Ides of August

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Day I of 50% tariff

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Birthday Mother Teresa

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stockholm syndrome

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

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

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

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

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

Roughly transliterated,

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

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

A shocking encounter

 One of my friends and my senior in REC (Now NIT) Rourkela who is presently in a very high position in one of the most prestigious Institutes of Technology, narrated this funny episode which also reminds me of a scene from the epic movie "3 IDIOTS".

Hailed from a village in Odisha, there was no electricity in his village until he was in Class VII (7th Grade). When he was in Class III (3rd Grade) his father gave him a flashlight (torch) bulb and two batteries to play with. My friend used to enjoy lighting the tiny bulb. Slowly he graduated to tuning into the local radio station by connecting crystal to telephone. These activities provided him with an affinity towards Electrical Engineering from his childhood.

After his village came under electrification he started playing with electrical equipments and got used to the terms like phase, neutral, earthing etc. He noticed that many were making connections from phase to earthing to light incandescent bulbs. In addition, they used to conduct electricity through a big iron rod (called SABALA in local parlance) coating it with salt. So in order to carry further his experiment with electricity, my friend connected a bulb to the wire on the phase side and connected the other end of the wire to the ground. The bulb didn't emit any light. Then someone advised him to pee on the earthing so that the saline water will make it glow. Well, the bulb certainly lighted, but my friend got a lightening shock of his life and till this day considers himself lucky to see another day.

Happy Independence day to India

 A history of thousands years, an advanced civilization counted amongst the oldest of the old. An enchanting land of sages and the sagacious. Cradle of Eastern mysticism from which emanated some of the major religions now spread all over the world. A land of sages and ages of culture and traditions, opulence in art, literature and classical languages and music.

Hinduism, also called Sanatana Dharma, the oldest religion in universe, is the foremost among them. Buddhism was another religion which originated from India several years before Christ or Prophet Mohammed were born, subsequently spreaded south and far east, as far as China and Japan. So also Jainism, a religion which surfaced before the time of Gautam Buddha from the same exotic land and still in practice.

For centuries India was the El Dorado, rich and the land of opportunity during the medieval age. Its tales of riches attracted travellers, traders and invaders from rest of the world. Columbus, the legendary Spanish explorer died a frustrated man, for he was not able to discover his dreamland called India - considered the land of milk and honey. He died a forlorn man, forced to stay  content at discovering a chain of Islands called "West Indies", his consolation prize for failing to discover India.

Eventually and unfortunately, India lost its freedom and wealth to myriads of invaders - from Alexander to Afghans, from Turks to Persians, from Mughal to British. Many invaders from outside exploited India economically and politically, some looted and returned, some stayed back to rule us until we met our tryst with destiny on August 15,1947 when we finally got our independence. That's India, my motherland.

Since we gained our freedom and became a Democratic Republic, we haven't done a whole lot of justice to our immense potential. Very few nations can boast of abundance in natural resources, lushy green fertile lands, a wide variety of flora and fauna (India is the only country which has both Tigers and Lions, Africa which has varieties of wildlife doesn't have tigers). It got a diverse biosphere and a strong, talented workforce of English educated middle class. India has been a caged tiger, who needs to be unleashed to go for the kill.

I am tempted to lift these few lines from a popular Odia song LE NAVEENA from the year 1981. (Naveena here depicts the typical down to earth Odia guy, no relation to any person bearing the same name).

LE NAVEENA TIKE PACHAKU ANA,
HATHE BADI DHARI THIA BAPUJI NANA,
BAPUJI BUDHA RA AAKHI RE LUHA,
TA RAMA JAIJE AAJI YAMA RA BHAYA.

Transliterated..

O Naveena, just look behind.
Holding the stick in hand,
The Bapuji man is standing.
The old man's eyes are filled with tears.
Yama, the God of Death;
has filled his Dreamland with fear.

Mahatma Gandhi, the Father of Nation often credited for bringing independence to us, dreamt a RAM RAJYA (Utopian State) of India. But unfortunately, his dream remained stillborn, though post independence, we had a spell of ROME RAJYA (Romancing the indirect rule by a person of Roman origin). 

Lots of water has flown under Mahanadi bridge as we have come long way since 1981. We have come out of the miasma of poverty and malnutrition with classic Hindu rate of growth, now chugging ahead steadily, inching towards a $4 trillion GDP while moving tens of millions out of poverty.

Still a lot needs to be done, as multiple challenges lie ahead. Rocky are the roads, turbulent are the streams and miles to go before we sleep. And I am sure one day we will get there. HAPPY 78th BIRTHDAY to Motherland INDIA.

Dog menace

 On Monday, the Supreme Court of India, with its offices in the center of New Delhi ruled that the current legal practices for taking care of the city's stray dog population were inadequate. Within eight weeks, the court declared, all strays must be rounded up and detained permanently in shelters.

Great initiative and directive from the judiciary. But extremely difficult to implement in a country where government isn't the solution, rather the problem. Stray dog problem isn't something new. It has existed for decades. When their population grew, as usual the inept government of India not only slept, it became increasingly corrupt.

Reminded me of this incident from my college days. One late winter evening in Bhubaneswar I was bicycling back to my house after finishing my tutorials at the residence of our chemistry teacher Mr. Raghunath Panda. After crossing the railway tracks near SISHU BHAVAN - MAUSIMA CHOWK (those days there road arteries of Bhubaneswar were yet to be chocked with traffic cholesterol, so no bypass in form of flyover was needed). Suddenly the chain of my bicycle came out. I managed to put it back on the axle. No sooner I resumed my journey back home, than a crackling noise started coming out from the chain rubbing itself with the protective metal cover. Close to 9 PM there was hardly any traffic (not unusual those days on a wintry night when the city of temples was still a sleepy township of salaried people). Thinking of procrastinating the repair of my bicycle to next morning, I cranked on, sure of not getting  noticed.

Or so I thought. There were plenty of pariah dogs snoozing nearby who were soon alerted out of their slumber by the noise. Half a dozen of them gathered, baring their fangs and barking they approached me. I chugged on, switching between fast pedaling and  keeping my legs parallel to the ground like a gymnast performing parallel bar to avoid getting bitten. But more than their bite what bothered me was the harrowing specter of getting 14 injections (shots) in my navel (it was how the anti-rabies vaccine were  administered those days).

Luckily for me from a dimly lit corner came my savior, my Hero, the Knight in Shining Armor - in form of an egg vendor who wrapping up to close his stall, ready to call it a day. Lifting his LUNGI and swinging a stick he chased those canines away. I breathed relief. After profusely thanking him, I resumed my journey, thankfully reaching home without any further mongrel chase. That was the closest call I ever had with a canine in my life. A few years back my father was bitten by a stray dog during his morning walk. Since then he, along with his walking companions carry a stick for self diffence.

Not long ago, I read the news about a 10 year old kid mauled to death by a pack of dogs in Bangalore. Though I am all for animal rights and completely against the cruelty towards animals, I believe something must be done to alleviate the stray dog menace, whose population in India run into several millions and millions more are bitten by them every year.

I am an animal lover and do not favor taking the life of any animal, even if it is a snake, standing lock in step with the Animal Rights groups. Neutering them is the only solution to reduce the population of man's oldest friend and world's first domestic animal in a subtle humane way as culling them as an option is outruled. In USA which has its share of pet overpopulation and overflowing animal shelters, they citizens are encouraged to neuter the pets to keep them from breeding further. But in a country like India where millions of stray dogs flood in droves every nook and street corner, catching and neutering them is understandably a herculean task.

Hope after this directive from the 3rd pillar of democracy will make the government smell the coffee and wake up before it's too late. Whether GOI (Government of India) will get out from its Kumbhakarna like slumber mode (the legendary demon from epic Ramayana who was known to sleep for months) your guess is as good as mine. When a menace grows into an epic proportion and push comes to shove, I am afraid at one point they will be culled which can be very well be described using the Odia phrase - NEDI GUDA KAHUNI KU BOHI JIBA (Allowing Jaggery from the palm to flow into the elbow). It simply means, knowlingly allowing a problem to persist, until it reaches an unrecoverable stage. Till then we may continue to debate !

Why sensible folks aren't happy with BJP

 A lot of my friends are questioning me why am I critical of Modi led BJP government. Some of them who aren't blind supporters but support the party nevertheless say that Modi and BJP are better than the present available alternatives, Rahul Gandhi or Kejriwal as the duo don't provide any hope for the electorates (India, though a Parliamentary democracy, the elections are mostly run Presidential style of government where the people mostly vote for a person based on his or her charisma rather than party's agenda and policy).

It reminds me of a saga from India's famous epic MAHABHARAT composed thousands of years before Jesus Christ was born. Once the blind King Dhritarashtra was in a quandary. He had to decide to punish four persons who commited a homicide, each one of them from the 4 prevalent castes (a segregation based on profession) - Brahmin, Khyatriya, Baisya and Shudra. The King decided to outsource the task of deciding the punishment to the crown Princes of his Kingdom Hastinapur, his son Duryodhan and his brother's son Yudhishtir.

Duryodhan immediately jumped in and passed his verdict - "As the four persons knowingly commited the heinous crime together, all of them should receive the same punishment of death sentence". When Yudhistir was asked the same question he said there will be 4 different punishments for the 4 persons who committed the crime. "Four different punishment for the same crime ? It doesn't make sense to me", exclaimed Shakuni, Duryodhan's maternal uncle and mentor who had no love lost for Yudhishtir. "Yes, and here is why. The Shudra should get 1 year jail term because he is the least knowledgeable of the lot and lacks a sense of judgment without realizing the consequence of his action. The Baisya should get 5 years, because he was more educated than the Shudra, but less educated compared to the Khyatriya and Brahmin, hence should have shown more prudence. The Khyatriya should get 10 years in jail as in spite of more sensible than the Shudra and Baisya he still went on to commit the crime. The Brahmin should get capital punishment. Why ? Because the Brahmin who learnt Vedas and Sashtras (our sacred scriptures) should have dissuaded his other 3 partners from commiting the cold blooded killing. But he played his part by abetting the crime. So he should get the death penalty" - said the eldest son of Pandu.

Satisfied with the answer, Vidura, the Prime Minister of the Kuru court nodded in acknowledgement of the decision passed by Yudhishtir and relayed it to the King. Flipping his blind eyes, a recalcitrant Dhritarastra who was known to be partial to his son Duryodhan, reluctantly accepted Yudhistir's judgement and announced his verdict.

Similar to the Brahmin in Mahabharat, many who voted BJP to power in 2014 thought it will be different from the other party when it came to power after a decade, especially from Congress Party. It was supposed to be the party with a difference, a party which boasts of ideological values and viruses. As it didn’t fulfill the expectations, it deserves the worst criticism (incidentally overwhelming number of Brahmins, including most of my friends and relatives are strong supporters of BJP). Hopefully I drove my point.

The death of Registered Post

India Post has officially announced that it will discontinue its Registered Post service starting September 1, 2025, bringing an end to a communication system that existed from the British Raj and served 10s of millions across the country. This move is part of a broader effort to modernise postal operations and consolidate services under the more advanced Speed Post system. With the harbinger of modernity this follows little more than 12 years ago when the telegram services was closed forever in India. July 15, 2013 was the last day a telegram was sent.

For years telegram was the harbinger of news - good, bad or ugly. First the good news, which was mostly related to birth of a child (mainly son, birth of a daughter unless she is the first child is rarely an occasion to celebrate back home as the expectation for a second child is invariably is a son if the first born is a daughter). Or a new job offers for which the Mailman (postman) was rewarded with LADDOOS (sweets) or monetary tips, occasionally both. 

Bad news was mostly related to sickness and death. Often dreaded for delivering news related to death, the telegram was already on its death bed in the age of emails, internets, social media, texts and smart phones. Unsurprisingly, finally it died its natural death. It took a dozen more years to close Registered post as electronic signature, web tracking and usage of Apps on smartphones have made physical signature redundant.

Once a Babu (the way a government servant is addressed in India) went out on an urgent trip. He instructed his orderly (a British legacy where the menial jobs of a Bureaucrat is handled by a low paid assistant) system send a telegram to his family members informing them about his unplanned jaunt. The faithful servant sent a telegram in Odia "BABU AJI MARI JAICHANTI" transliterated "Our master passed away today".

In fact the Babu went to a place called AJMER in Rajasthan. So a slight difference in the spelling of AJMER and AJI MARI (died today) played havoc in the family, the ill fated  recipients of the fated telegram. When the smiling Babu returned back home a few days later his family members were startled to see him as if they saw a ghost. 

I sent one telegram in my life to fake illness in order to get some leaves from my Govt service where I once worked for a short period of time. I was told to do so, as a telegram message then was the best proof of authenticity to use in the SARKARI world. RIP, Registered postal service. Even years after your death you will have enough of nostalgia tied to you to be dug out from your grave, same as your predecessor Telegram.

Water and Milkman mix well

 Most of our cities in India these days get their milk supplies from their local Cooperatives. In Odisha it is called OMFED (Odisha Milk Federation). It was not so during my growing up days back in India. We had to depend on our local GAUDA meaning "The Milkman", a caste or section of the society who are primarily milkmen - in the business of raising cattle, supplying and distribution of milk. Sometime it could be the GAUDUNI or the milkmaid.

Either way, there was no concept of getting 100% pure milk. If you are lucky you might get it in less adulterated form compared to others. Even the most honest milkman or milkmaid would mix some water. Like gold, the milk would never be 24 carat, its purity depending upon the person's degree of honest dilution.

Adjacent to the BJB Flats (now called Apartments in India as British legacy has changed to Pax Americana, so Flats are called Apartments these days in India) in Bhubaneswar where we used to live were the government quarters of the class IV employees. Most used their front yard to fruitful use - farming fruits, vegetables and kept cows in sheds in their backyard to supplement their income. 

I was 11 or 12 years old at that time. After finishing my regular gully cricket, my task every evening was to trudge a furlong to one such dingy residences to fetch our daily quota of milk. This particular Milkman was known to be well versed with our ancient scriptures. With an impressive voice he could readily recite couplets from BHAGABATA and PURANA from tip of his glib, loquacious tongue. Rumor had it, he was blessed by Lord Krishna, the Hindu God from his own caste and his black cow delivered the sweetest milk in the town.

 

My mother had immense faith in him, flattered by him addressing her as MAA (mother) and touching her feet most mornings when she would venture out to pluck flowers. He would tell her how privileged and fortunate was he to serve a SASAN Brahmin from Puri, regarded as the best among the Brahmins of Odisha. It was impossible for my simple mother to have an iota of doubt on the milkman of such impeccable, lily white character.

A pious man of such stature would never do the mundane act of diluting his well accrued good Karma by diluting the milk with water while he sold to his gullible customers. Even thinking on those lines would be a sacrilege. 

Or so we thought. One fine evening as usual I reached the cowshed, swinging the classic white, metallic cylindrical container by its thin metal string tied to the top. In the twilight hours inside his shadowy cowshed, in dimly lit lantern light our milkman showed me his empty bucket to me to remove any iota of doubt from my mind that it contains any water. He placed his bucket under the cow's udder and started milking. To the unsuspecting me, it still didn't go unnoticed that he was surreptitiously tilting his milk bucket and stealthily pouring water into it from a dirty LOTA (pot) hidden in a dark corner.

After I got back home, I narrated this to my mom who dismissed it as a figment of my imagination. A few days later I contacted fever and wasn't in a position to go, fetch milk. My uncle who substituted me also saw the same and almost got into a fist fight with the milkman, who never admitted of any wrongdoing and resorted to the usual GALUAMI (The Odia term for stubborn refusal to admit). His hypocrisy exposed, we eventually switched to another milkman. But this incident reminded me of what the American President Ronald Reagan said - "Trust but verify". I learnt it the hard way.

It explains the popular Odia idiom KETE PANI MISICHI (how much water is mixed) to ascertain the degree of manipulation made. It is best seen in gully cricket matches where at least 5% score is added by the scorer to the ultimate tally. If a team scores 100 runs, it could be actually 95 or even less.

Like milk a little bit of adulteration here and there never hurts. I have heard how tiny pebbles were ideal mix for rice, grinded brick granules for Chilli powder, dried Papaya seeds for Black pepper and so on. It probably explains why Gold is 22 carats.

#autobiography