Leaving Odisha - India trip January 2026

 I have been visiting Bhubaneswar every year post Covid since 2021, twice in the year 2024. Couple of things stood out to me, exponential growth in pollution and alcohol consumption. Since I flew out of India my cough, runny nose and throat irritation has suddenly become a thing of the past. I have a feeling it was the pollution and dust laden air of Bhubaneswar causing it. Throughout my stay the cloudless sky of the Capital city of Odisha looked gray not blue. The mid afternoon sun resembled incandescent bulb.

From my childhood I know the color of the sky is blue. For a Gen Z kid growing up in Delhi and Bhubaneswar, the capital of India and Odisha respectively, the color of the sky is gray. No sooner I arrived in Abu Dhabi than its morning sky looked bright and blue which I missed for almost 3 weeks. Normally you would expect otherwise in a city in the middle of a sand and dust filled desert.

Now coming to alcohol, it is available aplenty these days with most known foreign brands flooding the market to be consumed by the noveu riche Bhonsariya who of late have carved their niche with growing affordability. But alcohol juxtaposed with arrogance are on the rise, forming a deadly concoction. One evening after finishing my dinner at a well known hotel-cum-restaurant in the city I suddenly stumbled upon an old friend. At the hotel lobby he introduced me to a guy - "This is my friend Sambeet". His companion who was already heavily inebriated asked me in a slurry voice, "Where do you live ?" I replied, "In America". "Oh, I see. There must be one lakh (100,000) Odias in America" - he queried.

I found one lakh a gross overestimation of the population of Odias living in the USA and concluded it as a perfect calculation of a drunken mind. Before I could correct his unrealistic assessment he dropped another bombshell - "AMERICA RE JOU LAKHYE ODIA ACHHANTI SABU MO BA**A BA*LA" (All the Odias living in USA are my pubic hairs). In response I somehow blurted out "How could you count your pubic hairs so accurately and arrive at the exact figure of one lakh ?" I went a step further - "How do you manage to count and groom your 100,000 pubic hairs ! Do you count them by hand or use a machine, the kind uses by bank tellers to counter cash emitting a whirring sound" ?

He was too drunk to get my joke, but told me - "Hang on. I will see you around". He never came back. My friends were still laughing at my reply. No sooner I turned around than came a loud thud. I looked back to see our drunk friend fall down at the doorstep of the hotel lobby and farted loudly enough to be audible over a distance as his friends struggled to pull him up. Staggering a few feet, he suddenly leaned on a car close by and started vomited on the tyre, belching out BHAK..BHAK in waves as one of his friends poured a bottle of water on his head and then forced him into the back seat of a car.

On my way to the Airport while going over the Punama Gate overbridge which bridges my  locality to the Airport, making it only a 15-20 minute drive, not too bad by Bhubaneswar standard. I could see a lot of people in front of a podium loud blaring music. It was a Melody, a local lingo for Orchestra going on for the occasion of "Agi Purnima", a bonfire festival in Odisha to celebrate end of winter and the beginning of spring when the days start to get warmer but the night is still cool. The traffic slowed down for me to take a peek. The singer on the stage was apparently doing lip syncing in front of a boisterous crowd. I doubt many from the current generation of Odias would be remembering "Agijala" (bonfire) Purnima which has been mostly relegated to villages.

At Bhubaneswar Airport I found our Bhais (brothers) and Behens (sisters) occupying chairs near the boarding gate and blocking a seat next to them by placing handkerchief or bag on it for their spouses who leisurely roam around as if seats are their father's property. I removed one such bags from a chair and sat down on it. The lady next to me complained. I said - "You can't reserve a seat while others are standing".

Those who have traveled by bus in Odisha know this a classic way of reserving seats. Once while travelling to Dhenkanal by bus I waited for my turn and took my time to board. Once inside I saw some empty seats though many were still standing, reluctant to occupy those seats by the windows strewn with handkerchiefs. I nonchalantly swished away one of those "RUMALS" (handkerchief) from a cherished window seat and occupied it. After a few minutes here comes this guy leisurely strolling towards me munching a packet of peanuts (groundnuts), spilling the shells on the bus floor. He wasn't too pleased to see me occupying his side seat.

While bending down to pick up his Rumal he started accusing me of stealing his seat which he painstakingly reserved for himself by throwing that piece of cloth. I told him pointing to a Scooter parked outside "So you think by throwing your handkerchief on this vehicle you can claim it as your own" - trying to drive my point. I could hear muffled laughter from the surrounding co-passengers.
But the punchline was yet to come. Another guy sitting behind followed me in his typical Odia in Berhampuri accent "HA RE PUA, MO MAAIKINA MUNDARE RUMALU TA THOI KAHIBU TO MAIKINA TA MORA EKKA" - "Oh my son, you can put the handkerchief on my wife's head and claim my wife as your's only." Now the entire bus burst into laughter.

My deja vu recollection of the event was rudely interrupted when the boarding call was announced for my flight for Zone 3 and the rest were told to seat until their turn arrives. There were 3 lines (queues) clustered around i
like the Triveni Sangam of Ganga, Yamuna and Saraswati in front of the gate. Inside the flight I had a Mosquito as my co-passenger getting a free ride, swarming around. I also noticed Wheel chairs being abused, folks looking perfectly healthy using it.

My flight to Delhi landed at Terminal 2 close to midnight. I quickly grabbed my luggages from the carousel and took a walk to the international Terminal 3 pushing my trolley in a cold, foggy night with low visibility. The immigration and security check was shoo in, thanks to a pretty tall, pretty pretty girl from the Airline who goaded me through the security gate. During our walk together we had a bit of tete-a-tete. She had a mixed view of her employer. Originally from Gorakhpur, UP she lives an hour from the Airport and does night shift from midnight till 10 AM. Every day she travels by a bus designated for the Airport which picks her up close to home. After the security check in I told her to wait until I put my belt on - "Without the belt my trousers could go down. Don't want to stand wearing my boxers in front of hundreds of passengers in the middle of an Airport". She laughed at my joke covering her mouth with her palm.

From inside of the full flight I could see the Full moon close by, the rabbit inside it looked eager to jump into my lap. The 30 hour long journey including the in between flight stoppage time seemed eternal. I finally reached home tired and jet lagged. My first day at work wasn't too bad except late in afternoon when my chin started to drool and hit the space bar of computer keyboard. Still drooling over my India trip. No black coffee or aspirin can assuage post vacation hangover, only time will heal it. My trip didn't go in vain. Travelled miles to achieve several milestones meeting family and friends, connected with old friends and met new ones, ate a lot of local food with fun filled moments, last but the least managed to get my first book see the light of the day.

Reminds me of Kamal Hasan from the movie PUSHPAK who while staying in a posh hotel could not sleep as he missed the sights and sounds of his locality, where his deep rooted roots lied. The pleasure of staying amongst your own is unparallel. One always tends to fall in love with own millieu. Love it or hate it, amidst all these there is a unique flavor of incredible India which you do not find elsewhere. Thus concluds my travel blog to India. More next time...

Day XIV and XV - India trip January 2026

 A Math question for today. The first few lines of an Odia duet number I overheard in a Barber's shop (saloon) in Bhubaneswar.

Boy - TO SEXY SEXY ANTA DEKHI
          MO DIL FIDA HELA.
(Looking at your sexy waistline,
My heart is super fine).

Girl -  TO STRONG STRONG BODY DEKHI
          MO NAZAR LAKHI GALA.
(Looking at your strong body,
My eyes were fixated on it steady)

Calculate how many English, Hindi and Odia words are there in this so called Odia song loaded with tons of vulgarity. It is high time for the legendary Odia singers Akshay Mohanty, Chitta Jena, Prafulla Kar et all to take rebirth to save Odia music from adulteration, cataclysmic alteration and eventual extinction. When I told the saloon owner to switch to another song, his reply was - "Folks prefer to listen such songs these days". I am a middle aged expatriate. Who cares for my opinion here anyway !

This isn't the sole example. At a local sweet shop I saw a purely Odia looking girl talking in pure Odia with someone on phone suddenly taking a pause and asking another pure Odia shop owner - "BHAYA JARA JALEBI DENA" (Brother, give me some Jalebi). Bhai has become Bhaya and Jilapi has turned into Jalebi. Dhantera has replaced the festival of Akshay Trutiya. We are now celebrating Lori. To those who imbibe North Indian culture I have a question, how many North Indians will celebrate Raja or Kumar Purnima !

North Indian invasion is not just limited to festivals. Nani and Apaa have become Didi. Bhinei has become fashionable Jiju and so on. A lady who I used to address as APAA (elder sister) for decades insists on being addressed as DIDI (as they address elder sister in Hindi). "APAA, NA KADALI CHOPAA (Banana peel), MOTE DIDI DAAKE (call me Didi)" - she retorted back. I got the message loud and clear. Ekta Kapoor's serials clearly had their effect. First time I heard the word "bro" was in Hollywood movies and after coming to America. Now bros are roaming rampant in Bhubaneswar, many address one another with "Hi bro".

For someone from current generation of middle class in Bhubaneswar being closer to Hindi and English sounds "Hef" (the word used for being cool here). The Forest Park dwellers, Netflix and Amazon Prime watchers are one step ahead of them in "Hef" category, as they chew "Phew, Oops, Shit" in English - for them Hindi is so passe as English rich slangs are more fashionable


The barber at local saloon gave me a close shave, followed by haircut and application of color to my hair. He continued chatting while clipping my hair. Hailing from Bhanjanar and speaking with a Southern Odisha accent, he told me that there aren't lot of opportunities back home. Here in Bhonsara he lives in a rented house close to the Saloon and makes enough money to send to his folks in Bhanjanagar. He went on - "In my village there are many unemployed youth who don't do anything and sit idle at home. When I go there they demand a BHATA-MANSA (Rice and Goat meat curry) party from me. At the same time they burn with jealousy for those who have gone out of village and make a decent "ROJAGARA" (income). Bloody double headed snakes". With such stories rampant here, he made his point.

On Saturday I went to the Toshali Literature Festival which featured the release of my first book "Architects of Odisha - a NRI's prospective", a compilation of my selected blogs on Odisha, its achievers, culture and traditions. The program commenced on time. Many accomplished writers and poets were on stage, speaking from the podium. Some speeches were short, witty and eye-catching, others dour and long winded which gave me an excuse to step out to view the farmhouse named "The Ranch" located in Mangalpur, about 10 miles from Bhubaneswar on the National Highway to Puti. The place had a lot of flora consisting of dwarf Mango trees filled with nascent bloom, short Papaya, Coconut trees which didn't look native to me. The cool breeze and chirping of birds outside sounded much more soothing.

My book was released on time just before the noon tea break, followed by some photo ups. Excitement would be an understatement. I was super thrilled on the release of my first ever book. It was followed by another session of addresses and discussions followed by a very homely lunch. On the last throes of my India trip I was glad to able to get my book published and released. I returned back home late in the afternoon.

What's the similarities between a vacation, a consulting assignment and life ? All have a start date and an end date. Like all good things in life a vacation has to come to an end. Before vacation one is rejuvenated and filled with energy. Towards the end of the trip one is jaded, somewhat depressed. There is always an inherently internal wish you had a few more days to spent. Three, four or five weeks, however long you stay in India it is never enough.

In the wee hours of the trip it's always the endless cycle of last minute shopping, meeting friends and relatives, run errands, packing, weighing, repacking and re-weighing of luggages.  Now the time has arrived to bid adieu to my motherland. Good Bye India. See you later...

Day XII and XIII India trip January 2026

 The day following Republic day was Tuesday. On that day there was a strike called by the Unionized Public Sector Bank demanding a 5 day work week. It is no coincidence that this was perfectly timed to make a 4 day long weekend a 5 day one. Anyway, I went to withdraw money from the local branch of Kotak Mahindra Bank, a private bank located closer to our home at Lewis Road. I own an NRE account in that bank.

The Bank opens at 10 AM. I was there at 10.30 AM to encash a check. The girl at the money transaction desk was away. I was told "MADAM BREAKFAST KARIBAKU JAICHANTI (ma'am has gone to eat breakfast)" and was instructed to seat in front of her chair until she is back. It took ma'am 20 more minutes to get back to her desk. She burped a bit indicating a fulfilling breakfast, slid her chair to make space to take her seat, sipping couple of sips from her green color plastic water bottle. I passed on my check to her for verification. She looked at the check's front and back, put a "x" sign behind it and pushed it back to me - "ETHI SIGN KARANTU (Please sign here). She kept clicking into the computer with her right hand as she yawned covering her mouth with her left hand.

I asked her - "Why the shutter at the bank entrance is half down ?" She replied back - "That's a precautionary measure to prevent the public sector banking folks from barging in and creating nuisance, forcing us to support their strike by closing our bank". I said - "But why the shutter is half down ? Is it to prevent big, burly guys from entering into the bank and only less threatening Liliputs would be allowed to get in ?" She laughed at my joke, covering her mouth and responded - "Sir, not long ago we had folks from the Government Bank Union forcibly enter into our bank threatening to do "BHANGA RUZA" (vandalism). We had a close call. I am so scared of their GOONDA GIRI (rowdiness) and concerned about my safety today". She again pushed back the check to me and told me that being the holder of an NRE account I need to check the box mentioning the purpose of withdrawal. I did the needful. She passed on the check to the next counter where the girl sitting inside an enclosure handed me the cash without looking at me as she was talking to someone on her cellphone, clinging to it well tucked between her left ear & shoulder. I left the bank safe with cash on hand.

The next day was Bharat Bandh (Close India) strike called by Farmers Union and supported Opposition parties. I had to cancel some of my programs in morning as I was told that traveling on the main roads could be hassle. Though the impact of Bandh was minimal, I didn't take any chances. At the fag end of my trip din't want to travel in a vehicle and be stoned. Fasting and Bandh as protests are so passe. Those are from a bygone era and shouldn't have any place in 21st century. It's such a wastage of time, money and productivity. Sad every party, including BJP, so called a party with a difference do it.

In the evening accompanied by a friend made a trip to the 64 Yogini Temple on the outskirts of Bhubaneswar near Hirapur village. The temple was surrounded by huge mango trees harboring tons of sprouting brown colored "BAULA" (Mango flowers) and at least a dozen monkeys, big ones jumping around, mama monkeys carrying their babies perched on their back. Most of the visitors to the temple were from outside Odisha, speaking in Hindi and Telugu (same I noticed when at Lingaraj temple, not far from where I live).

It was "GODHULI" (twilight zone) time as we drove past on a dusty road with the red setting sun looking like the an ultra-large "Sindoor" of an old woman in the smog. After reaching the picturesque confluence of the rivers of Daya and Bhargavi, I took pictures of birds circling over, flying back to their nest after a long day. My native village near Puri is located on the banks of the tributary Bhargavi before it flows into the Chilika lagoon.

My reverie was bluntly disturbed by smell of wet shit wafting into my nostrils. Turned around to see couple of urchins relieving themselves by the "BARAKOLI" (Jujube) bush with smartphones in hand, their bottoms barely an inch above pyramids of shit. They felt shy,  looked the other way and so also I. A swarm of mosquitoes spiraled out of the cesspool of water looking like mini tornadoes forming in the smog, spreading through, a la time Draculas baying for blood. 

It was getting dark as my friend and I left the place. On the river bridge we saw fishermen selling fresh catch of "POHALA" fish and tiny shrimps from the river under street light equipped with the modernity of cell phone and "Phone Pe". India is a paradox, a land of contradiction where richness and poverty, modernity and backwardness all thrive together side by side. I slapped myself to get rid of a mosquito sitting on my cheek and the dimmed red hot son slid below the distance horizon to mark the end of the day. I tied the helmet to my head and rode the pillion back home. More later...

Day X and XI - India trip January 2026

 In order to catch the early morning flight to Bhubaneswar via Hyderabad leaving Dabolim Airport of Goa at 7.30 AM, I had to get up early at 4 O'clock in the morning and get ready. It was pitch dark when us, about a dozen friends boarded the van to the Airport. As India has only one time zone sun rises at 4.30 AM in the eastern state of Assam, where in Goa which is on the West coast of India it doesn't dawn before 7.30 AM. It felt like middle of night in Goa in the wee hours of the morning. Considering its size, India should ideally have 2 time zones.

For us who had only carry on hand luggages to carry and no bag to check-in, we moved straight to the security counter as we already did our online check-in. The security at Dabolim Airport in Goa was shoo-in. But it wasn't so at the security gate in Hyderabad Airport where transiting passengers were transfering/connecting to various airports in India. Sunday morning, the next day being a Monday and national holiday there were too many passengers in the queue (line) waiting for their turn to go through the security.

The place was too crowded for my comfort. Some one shouted that his flight was about to leave, slid down one of the straps separating the parallel lines to get ahead in queue. Commotion followed as some passengers snuck through that narrow opening as many in the back shouting at the perpetrators of this uncivilized act. But the flood gate already opened, people poured in like waves across a ruptured dam which would have put DALEI GHAI (the legendary embankment on river Mahanadi known to burst during monsoon flooding) to shame. 

A lady security staff arrived on scene and tried to keep the crowd under control by putting back the strap in place. I was but a mute yet amused spectator to this saga which didn't end there. As I pulled out the tray to put my hand bag, belt, phone etc to be X-rayed, some one tried to sneak in his tray ahead of me. I politely asked him to go back in line. He dithered a bit. But no sooner he looked around and saw a security personnel staring at him, he fell in line. I remembered Khushwant Singh once mentioned on his column - "We Indians respect rod more than logic". Couldn't understand why there weren't more staff to handle the security on a long weekend at a major Airport of India. As I climbed the escalator towards the boarding gates, I could hear the sound of another bout of verbiage directed at some one cutting the line which slowly faded away due Doppler's effect we read in Physics as the escalator moved upstairs.

Today's saga reminded me of an incident narrated by Bollywood actor Raja Murad who was once traveling in an upper class of an international flight in the very early stages in his career. Traveling with him was Rajkumar, an established actor at that time. Someone passed on a message to Raja Murad that folks traveling in the Economy Class were interested to get a glimpse of their favorite star Rajkumar who after some persuasion agreed to come to the economy class to meet his admirers. After the meet and greet was over on his way back to his Business/First Class area Rajkumar told Raja Murad in his inimitable style - "JAANI, TUM KAHAN MUJHE DHARAAVI LE AYE" - "My dear, you have brought me to Dharaavi". It was a condescending remark alluding the economy class, also called cattle class to Dharaavi, a famous slum in Bombay, the biggest in Asia. After watching the episode at the Hyderabad Airport security I am convinced that folks in Dharaavi or Salia Sahi slum of Bhubaneswar are a civilized lot.

It was already past 10 AM as it took us close to an hour to come out of security. Famished as we hadn't eaten since last night, some of us hit the lounge area to eat breakfast. It consisted of myriads Indian dishes like Dosa, Vada, Idli, Sambar etc and a veritable spread of Continental cuisine like cereal, bread, eggs, chicken sausages, baked beans, washed down by Masala Tea, watery juice and Coffee. Food and caffeine rejuvenated our tired souls.

The flight to Bhubaneswar was full with more than a dozen of my friends and classmates on board for company. As the aircraft descended over the mid-afternoon Bhonsar you would expect to see a bright, sunny blue sky. From the window seat I had a smoky and dusty view with the sun looking like a dimmed incandescent bulb. It seemed as if some one lit millions of "Agarbati" (incense sticks) in the city, thanks to heavy dust and pollution, most of it created by city's residents. No sooner I reached home than took a short nap to ameliorate my body & spirit and recharge my battery. The long day is yet to be over as a long evening awaits me to get ready for a social event. More later...

Day IX - India trip 2026

The residents of Goa mostly speak Konkani. It was interesting to know that there are two variations of Konkani - the regular Konkani spoken en masse and the Catholic Konkani which has a heavy Portuguese influence tinged with its own grammar.

After a good night sleep, I followed up with a heavy breakfast taking full advantage of the buffet spread with a varieties of Indian items like Dosa, Idli, Upma as well as the regular spread of continental dishes like fruits, cereals, bread, egg, sausages, potato wedges and so on. In Odia we have a saying "AME ODIA LOKE MAGENA MILILE RALA AAU GARAM PICHU HAPUDI PAKEIBU", meaning "We Odias can slurp hot coal tar or black pitch used to make road surface, as long as it is given to us free". Being a true Odia, I helped myself well at the breakfast buffet of all free items.

We traveled by bus to Nandanvan Spice Farm in Kodar, about 30-40 minutes drive from the resort. A guided tour of the Spice plantation was followed by lunch. The plantation looked dark and deep, the foliage kept environment cool at middle of the day when temperature hit 90°F (32°C). The soil was still damp from irrigated by sprinkler earlier that morning. When I queried the tour guide about the dry environment outside the plantation, she said - "You should visit Goa during the monsoon season between June and September. It doesn't rain here, it simply pours. Rest of the year it stays predominantly dry in Goa".

Being a nature lover, its flora and fauna, I saw a Resin producing plant from which "Jhuna", a product when lit produces smoke used during Puja (worshipping). I saw plants of cashew, betel nut, bay leave, turmeric, green ilaichi (cardamom), nutmeg, clove, cinnamon and last but not the least, black pepper, called the black gold during the medieval time of history. The Portuguese discovered it in India and found the Goa weather most suitable for its plantation. Black pepper plant is a climber which goes around tall trees. I saw one climbing on a betel nut tree, its nascent green fruit sprouting on both sides of the stem a la beads on the long braid of a tribal girl. Our girl guide told us that come April, these green fruit will turn red, the tiny round shaped pepper inside becomes dark in color, ready to be harvested as black pepper. The Europeans preferred black pepper to the chillies because unlike chilli pepper which gives instant heat, the heat from black pepper is milder with a distinct flavor which takes time to bring out the heat, titillating the taste bud.

Mid afternoon after a quick lunch at the Spice farm it was time to head to Benaulim beach, known for its various Water sports activities. Many took part in fancied jet skiing, paragliding etc. I stuck to a ten seater boat ride about a mile into the sea from coast. It was fun with all the salty water flashing all over your body. Yet I would consider the beach between Puri and Chandrabhaga in Odisha better with its golden white sand and rolling waves. However the Goa beach was lot cleaner. Unlike the Puri beach which is strewn in litters and at shit at places where you can hurt your feet if you walk barefoot, the Goa beach hardly had any debris. The coast guards were patrolling to chastise any recalcitrant tourists trying to break rules.

After returning back to hotel and freshening up, it was time to hit Joecons Beach Shack Benaulim right on the beachfront, sipping Bahama breeze cocktail on a breezy evening. As a fitting finale to the reunion, we had our last supper accompanied by live band and karaoke with Arabian sea roaring in the background. I loved Serradura on supper manu, a local sweet dish of Portuguese origin which I ate for the first time.

It was a lovely evening filled with nostalgia, the last one before our departure. We all agreed "ZINDAGI NA MILEGA DOBARAA", such life will not come again. Earlier that evening our friends went to the beach to enjoy the sunset. Sun might have set over the British empire, but Sun never sets over our friendship. God bless the REC 90 batch. More later...

Day VIII - India trip 2026

 After catching cold it was my turn to catch the morning flight to Hyderabad on my way to Goa to attend a College reunion on the occasion of the 35th Anniversary of passing out from NIT (them REC), Rourkela. Engineered for fun, I reached the Airport around 7.30 AM in the morning, standing in line for my id and boarding pass to be checked by the security in order to get into the Airport (unlike in USA where you can straight walk to the check in counter, in India there is an additional layer of security to get inside the airport. Only bonafide passengers and airport staff are allowed inside Airport).

Suddenly a young girl proudly cut the line going ahead of me in line, barging in front of me sliding her pink colored hand luggage. I promptly protested - "You are cutting the line ma'am". Rather than sending a polite apology or its milder version sorry, or even remaining quite, he retorted back - "I didn't see you". Irritated, I replied - "What do you mean by not seeing me standing ahead of me in queue ? Are you blind" ? "Oh, you don't have to be so rude". I replied back - "I don't have to, but I have". She twitched her cheek, gave me a sneer and melted into the crowd already reeking with passengers travelling on a long weekend (Friday, January 23 is a holiday here due to Saraswati Puja, Monday, January 26 is holiday as the Republic day).

This is my first trip in India where I was not taking a direct flight to my destination, rather transferring/connecting through Hyderabad en route to the final destination Goa. First time at Hyderabad Airport, found it swankier compared to Bhubaneswar Airport. There were a lot of stores, restaurants around the boarding gates. Restrooms were clean. (Like a dog I peed at the Airport to leave my mark at Hyderabad before catching my Airplane to Goa).

It was my initial thought that cutting line was limited to Bhubaneswar only. The same happening during the security check of passengers at Hyderabad Airport transferring to the connecting gates. Folks were trying to sneak in between to snatch the trays to put their bags, belts, electronic items on them and put them ahead of you. I politely asked one guy not to cut ahead of me. He gave me "didn't har you" kind of look. But when a 6 feeter CISF personnel with a Walrus moustache standing nearby warned the passengers, every one fell in line. More than my polite request, a cop's high pitched voice was heard loud and clear by co-passengers.

It was middle of afternoon when my flight from Hyderabad landed at the Dabolim Airport in South Goa. OLA and Uber Cabs aren't available in Goa, thanks to the locally Unionized Cab association. The pre-paid Taxi looked so seventies, with worn out seat and dusty interior. No wonder lack of competition and options impacts quality and breeds inefficiency. The taxis are Goa Airport best vindicated this fact. The old car with a struggling Airconditioning trudged its way to Sarovar Sea Breeze Fatrade Resort in Varca area of South Goa, maneuvering through the narrow lanes and bylaness.

I took a peek outside to look around the hilly terrains filled with a labyrinth of old style houses. The milieu of Goa looks like a sophisticated version of Puri, minus the filth. I saw signs of "Garibi" (poverty), but hardly any "Gandgi" (trash). The afternoon flow of vehicles was orderly, no zigzag traffic, hardly any honking of horn, bulls. I saw fewer pariah dogs on road compared to Bhubaneswar. Locals looked dark, short and stout but all smiling. Didn't see any female in Saree attire, they wore western dress, long flowing scott.

The houses were made up of concrete with red tiled rooftops, had big walls, tall iron gates protecting the protruding TAGARA, MANDARA (hibiscus) flowing trees, Mango trees filled with BAULA (sprouting blossoms), guava, coconut and betel nut trees ladden with construction dust. Not a single wall had any lover's public proclamation of eternal love - "Harry loves Sally" or " Harish loves Savita". Didn't see any stacks of shit, nor anybody peeing or squatting by roadside. Only difference, in Goa you see as many churches as you see temples in Puri or Bhubaneswar.

It was a heartfelt moment filled with nostalgic memories to be greeted by a banner proudly proclaiming the Reunion of 1990 batch Rengcolian (as NIT, or old REC Rourkela guys are called). Meeting many after years, some after passing out from the college 35 years ago, I noticed that all of us have gracefully aged, more graying and receding hairlines. Excited by meeting each other after a long hiatus, few of us went an extra yard at the hotel lobby hopping towards each other like a triple jumper athlete with spring on their feel to embrace each other,

Done with meet and greet, it was sun set time and time for us to gather at the resort lobby to travel to Ouzo Delmar Banquet Varca beach in South Goa where Goan dance show plus music plus karaoke plus gala dinner with drinks awaited us. Bar, Beach and Barbecue in Goa is incomplete without shaking legs. Us Rengcolians on the wrong side of their 50s and arguably in the last throes, we are without any argument the best dancers on earth. For many of us, it was the last occasion to swing and tweak our hips and legs as a group before arthritis takes over.

Goa is a foodie's paradise, especially those who love seafood. The are known for excellent Sea Food preparation. Fish is called "Machhi" which sounds more like Makhee (flies), rather than Machhli is Suddh Hindi. They speak a sweet Konkani mixed Hindi. It was close to midnight when I dragged by tired torso, but high on spirit to my hotel room. I had a pretty long eventful day and slept through the night till 7 O'clock in morning. After exactly a week my jet lag was over. More later...

Day VI and VII in Bhubaneswar

 Managed to catch a cold. Got up this morning to sore throat, cough, body ache and a slight running temperature. It seems a combination of Virus, dust and pollution probably took their toll on and control over my body. Soon I had this odd feeling of my throat getting sore and starting to itch more. By noontime I could sense coming down with something. Post lunch I sneezed couple of times as my nostrils started to get warmer and wetter, as my breathing was beginning to get heavier, giving it a burning sensation. The spine, knees and slowly my entire body started aching badly.

Sipped a "Kadda Chai" (strong tea) boiled with a liberal dosage of ginger slices and black pepper. It certainly was soothing to my aching throat and shrugged off my jaded nerves. But the relief was temporary as the symptoms came back again, a la a drunk uncle who you don't want to be at your family function, yet you can't stop him from coming.

Fortunately I didn't have a whole lot of items in my to do list. Feeling weak and tired took an afternoon siesta. By evening I was feeling lousy and drank stronger tea. My voice sounds like our legendary singer Saigal". My wife told me sarcastically - "To me it sounds more like the course croak of a Bull Frog on a rainy summer night".

After a frugal lunch of hot Chinese soup, it felt a lot better. Hot and spicy food feel so soothingly titillating to my numbed taste bud.
Read somewhere that Viruses hate Alcohol. However, didn't try any. Continued to lie on bed like a horizontal version of Sri Chaitanya Mahaprabhu, the legendary medieval time  preacher in Odisha and Bengal during the Bhakti movement.

Common cold can be very irritating. Medical science which has grown leaps and bounds, is yet to discover a cure for it. Only it's duration can be minimized with plenty of fluids and rest. If you take medicine it will last a week.


Took this opportunity to catch up with news back home in United States tuning in to CNN The local Odia channels, gave me more headaches than the cold virus. During the  Odia news the screen flashes in English BREAKING NEWS. They can very well transliterate it as BHANGA KHABARA (broken news), from the way the Odia anchors and newsreaders speak in needless accented Broken Odia. I have seen "Breaking news" like DURDANTA APARADHI CHAKULI GIRAF (Notorious criminal named CHAKULI has been arrested). And more, NAKALI GUTHKA COMPANY UPARE POLICE RA CHADHAU  (police raid on fake chewing tobacco company).

As if not enough, came across a few more terms or phrases. CHUTIA BANEILA (Chutia Banaya) -  Made an ass of me. MAHANGA PADILA  (Mehnga Pada) - Prove costly.
KANA KHECHUDI PAKUCHI (Kya Khichdi Pakta hai) - What's cooking? May Lord Jagannath save my mother tongue. Either it is enriching itself by liberally accepting the influx from other languages. Or, it's destined towards oblivion, which seems like the most likely outcome.

Day IV and V in Bhubaneswar - India trip January 2026

Life in Bhubaneswar goes at a slow pace but time passes fast. Before I realized already 5 days from my vacation are over, and before I realize my entire vacation will be over just like the twinkling of an eye. So it's better to make the best out of it.

Sunday as usual is a holiday here, and Bhubaneswar being the capital city harboring multiple government offices with salaried class people saw relatively less crowded on its roads as today was a government holiday here. It was a cool, Sunday morning with a light wind blowing the dust around. The tree leaves on foliage were desperately trying to shrug off the dust by swaying to the wind. Slowly the wind started to taper and winding up. I accompanied a group of friends for a walk inside the Forest Park. The holiday morning traffic seemed a walk in the park. The floor of the park was filled with few broken twigs and leaves lying amidst layers of dust. There were plenty of "Baul and Krushnachuda" trees inside the park. The mango trees in nascent bloom were adorned with "Baula" (mango flowers) looking like star studded mini Christmas trees protruding out of the dusty, green leaves. Patches of greenish yellow flowers sprinkled all over the walking trail.

The Park was crowded with walkers and a few joggers trying to outrun each other. The walking crowd consisted of folks from all walks, fitting perfectly to the local profile of highly disproportionate figures - slim hands and legs with protruding bellies with muffler wrapped heads looking like Eskimos. Some were seen frantically scanning their smartphones while huffing and puffing ahead, taking a break to text before resuming their walk. A few taller and fitter guys were around, taking longer laps among the dust laden trees.

Completing 5 rounds in the park helped me ameliorate the guilty pleasure of my gluttony. Forest park is a commendable place surrounded by tons of greenery supplying fresh oxygen. The Park gets crowded between 7 to 9 AM, hence if you are looking for plenty of elbow space and privacy during that time, it may not be the perfect place. Otherwise much recommended park for a walk.

Centuries ago Bhubaneswar was the center of Saivaites, unlike many back in those days who were Vaisnavites. There was a division amongst the Saivites and Vaisnavites. Even the kings fought with each other based upon their allegiance to two prominent Hindu Gods. Bhubaneswar is full of temples of Lord Shiva, at least a dozen within couple of miles radius from my house - the most prominent being the Lingaraj temple built by Lalatendu Keshari.

Next morning, I took a slow walk to the local Sukhmeswar temple, barely 500 feet from our house. The temple had more than its usual share of devotees today Sombaar (Monday) with Bhakts (devotees) making a beeline to enter into the narrow entrance of the temple, touching the feet of the Bull, the carrier of Lord Shiva lying near the entrance. I finished my "Darshan" (beholding of the diety) and started by walk home after ringing the temple bell. Suddenly rang a bell of this episode from one of my prior trips.

Before walking to the temple I drank Tea, followed by Amul Lassi and couple of glasses of PAIDA (young coconut) water freshly plucked from one of the Coconut trees in our backyard. While on my way back from temple I realised my bladder was about to burst as I won't be able to hold on to it much longer. As there was still some distance to be covered (distance is a relative term and not just a number when you walk with controlling nature's call when meters seem to be miles), I thought it would be prudent for me to open the valve midway.

Frantically looking for a spot with privacy, I found a suitable peeing spot by roadside. It was a dry spot near a wet wall, heavily stained by betel leaf saliva and more heavily stenched by rivulets of urine mixed with red saliva. Couple of guys joined me on both sides of me inspecting the site for a location. The guy on my right looked up into the sky while relieving himself. I turned my head to the left and smiled at the other. He reciprocated by smiling back at me, exposing his phalanx of 32 of his dark, betel stained teeth.

We all shook ourselves off the residual droplets, lifted and tightened our pants and bid each other an unspoken good bye. It is another feeling of the pleasure of relieving oneself under open, blue sky, something I rarely do these days. A la a doggie I managed to leave my scent behind, may be back one day to reuse the spot. It is the best way to recycle these wall urinals lurking around the smart city. No place to wash hands, I knew it will be a few minutes before I reach home to do so - sincerely wishing of not getting an opportunity to shake hands with someone. Feeling completely light and relieved, I started trudging my way back towards home.

Soon my wish was to be belied. On my way back, I saw a familiar face, a neighborhood Mausa (Uncle) rushing towards me - "HAIYO KEBE FOREIGN RU ASILA. KETE DINA ACHHA" - "Hey when did you come from abroad (Foreign in Odia is the term used here to denote a nation outside India, especially Western Countries). How long are you staying", extending his hands for a warm welcome handshake. I did a "Namaskar" to him, thinking there won't be a need for any handshake. But he insisted on shaking my hands. So, reluctantly I took my hand forward, squinting my nose, hesitantly extending my right hand towards him. The smiling person at the other side shook his hands we me enthusiastically for a good few seconds.

Post handshake, he rolled his hands over his lip and chins, making me squint and raise my nose further. Hope someone recorded this handshake moment, it could very well get million plus hits on YouTube a la the greatest handshakes in history - Chamberlain with Hitler, Nixon with Chairman Mao, Ronald Reagan vs Mikhail Gorbachev and so on. Glad I didn't meet any more Mr. Fortunates on my way to shake hands with. More later...

Day II and III in Bhubaneswar - India trip January 2026

 I don't use toilet papers here in Bhubaneswar. Be Roman in Rome. As toilet paper is to Subway sandwich, cold water is to Indian hot and spicy food, absolutely ablutionary and soothing.

A NRI (Non Resident Indian) visiting India once went shopping for Toilet paper. The store was out of it. Retorted the furious NRI, "What kind of store you have, you don't carry a necessity item like Toilet Paper ?" "Sorry Sir" - the storekeeper responded politely. We don't have toilet paper but we have plenty of Sand papers. TIKE ADJUST KARANTU ("Please adjust a little bit)". In many instances it simply means, please squeeze in more than 5 people in a seat made for 3 persons inside a car or any mode of public transport. Or a polite way of saying, "Bear the inconvenience".

Made a trip to "Sarasa Sisira Mela 2026" at the local Exhibition ground. I was told to go around 3 PM in the afternoon to beat the crowd. Though there weren't a whole lot of folks over there, but the haphazard and disorganized onlookers made the venue look crowded.

OLA and UBER cab services are arguably the best thing to happen to the city in recent time. Just book them using your Smartphone App, you can see the cabs rolling in on the screen, doing on-screen somersaults before showing up at your doorsteps in minutes.

The other day I took an UBER cab. As usual I never lose an opportunity to chat, even if that person is a stranger. Sitting next to him I started a tete-a-tete with the driver. Bit stiff initially, he slowly loosened up and boasted that he can slice his way fast through the clogged roads of Bhubaneswar, adept at it as fish is to water. He was planning to drive on till midnight that day and on long term until he goes over the hills over the wheels.

A late migrant from the district of Mayurbhanj to Bhubaneswar, like many job seekers from the hinterland of Odisha he came to capital city, his city of neon lights and opportunity. He landed up as a driver for UBEREY (Uber pronounced in Odia accent) after having a stint spending few years in its competitor company OLA. He shared a small room in a squalor along with 2 other OLA - UBER drivers with an unattached mosquito infested toilet located outside. Every month he sends money to his family in Mayurbhanj. I asked him - "Why don't you go back to your village" ? He replied with a sigh, tired from a long day of stressful drive - "There is hardly any opportunities here. Here I am much better off having a job and save some money to feed mouths back home". The man made his point.

He also shared his frustrations of handling occasional fastidious, recalcitrant passengers, last minute cancellations et all. Like many he dreaded trips to Cuttack, for it's a challenge for him to drive in the labyrinth of lanes of the old city which prides itself on its 52 Bazaars and 53 Streets (BAUN BAZAAR, TEPAN GALI). He detested his customers of Silver City whom he found to be much more obnoxious and less rule abiding compared to those he encountered in Bhubaneswar.

I asked him - "How can you simply generalize like that" ? He continued - "Trust me, you haven't seen Cuttack". He was right. Though Cuttack is our neighboring city, I haven visited it no more than half a dozen times in my life. He went further - "The traffic in the new Capital city of Bhonsar is a walk in the park compared to Odisha's Old Capital city of Cuttack". I chuckled back and told him - "I certainly see how every rule abiding Bhubaneswariya makes his or own road rules on daily basis. Cuttackias can't be any worse".
My ride was over the fare of Rs.160. I gave him a Rs.200 bill (called note here). He reached out to his dashboard for changes. I gestured him to keep the change. During our earlier conversation I raised his curiosity. Now I got his attention to give me a closer look in the street lamp struggling to lighten the darkness.

A la those who come to America rarely go back to their home country, those who once arrive in Odisha's capital rarely leave the city. The Bhubaneswar I grew up with has changed leaps and bounds over the years. Not everyone is happy about the immigrants, especially Bulu (a common nickname among Odias), the owner of a locally popular "Bara" Dokan (shop), a fast food stall barely 100 feet from our home. A proud, original inhabitant of Bhubaneswar he detests all outsiders.

The crowd outside his small kiosk vindicates his popularity. Odias love "Bara". Many don't get a bowel movement if they don't eat Bara for breakfast. Though tasty and okay for occasional consumption, it is unhealthy and produces a lot of gas. No wonder many Odias suffer from gastro-intestinal ailments. People of all sorts cluster around Bulu's Bara Dokan (kiosk). Those from the upper middle class and the nouveau riche of our locality send their domestic help to procure their breakfast. Many on their way to work stop by at this stall for an express breakfast consisting of half a dozen Bara soaked in Ghuguni washed down with hot tea.

All sorts of topics are discussed here. From the cold, bland ones like current weather condition to hot and spicy political gossips as hot and spicy as the simmering Bara dollops getting fried in hot oil. As Bulu the Chef moved around the dollops of "Bara" swirling and wobbling on the surface of boiling oil using his jumbo sized spatula, he exclaimed in an excited voice - "SALAA SABU GAON RU UTHI ASI KAHIBE AME BHONSARA RE RAHIBU" - All those brothers of the sisters I have seduced (SALAA means wife's brother, but in local lingo its usage suggests the speaker is the seducer of the sister of whom so ever concerned). They have come out of their villages with the desire to live in Bhonsara (Bhubaneswar). "RAJADHANI PANI, TANKU ANUCHI TANI - the water of capital city is luring them into it".

Bulu continued further - these folks used to live in squalors in their native villages got no civic sense. They come and live in GOLAM NAGARI (Slave city, ascribed to the rapidly developing portion of the city by those natives who pride themselves as the original city citi-gens), live like POKA - JOKA (insects and leeaches) in illegally constructed buildings. SALE SABU CHIPI HEI MARANTU (Let those guys whose sisters I seduce get trampled and perish).

The tea and snack stall owner Bulu made his point loud and clear. He prides being the true blue blooded boy of Bhonsara, born in Kapileswar, one of the native villages constituting Old town, the real Bhubaneswar. But he is sad, feeling helpless, unable to evict the rusty, arrogant immigrants from his city. Least he can do to change the course of time other than whine about it.

Few years ago during one of my earlier visits, I was watching "Baras" slowly starting to turn light brown from the spotless white dough made out of the soaked grams (lentils). It will take a few more minutes before they get ready. Bulu's unabashed character assassination of the new immigrants continued unabated as my takeout order of Bara was getting ready. Soon the discussion shifted to a spicier topic of someone's teenage daughter from the locality eloping with a smart boy who used to kill line (LINE MARUTHILA) that girl. I looked outside the small kiosk as a big gray bull dumped a fresh mound of shit only a few feet away from me as I could overhear more bullshit discussions going on behind me, akin to the bullshit which I peddle on Facebook on a daily basis.

I picked up my PARSALA order (the carry out or "to go" order is called PARSALA here, the way parcel is spoken in Onglish, i.e., Odia accented English). My order of a dozen of hot Bara costing me only Rs.36 (40 cents) was ready for pickup. A tasty family breakfast for 40 cents, fresh out of wooden clay oven - can't beat it. As he sprinkled some black salt over the dozen pieces of dark brown colored Bara in a THUNGA (Paper packet) along with couple of green chillies and handed over to me, Bulu delivered his final message - "AGYA BHONSARA RE AU RAHI HABANI - Bhubaneswar has become unlivable for us. Glad that you emigrated abroad". It was deja vu for me. He is not the only one who complains about Bhubaneswar, but hardly any one leaves the city. I haven't too, for like one's first love Bhubaneswar still remains close to my heart. More later..

Day I in Bhubaneswar - India trip January 2026

First night after the arrival from traveling across the globe can be painful. A stubborn jet lag can be a real pain in the butt. My body clock simply refuses to relinquish the US Time Zone as I woke up at 2 A.M. in morning. Jet lag for me now seems to get too stubborn to relent as I age. It feels miserable to get up so early in morning, without being able to sleep any further. Kishore Kumar's song from Rajesh Khanna's movie AAP KI KASAM - KARWATE BADALTE RAHE SAARI RAAT HUM (turning sides on bed for whole night) never sounded more prophetic. 

We have installed net across the windows to prevent the mosquitos from getting in and an "All Out" brand repellant in the room in an effort to keep most of them away. But if you think that they are too less in number and too small in size to make an impact, try going to bed with a mosquito in the room. No more than a couple in number, they still kept bothered me as I battled them in darkness to clap them to death.

Thanks to the internet, Facebook and my addiction to blogging, I kept myself busy until the murmurung of mosquito gave way to the tom tomimg of GHANTA (brass plate) from a nearby MATH (monastery) sounded like music to me, more musical than the sporadic KAWALIs (group music) from stray dogs. No sooner the gang of musical mongrels on the Eastern end of the street finished with a seqience of wooo.. wooo..woof.. than their western side competitive cousins responded with their musical version of wooo.. wooo...woof. The Kawali sessions continued for the better part of the night with intermittent 10 - 15 minutes of break.

The long arduous wait in darkness paved way to dawn. The eastern sky grew brighter, turning crimson red as the light slowly drove away the darkness. By now the early rays of morning sun sprinkled the trees with a golden hue, giving their dust covered leaves a shining copper coating. It hasn't rained for a long time in Bhubaneswar, the sporadic winter rains are missing. Lack of precipitation and lot of constructions has converted the temple city into a dusty bowl. The chirping of birds turned louder, so also the sound of GHANTA from the nearby Monastery - sounding the beginning of morning prayer session. Wafted in a Bengali Bhakti (devotional) song through the dust laden mango, jackfruit, coconut and betel nut trees. I could grasp the following stanza - 

JASHODA JANANI DAE, 
BAL KRESHTO KHAE RE.
SONAR NUPUR BAJE,
HARI JENE JAE RE. 

Roughly transliterated... 

Mother Yashoda gives,
Kid Krishna to eat.
Golden anklet makes sounds,
Wherever God goes around. 

I went over to the balcony to take a peek at the outside world. A Bull was placidly chewing cud under a big mound of sand nearly. Couple of mongrels sleeping nearby noticed the tectonic shift in their surrounding as the giant bovine stood up suddenly, shrugging off sand from his body. The doggies shifted further off to a nearby semi-broken concrete culvert, apparently perceived by them as a more secured, safer location. 
One of the dark skinned parish dogs whom we lovingly called "Kaalu" tried to sniff his way near to a man plucking flowers leaning over the nearby fence only to be shooed away - HEY HEY JA JA (Hey, hey, go away). The doggie nonchalantly walked away. From distance approached Newspaperwalla (guy). He swung and threw the paper past our main gate with immaculate accuracy and moved on to the next house.

You must have heard about Sand mafia, Land mafia etc. Have you heard of Flower mafia ? They come at wee hours of the morning, steal flowers from the frontyard gardens and sell them off to the larger market segment. My senior citizen father can hardly do anything to stop them. A very moving morning after my first night's nap in Bhubaneswar.

A jet lag can be an irritant, a nuisance especially for those plying between India and United States. The long journey can put one's body clock out of whack, which varies from individuals who experience little or no jet lag, to those who have to make a trip to the Doctor's office for medication when their jet lag stubbornly refuses to relent. Eventually most get over it. For me it lasts for 3-5 days, now more on the later side as I get older.

Here are a few tips on how to minimize the jet lag. This is hardly scientific, rather based purely upon personal experience. Try not to sleep during the day. Keep yourself busy, sip some caffeine, especially  during late afternoon when your eyelids refuse to stay open. The more you sleep during the day, the longer it takes your body to adapt to the new clock. Also don't forget to drink plenty of water and go easy on food. Don't splurge on fried foods and alcohol when you still have a jet lag, it can cause havoc to your system. 
Last but the least, time is the best healer. Let your body clock take its own sweet time to adjust. If it's already a week since you have landed and the jet lag refuses to go, better see a doctor. More later...

Arrival at Bhubaneswar - India trip 2026

 I was welcomed at the Bhubaneswar Biju Patnaik Airport by a cool and slightly foggy morning (not as bad as Delhi) with the Sun struggling to shine through a hazy hue. There were fewer people inside and outside the Airport, lesser din and bustle, less annoying honking of vehicles and haranguing touts (in local lingo TAUTARs). Old man winter probably drove them into hibernation.

No sooner I stepped out of the Airport, than I smiled at the gray sky and utterd "Good Morning Bhubaneswar", suddenly remembering the Hollywood actor Eddie Murphy in the movie "COMING TO AMERICA". Coming from America, I wished to replicate the same. In that scene from that movie, the actor's wish at top of his voice, "Good Morning my neighbors", is instantly returned by an equally prompt response " Hey, F...k you". Eddie Murphy returns with a smile "F...k You too". Glad no one responded to my Good morning wish at the Airport to reciprocate in kindness.

Everything inside the Airport glitters. But all that glitter isn't gold. There are 3 lanes in front of the Bhubaneswar Airport, lane 1 devoted to the VIPs, lane 2 used by lesser humans for regular airport drop offs and pick ups, lane 3  for the OLA, Uber vehicles booked via online. We are probably the only country on earth still clinging to this sick VIP culture, Odisha being in forefront. The whole place is swarming with scums, touts, unscrupulous elements with passengers having unpleasant experiences to share. Many people present at the Airport are neither passengers, airline or airport staffs. They have no business to be there. Yet they hang around the place creating nuisance.

On reaching home after a long journey of 30 hours spanning over 3 continents and 10 time zones, I badly needed a shit, shave, shower and sleep in my comfort zone of home. Inside the bathroom I turned the faucet on to brush my teeth. Prrrt.. Prrrt.. it farted twice before emitting a thin stream of water which slowly got thicker. The overhead shower wasn't working. So I put water inside a bucket and started pouring mugs after mugs on my head and torso. It was fun to take shower the old fashioned way after a long time and I loved every bit of it. Be Roman in Rome. Through bathroom skylight I could hear the tweeting spree by a bird tweeting "Tweetwoo tweetwoo.. tweetwoo...", with no restrictions on characters to tweet put by its social media counterpart Tweeter.

No sooner I finished eating my typical Puri style home made lunch than I lied down on bed tired after a long journey and jet lag, starting to doze off to the sound of the slow moving overhead fan as midday felt little warmer. On the branch of the nearby mango tree I could hear the coarse cawing of a crow interrupting sweet flute tone of the Cuckoo. It was interspersed with occasional spurts of passing by bikes honking - -"keee..kicky.....", big construction trucks making loud noise, followed by wafting  voices of street vendors - E JHADU NABA JHADU (Want to buy Broom), KAREI NABA KAREI (Want Utensils), E MUDHI MUDHI (Voices selling Puffed Rice).

Back of my mind I thought of avoiding a siesta so that I can better sleep in the night. In a supine pose on bed I started reading the local vernacular Odia newspaper "SAMBADA". Soon I could feel my eyelids refusing to stay open. Didn't realize when sleep overcame me until at twilight I had the deja vu feeling my mother's hand caressing me, waking me up - "Get up my son. Don't sleep any further. Save some sleep for tonight. You have lost weight. Aren't you eating enough these days". I got up, feeling the poor newspaper lying on my side, the smiling face of Odisha's Chief Minister Mohan Majhi on the cover page torn from the middle inadvertently by my elbow when I slumped on it, thanks to my tiring journey of 30 hours. Mom is up in heaven and she is the first thing I miss at home.

A mother's caressing hands on forehead and chest felt so soothing, something I longed for days and months. A mother's love is panacea for all ills. Though she equally loves all her children, she has a special affection for me being her only son and her first child born when she was still in her teens. With passing time her feelings towards me never wavered a bit.

All mothers are alike. Time and again she would ask me - "MO PUA (my son). You must be hungry. Have you eaten anything ?" though I have been munching all the time, trying to make best out from my finite stay. A mother's love for her child is always pure like the water from the mouth of a mountain spring - perennially pristine, unequivocally soothing, unwavering and unflinching. In her voice laced with care and caution, she instructed me to sip my evening cup of hot tea before it gets cold.

My reverie was rudely interrupted when I was served black pepper afternoon tea boiled in ginger. It shugged off my jaded nerves. It trigger me being overcome with a sudden desire to rush to the bathroom. It was 6 PM in India but 7.30 AM morning in America which expained the urge for a trip to toilet. I was reminded though currently in India, I left my biological clock back in USA. More later...

Flight to Bhubaneswar - India trip January 2026

 It was cold and smoky outside Delhi Airport when I stepped outside after managing to drag my 50 lb bag from the carousel amongst the melee of passengers crowding nearby and competing to outsmanoeuvre and outsmart one another to grab their bags. I would never ever risk wearing sandals or light shoes there, lest I want to lose a toe nail or worst a finger. It is not unusual for folks to bump on each other while collecting their gargantuan luggages, occasionally running over them with their trolley, especially on the feet of an absent minded or unsuspecting bystander.

A burst of cold fog welcomed me as I stooped out of the Terminal 3 of IGI Airport rolling my luggage filled trolley to Terminal 2, about a furlong walking distance amidst scores of folks standing outside wearing placards welcoming - Charanjit Sings, Neha Grewals, Vijay Ahujas from So and So Corp. We learnt in our Middle School Chemistry that Air is a mixture of invisible colorless and odorless gases. I could literally see and smell the heavily wet and foggy Delhi air which disproved the age old law of Chemistry. It seemed like pollution stilled the Delhi air as traffic stops at a red light.

While loitering inside the Terminal 2 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 MEHNGI PADTI HAI" (Trust on Boss and Samosa at Airport could be costly).

The Air India flight to Bhubaneswar which for years normally starts from from Domestic Terminal 3, was leaving from Terminal 2 this time. 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 4 in the morning. Another 3 hours of waiting 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 on another. Not long ago I could distinctly hear a guy passing by farting loudly, the sound fading away as he marched on, due to what we studied in Physics called sound's  Doppler effect.

As it neared the scheduled departure time of the Bhubaneswar bound flight, the sparcely populated area slowly started filling out. The fog outside forced the sun to take a break to rise above Delhi. A burst of wet fog engulfed me as I stepped into the bus to take me to the termac where my Air India Aircraft meant for my destination was hiding in the misty darkness. I could recognize the typical Odia crowd nearby from their looks, language and mannersism. We Odias have some great civic sense. In one of my earlier trips I saw a guy surreptitiously scratching his private part in public while waiting to board, grimacing with orgasmic pleasure moans 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 escaping from the clutches of dense fog to be welcomed by golden sun rays while slicing through 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. After 30 minutes in air I could see snow clad Himalayas glittering at a distance. What a lovely view it was !

Years ago I was flying alone to Bhubaneswar on a similar flight. A guy next to me was conspicuously reading The Economics Times. I asked him for his reason for travelling to Bhubaneswar. He said he is on a short trip to Odisha where he envisions future lies in Organic farming as a potential money spinner.

During the course of our conversation the amateur farmer in me asked him certain aspects of farming, which I expected this gentleman with an interest in agriculture to know. Apparently he seemed very novice on farming, sounding more like an investor on a hunt for big bucks and ready for the kill, not to nurture the nature. He was analogus to a soldier who had never set foot on the battle field, a city boy who had never grown a plant by himself. Our conversation turned out to big a damp squib.

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. 

I was reminded of this incident when the flight landed at Bhubaneswar close to lunch time, I heard a guy from the front row shouting to his wife to keep the mutton (goat meat) curry ready for his lunch. I quizzed him "Sir, you must be hungry". "Addressing an unknown as Sir on first meet usually impresses, even flatters the person). He responded "Yes, I am. I had been with Gujjus (Gujuratis) in Bombay on a business trip till Sunday. So no luck with meat in my meal. Followed Monday and Tuesday, (vegetarian day for many Oriyas). Today I desperately want to break free with a typical Odia style home cooked mutton curry". The hungry me rolled tongue over my lips as I swallowed a few sips of saliva while remembering this incident as the flight descended on Bhubaneswar.

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 announcing arrival. More later...

In Delhi - India trip January 2026

 At Abu Dhabi Airport sitting next to me was a guy who was writing, or rather texting in Arabic script from right to left. I knew that unlike most scripts in the world which are written from left to right, Arabic is written from right to left. It felt bit unusual and odd yet interesting when I actually saw some one actually type so fast from right to left.

Today on airplane to Delhi reminded me of another eventful flight to Delhi couple of years ago. Midway through flight 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 about shortness of breath. I immediately alerted the 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 "Saans" (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 of Indian origin 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 to English. explaining his problem. 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 Abu Dhabi to Delhi lasted little less than 3 hours, too short by international flight standard to be eventful. 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 3 O'clock in the morning, hazy, 5°C (close to 42° F) 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" to Mumbai, Oh' Calcutta to Kolkata, "Jay Jagannath" to Odisha,  Behn**od fits well to Delhi. It was a grandest of grand standing welcome to Delhi, Punjabi style. It is how the self proclaimed Dilwalle Dilli wale (Big Hearted Delhites) often greet each other. Reminded of a limerick alluding to office environment -

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".

The Terminal 3 of IGI Airport 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 have arrived on the scene and 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 the Father of our 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.

Since October last year, you can fill out the immigration form online called e-arrival card. I tried unsuccessfully multiple times 72 hours before travel. It seemed the server was down. Finally I was able to fill out the form before my departure. On the drop down menu on screen when you pick your state in India, it displays "Odisha" as "Orissa". Someone please tell the website developers to change it to Odisha. Such a silly oversight is an apparent step motherly treatment of the state by the Central government. It needs to be noted that we have a "double engine Sarkar" with BJP ruling both the center and state, and if Odisha didn't send 20 MPs to Parliament last time, today BJP would most probably be sitting in the opposition. I breezed through the immigration which was a shoo in for me.

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.

Last year at Delhi 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. This time I saw many like him. 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 had 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 then, but now sounds prophetic. I 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...

India trip January 2026 - Arrival at Abu Dhabi

 Travel opens up myriad frivolous chance encounter opportunities by throwing at us and delivering memorable tryst with human foibles. I am reminded of this funny incident at Heathrow 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 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 delays or any untoward incidents. The light cloud in the distance stratosphere in the sky appeared as if an artist painted white with a broad paint brush on a blue canvas. The late afternoon sun peeking through the clouds, exiting them to spread their golden wings. My Etihad Airlines flight to Abu Dhabi, UAE was on time on a relatively cool winter evening. I thought both the Airport and flight would be sparsely populated considering schools are open post winter break. But I was wrong. We were on a packed flight. With the ever growing expatriate population in US  my observation shouldn't come as surprise.

While waiting to board the aircraft, it was interesting to watch flights taking off and landing in quick succession at Atlanta's Airport, the busiest in the world. This being the peak hour, every couple of minutes an airliner lands or takes off from the ground. Flights lined up one after another in blue sky, their tail emissions forming a string of hazy pearls extending into the horizon, as they wait for their turns to land and take off. The Air Traffic controllers must be doing an amazing job. They are in a profession where error is not an option.

Remembered my school days while travelling in our DM School bus 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 passed by, we waited inside our school bus, enthusiastically counting the number of bogies. Now I don't have patience to watch flights landing and taking off every other minute, forget about counting them.

The flight to Abu Dhabi entered into calm sky as the sky turned from maroon to black as darkness descended. The night was young and short lived as only few hours layer it entered Atlantic past Greenland, the rising sun rose 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 as 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 as I am a frugal sleeper in flights. The short night evaporated as I could see glowing sunlight trying to dazzle through my window seat. I slid down the windows to doze off again 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 fired up by couple of cocktails, watched Liam Leeson fire shots in the farcical movie "NAKED GUN".  Unforunately the movie falls short of its original funny version from 1989 bearing the same name based on Frank Debin, Police Squad. Being a long flight in order to pass time between sporadic naps I looked down to view the snow capped Mont Blanc in the Southern Alps mountain range, emitting stars under the bright morning sun. Clusters of pretty bluish white clouds overlooked the aircraft as it flew over the blue star studded Mediterranean waters. The fleece of clouds would have made Mary of Little Lamb fame proud. The top view of the spotless cloud splintering away looked from the virgin sky a la scores of white furred lambs on move on a bluish - green pasture. It seemed I was looking at a gigantic milk shakes with white cream churned on top.

The day of January 14 seemed to fly fast as I flew eastward. Morning became afternoon, afternoon turned into evening as "Suryadev" (Sun God) was in a hurry to complete His journey. It was the middle of afternoon when the airplane glided over the brown Syrian desert and drab mountains before reaching the shore of Arabian gulf, getting closer to Abu Dhabi Airport piercing through a hazy, dusky desert sky. As the slowly descending gigantic bird lowered itself flying in a low altitude, I could see several light blue Oasis amidst golden sand dunes looking like a giant sand boa taking sunbath under bright, sparkling sunlight. The gulf next to the Airport looked 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 a bubbling fountain with scores of spotless ships looking static from top, a la white rubies garnishing the blue sapphire. As the aircraft was barely few hundred feet above ground the palm trees on drab sand looked like gray black dots pores on a Native American's face on National Geographic Magazine. What looked romantic from far away, isn't so when you get closer to reality.
No wonder they say hill from looks beautiful.
Same you get closer, reality strikes back as familiary breeds contempt.
After a long flight of 14 hours from Atlanta I finally reached the Abu Dhabi Airport.

I decided to stretch my legs before catching my connecting flight to Delhi. Took some time to walk around the glittering Duty Free Shops doing window shopping. Apart from many Europeans and Asians, I saw a good number of Africans wearing long gowns roaming around. 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 and looking like Knights from Medieval era or  Ku Klux Klan members in black attire for a change. Covid virus won't dare penetrate their impregnable visors of these ladies in Burkha attire from tip to toe, as if a bunch of Penguins were let loose inside the airport.

Almost 3 hours flew fast as four more hours of flight time awaits me when I neared the boarding gate to catch my flight to New Delhi. No more Virgins were solicitated as an Air stewardess started calling names of the last minute passengers boarding. More later...

India trip January 2026 - leaving Georgia

 Jet, set and go. Leaving shortly on a short trip to India which is going to be a long travel spanning across seven seas, thirteen rivers spread through multiple continents. Few hours left before I leave and miles to go before I reach my final destination of Bhubaneswar, the city which grew as I grew up with it in the state of Odisha in India 🇮🇳.

This journey is going to be my 20th trip I have made so far to India from Coke Land in my almost 28 years of living in the United States, that means on an average less than every one and half years I travel to India. I am flying at a time when winter is at its peak in the United States but will be at its fag end in Odisha and spring at the doorsteps of my home back home.

Covid may be down but not completely out. I am fully equipped with the latest Covid shot and paraphernalia of masks to cover my face, in case I face this never ending menace which like that drunk uncle who you don't want to come to your family reunion, but shows up nevertheless. Not planning to do a whole lot of traveling, restricting myself only to Bhubaneswar, the city I grew up with and like one's first love is always close to heart.

A lot of times you don't have much of a choice when you embark on a long journey to India, out of work for 2-3 weeks which is considered long in the United States. However, luckily for me the weather at this time of the year is mostly salubrious in Odisha. I will be arriving a day after "MAKARA SANKRANTI", which is the harbinger of reversal in wind direction when balmy, southern wind gently pushes out the cold wave from North. Unlike the dog days of Indian summer, this time heat won't put a spanner on the wheels of my vacation.
Apart from cricket, arguably it's the weather which unites India, especially at this juncture which now is neither too hot, nor too cold except in North India.

Pre-Spring weather would be in the air of Bhubaneswar. The Mango trees all around would be sprouting their young BAULA (flowers) like little stars in the dark night sky or mini sparkling trinkets on tiny Christmas trees. The Jackfruit trees, plentiful in Odisha would be having tiny, green shoots of its fruit protruding out of its trunks and branches as prairie dogs in vast grasslands of American Midwest popping out of their holes to look around. Come summer, these runt fruits would turn gigantic, hanging like tummies of Sumo wrestlers from the tree trunks, producing aplenty as Bhubaneswar weather is most conducive for Jackfruits.

As the migratory birds fly South on their perfunctory trips during the winter, we NRIs flock homeland in the conducive winter months. People usually go out of there 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 attention you get. Even if I try not to, invariably I end up eating 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 for this short trip to be sweet 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. The other stuff I love are Cuttack Mixture, freshly baked Naans, numerous local Street foods, temple food and much more which I don't get here in the USA, even if we get it never tastes the same. This is also the time seasonal vegetables are to be savored as they come cheap, available in plenty in the prevailing cool weather.

I have made a solemn promise to stay away from Pizza, KFC, Subway, Burger King or McDonalds. I prefer freshly fried Street side Bara costing me 3 rupee a piece to a Rs.300 Burger at a Mall. I don't have plans to visit any Mall having seen the two biggest Malls in America - the Mall of Minneapolis and King of Prussia Mall in Philadelphia. I firmly believe in be Roman in Rome, eat Indian in India. Keeping fingers crossed for a nuisance free trip. Dear Motherland, here I come.