sunbath in the stadium, beamed live to the conservative middle class living rooms in Bhubaneswar. It was like a breath of fresh air. 

So far, I had mostly seen on the Doordarshan (only TV channel available) the so called slow motion replays during cricket telecast with unwelcome stoppages at the crucial moment of the game being quite common, with a drab message "RUKAWAT KE LIYE KHED HAI" or (Sorry for the interruption) message flashing on the screen. Too many grains, unwarranted ghost like pictures. Camera hardly followed or captured the movement of the ball. Indian Commentators suffered from verbal diarrhea. After a boundary, six or wicket would come a banner on TV proudly proclaiming ACTION REPLAY like a trailer announcing the release of a movie. Then would come the hazy replay in slow motion. Even the telecast from Pakistan was much better, which could be attributed to them possessing American telecast equipment those days. 

Often by the time the replay would finish, one more delivery would be over and you would miss a 4, 6 or a wicket. As a welcome change, the telecast and the voice of Richie Benaud was both mesmerizing and welcome respite from the past. That telecast from exactly 40 years ago brought the frog in me out of the well. Cricket telecast and Channel 9 have come a long way ever since, so also India and the quality of cricket telecast these days all over the world. 

Tea, Coffee or Pee

 This year 2025 is not a leap year. Once every 4 years, February being a leap year comes with an extra day of 29th attached to the fag end of it. Last year 2024 was no exception. Leap year calculation follows a complex logic. For being a leap year, it has to be evenly divided by 4 or 400. But if a year is evenly divided by 100, but not 400, it is not a Leap Year. Hence, year 2000 was a leap year. Year 1900 wasn't a leap year, 2100 isn't going to be one either. But year 2400 is going to be.

As per the Roman Calendar the month of February had initially 30 days. This poor month was chopped off couple of days. Julius Caesar after whom the month of July was named took a day out of February added it to July making the later a month of 31days. Same was done to the month of August by Emperor Augustus who snatched away another day from February and added it to August, the month named after him making it 31 days. So February was left with 28 days, making it a short month. Thanks to the Leap Year, every 4 years February enjoys an extra day as a consolation prize.

As we step into the last day in February, it reminds me about Morarjee Desai who in the year 1977 became India's Prime minister at the age of 84. When a reporter questioned him about his age, the witty PM said - "I am just 21 year old young man", alluding to his date of birth - his birthday occuring once every four years as he was a leap year child, born on 29th of February.

During his stint as Prime Minister of India, it was often heard in the power corriders of Delhi - When you visit the Prime minister's office you will be offered Coffee, Tea or Pee, alluding to Desai's habit of drinking his own pee first thing in the morning, which supposedly kept diseases away. Not sure if any of his visitors was offered to pee (as drinking is pronounced in Odia and Hindi) the Prime Minister's pee for better health.

But he had his share of escapades related to this early morning urine therapy, which was earlier reported in a leading Indian magazine. Once during his tenure as Prime Minister he visited Paris where he was invited to dinner by an official. After the esteemed guest left, the host's wife who had what we call in Odia "Suchibai" or excessive cleanliness tendency reportedly instructed her husband to throw away all the utensils used by Morarjee Desai rather than send it to the dishwasher. Imagine the plight of those sitting close to him, who were aware about his pee therapy ! How about a Good Morning kiss dear after a glass of pee !!! 

Desai lived until the ripe age of 99. Many attribute his longevity to his Urine Therapy. A strict vegetarian and self proclaimed Gandhian from Gujarat, he also shunned alcohol. His faddism prompted him to impose prohibition in the state of Maharastra when he was the Chief Minister of the state. It failed there, as prohibition has failed in Gujarat, other states and everywhere in world. Our politicians espouse Mahatma Gandhi's name for political purposes, but hardly practise any of what Bapu stood for, including non-violence. The champion hypocrites, most Indian politicians drink alcohol while in public they advocate  puritanism.

Morarjee Desai had his share of controversies surrounding him. His son Kanti Desai was accused of smuggling while travelling abroad accompanying his father during his tenure as Prime Minister. The allegation was never proved. He said that Indira Gandhi did not spank her son Sanjay during childhood, making the later a spoilt brat. Yet Morarjee was accused of turning blind eyes to his son's illegal activities. Talk about double standards.

Desai's partisan behavior can be best explained by the episodes from our epic MAHABHARAT. The PUTRAMOH (attachment to son) of King Dhritarastra made him turn a blind eye to the activities of his son Duryodhan. The same was apparent in Guru Dronacharya. No sooner the legendary teacher-figter-archer was mischievously told the half truth about Ashosthama's death (elephant bearing the same name as his son) than he lost his zeal to fight and leading the Kaurava Army and stepped down. Dhrustadyumna finished the rest.

Guru Dronacharya also refused to take warrior Karna as his disciple - telling the his Charioteer dad in front of Karna that he only teaches children of Kings and KHYATRIYAs (Warriors). Seeing Drona teaching his son Ashwasthama Karna asked the Guru - "Who is this boy" ? "My child Aswasthama"- replied Dronacharya. "He is neither a Khatriya nor a Prince" - was Karna's punchline as he exposed the Brahmin's hypocrisy. Drona never liked Karna, though they fought in the same camp.

Turning a blind eye to son wasn't the only shortcoming Desai had. Though he  remained a fit person all his life, many attribute certain fiascos made by him to his old age senility. Couple of things I remember vindicated that. One, he was accused of divulging some of our national secrets to General Zia, the military dictator of Pakistan, when the later would call him and flatter him by asking about the benefits of drinking urine. No sane, but senile person at the helm of affairs of a country would divulge nation's secret service assets to the leader of a hostile neighbor. No wonder Desai was conferred with "Nishan-e-Pakistan", the highest civilian award of Pakistan.

Two, when Jimmy Carter visited India in 1978, the US President told to his official sitting next to him that he didn't get a good impression of Desai, whom he found blabbering incoherently during their meeting. The man who drank his own piss, pissed off the Americans. It was an embarrassing diplomatic moment, as the microphone in front of Carter was not switched off and many could hear the conversation. 

Yet Mr. Desai will go down in history in creating history in many counts. He was the first person not from Congress party and not from the politically vital state of UP to be the Prime Minister of India. He was also the first person from the state of Gujarat to be the PM, not to mention the first person outside of the Gandhi clan to remain in power for a sizable duration of time (2 and 1/2 years). 

During his time the nation was relatively calm with no crisis in Punjab, Assam and Kashmir where terrorism raised its ugly head soon after Indira Gandhi regained power in 1980. The man left his mark in Indian politics in spite of being accused by the controversial American Author Seymour Hersh as a "Paid CIA Agent". He was riled to no end, threatening to file a defamation case against the writer in United States. It didn't happen, as he passed away not long the American made this revelation in his book. When I encounter a leap year, it is Morarjee Desai who comes to my mind, for he was born on February 29, which can only happen in a leap year.