Back in Georgia - India trip 2018

Back in Georgia to a cool 75 (21degree centigrade) afternoon. It felt odd not to hear a single vehicle honking on my 100 miles (160 km) road trip from Atlanta to Columbus. Miss the din and bustle, crowd and kickee...kickkee..kickee...of bikes yonking their way through - the ubiquitous jerk on the road and the bumpy rides, the roads being too smooth for comfort to my back. A person who has driven on roads of Odisha, driving anywhere else in world is piece of cake.

Already miss the murmuring of mosquitoes and brutally clapping them to death, the yodelling of mongrels in the middle of night. The cool and crispy Fall (Autumn) air of Georgia felt refreshingly fresh after spending hours inhaling the breath and fart filled stale air emitted by hundreds of passengers inside the flight. 

The 14 hour long flight from Doha to Atlanta seemed eternal and tiring when you are packed like sardines inside the Cattle Class, better known as the better sounding Economy class. Above 41,000 feet in the sky the KUMAR PURNIMA Full moon looked a whole lot bigger and brighter in the pollution free air - the rabbit inside the moon looked eager to jump out into the window seat I took.

The US President Ronald Reagan was known to doze off during conferences he attended abroad as he couldn't get sleep inside long flights. I also share the similar trait of not able to go beyond sporadic cat naps on long haul flights. My first working day post vacation awaits me when late in afternoon my chin is destined to drool and hit the space bar of my desktop keyboard.

Still drooling over my India trip. No black coffee or aspirin can assuage this post vacation hangover, only time will heal it. It did not went in vain. Travelled miles to achieve several milestones meeting my parents, friends and relatives, connecting to old friends and meeting new ones, ate a lot of local food with fun filled moment.

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. A la one's own fart smells sweet, as one tends to falls in love with own millieu. Love it or hate it, amidst all these there is a unique flavor of incredible India which one does not find elsewhere.

Yet the feeling of homecoming back to America is unique too. In a scene from B R Chopra's epic serial MAHABHARAT, during late 1980s just before the war starts, Duryodhan boasts in front of Bhishma that he has many warriors like Pitamah himself, Drona, Ashosthama, Karna, Dushashana and more on his side. Pitamah Bhishma, the wise one replied back - "They all still have to face Arjun, ARJUN PHIR BHI ARJUN HAI (after all Arjun is still Arjun), elucidating the fact that Arjun is still above the rest. Drawing a similar analogy, I conclude that while I have seen many great places on the surface of earth, but America is still America - standing tall above the rest. 

India trip 2018 - time to bid adieu

Biju Patnaik Conference Hall, Biju Patnaik University, Biju Patnaik Airport, Biju Patnaik Chhaka (cross roads), numerous Government schemes under Biju Patnaik's name and now talk about renaming the Kalinga Stadium as Biju Patnaik Stadium. Why not rename Odisha as "Biju Kingdom" as the fitting finale !!!

My stay of little less than 3 weeks was filled with fun and many fun filled anecdotes. A lady who I used to address as APA (elder sister) now insists on being addressed as DIDI (as they address elder sister in Hindi). "APA, NA KADALI CHOPA (Banana peel), MOTE DIDI DAAKE (call me Didi)" - she retorted back as I addressed her as APA. I got the message loud and clear. Ekta Kapoor's serials are ckearly having their effect. 

Another elderly gentleman whom I have been addressing as MAUSA since time immemorial now insists on being addressed as Uncle instead ever since he switched his attire from Lungi to Shorts. No issues. But the habit of scratching his private parts in public hasn't ceased - be it in Lungi or in Shorts.

When I loaded some Airtel minutes to my local mobile (as cellphones are called here), I was asked to speak out my phone no. Speaking "96688" as nine - six-six-eight-eight" is often frowned upon and not properly understood. You need to pronounce 66 as "Double 6", 88 as "double 8" and so on. Being out of touch with the milieu for a while, it took me a while to figure this out.

Quoting my friend Kulamani Babu,  eminent writer R K Laxman sited this reason for him to stay back in India when he had the option to settle abroad - "Where on earth you will find so many wide varieties of characters to write about !!!" He wasn't far from the truth. No place under sun can match India in the richness of flora, fauna, chaos and characters to write about. Often chaos and disorder brings the fun and frolic out of life rather than orderly tidiness.

Last Saturday when I visited the Modern Book Depot bookstore, they ran out of copies of couple of books I was looking for. The owner took my number and called me twice to let me know about those books back in stock. A very prompt and pleasing response by the store owner. The signs of arrogance I saw in him in the 1980s is now passe. It yet reinforces my view that competition is always good for the consumers, monopoly being equally bad.

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 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.

India trip 2018 - Day XIX

I concur with my friend JP Jagdev about the rise in the number of Puja Pandals in Bhubaneswar. In my honest opinion, it is just the reflection of rise in population of the city in recent years. However, a city of nascent immigrants it lacks the soul and spirit of Cuttack where the Puja celebration is centuries old - much part and parcel of the city's cultural ethos.

DASHAHARA and the day before were complete chaos on the roads of Bhubaneswar, especially near the Puja Pandals. People were spiritual as well in high spirits gripped by Puja fever. The silver lining amidst the chaotic traffic in Ravi Talkies CHHAKA (square) yesterday were a bunch of young boys and girls supplementing the traffic police in both crowd and traffic control. Hats off to these youngsters wearing "Student Traffic Controller" T-shirts, cajoling the recalcitrant traffic offenders to follow the rules.

I saw a middle aged man trying to push his way through the already clogged Ravi Talkies junction Pushing GALLUs (transliteration of Gallu Peliba in Odia, meaning stubbornly defending one's own mistake), yelling "AMA RASTA AME AGA JIBUNA - this is our road, we go first". I felt irritated by the behavior of a middle aged guy, who had no shame breaking rules in front of kids old enough to be his children trying to set him straight. 

The guy should be shown the ubiquitous commercial on TV where the Bollywood actor Akshay Kumar sarcastically telling a man breaking traffic rule - YEH TUMHARA BAAP KA RASTA NAHI (This is not your dad's road). I wouldn't have minded at all if the police standing nearby gave the pillion driver a taste of the stick he was holding.

There is Perennial shortage of changes everywhere. If you purchase an amount of Rs.212 and hand the shopkeeper a 500 rupee note (Bill), you will be most likely asked to give and additional Rs.12 so that the shopkeeper can return you Rs.300, easier to return using 100 and 200 denominations. They complain that everyone carries a lot more 500 rupees notes than lower denominations, causing a scarcity in the market. Only big retailers and hotels don't have this problem. 

I went to the "Modern Book Depot", one of the oldest book stores located in Master Canteen. Once upon a time it used to be the only store in the city which carried varieties of books. The Pinocchio shaped long nosed owner who never used to give us any discount due to lack of competition is still there. But competition from online outlets like Amazon and Flipcart, Kindles, coupled with declining reading habits has got better of him. 

The much mellowed down man revealed to me, he gets pleased if the number of customers a day reaches double figure. He complained - "EBE MU EKA EKA BASI MASA MARUCHI, Now a days I am killing mosquitoes sitting alone", euphemism for being idle due to lousy business. It is the way it is. Can't blame him as we live in changing times where technology can be a double edged showed - bringing in new business opportunities driving out the old. More later...

India trip 2018 - Day XVIII

The coconut trees in our village are now heavily pregnant with fruit. Gone are the days when BAURIs (a schedule caste) from our village used to steal all the coconuts in the middle of night. Even a tragic incident leading of a man being killed when an attempted robbery went horribly wrong, the theft of coconuts never went down.

The acute poverty of 1970s and 80s, the main cause behind the rampant theft is now passe, so also the stealing of coconuts. Not that poverty has entirely vanished, but not too bad enough to take the risk of climbing up a tall coconut tree to pluck the large sized fruits incognito in the middle of night. 

But stealing of flowers from our front yard in Bhubaneswar has gone from bad to worst. The crooks bend over our wall, use crooked stick to pull the plants, do a quick plucking of flowers and move on to the next door. It was worst on the morning of DASHAHARA as most of the flowers were gone by dawn. Stealing neighbor's flower seems to be more appealing than stealing neighbor's spouse.

In one of my earlier India trips, one fine morning I saw a guy who just bended over our fence, stealthily grabbing flowers from our yard. Oblivious of my presence he looked left, right and let out a loud booming fart, creating ripples behind his LUNGI (Loincloth). When I deliberately coughed couple of times to announce my presence, he moved away with "Not I" look on his face without any sign of embarrassment.

After speaking to folks in our village I could figure out the rock solid support for NABINEE BABU (the way the present Chief Minister is addressed in colloquial Odia). "Our granaries are full of rice, NABINEE SARAKARA (Government) has built nice roads for us" - they heaped paeans of praise, using NABINEE BABU's name interchangeably with government. 

Rice is the staple food and source of carbohydrate for most Odias, especially the poorer section of the society. Indira Avas has provided them house to shelter their head. They don't care if the GDP goes from 7.2 to 7.8, but they do care to vote. Those who care about GDP and are virulent critics of the current state government, rarely vote. Politics is a matter of perception and NABINEE Babu has done an excellent job at image management - successfully juxtaposing his smiling face to the newly found social security of the rural poor. Sorry opposition parties of Odisha - you got some work to do. More later....

India trip 2018 - Day XVII

On my way back to Bhubaneswar from our ancestral village I passed a spot on the roadside, memories of which I will carry to grave. It was during one of my trips years ago shortly after I arrived in Bhubaneswar, I was pulled to visit Jagannath Temple in Puri on a special occasion. 

Severely jet lagged and constipated, I had ate a late lunch of MAHAPRASAD (The great offering) inside the Jagannath temple. The meal was a high fiber diet  consisting of concentrated DAALI (lentil), BESARA & MAHURA (Temple curry of variety of mixed veggies) and SAAGA (Leafy greens). 

It was late afternoon when we drove back home. My constipated stomach started gurgling as the high fibre content had its effect, now ready to burst itself out like the Hirakud Dam which can't hold any longer after a heavy monsoon downpour. The floodgates were ready to open any moment but I was confident that with about 20 miles or so to go, I can hold on.

Soon discovered that I was at the wrong place at wrong time. Wrong place - every minute countdown to those twenty miles seemed eternal, each miles passing looked like an hour. If Einstein ever went through this he could have replaced his simple explanation of his Theory of  Relativity by - "Time stops when the urge to shit doesn't stop".

Wrong time - My watch procalimed it was 4.30 PM in afternoon, that would be early morning in America. My body clock not yet used to Indian time was still US mode and hardly helped me by adding fuel to food, further triggering the bowel movement which was in no mood to relent.

I instructed the driver of the vehicle to stop at a relatively secluded spot, grabbed his Red GAMUCHA (loin cloth) and ran behind one of the bushes. I ran so fast that I could have beaten Ussain Bolt to a seconds behind me. As a sqatted, I found couple of mosquitoes sitting happily on my particular body part where I dare not slap. 

The Chinese philosopher's saying - "When a Mosquito seats on your Balls then you consider peace as an option". It also reminded me of a t reminded me of my teenage days when I was hit by a cricket ball down under. So rather than swatting them away or clapping them to death, I let the mosquitoes feast on my private part in public. I suddenly discovered myself as the most tolerant person on earth.

Meanwhile I attracted the attention of a stray dog sleeping nearby who gaped at me with a look filled with surprise and suspicion, giving me a scare for a moment. The mongrel now stood up, extending the legs looked up and yawned "Yeeeeeooooo", shook itself of dirt, scratched it's ears using its hind legs. 

Thankfully he decided not to chase me. He turned in a different direction and strolled away. Otherwise, what a sight it would have been !!! Me running through the paddy fields, chased by the canine, with the GAMUCHA slowly slipping away from my waist. If caught on video, it would gone viral with a million pus hit in no time.

Moments later I was back in the car, a much relieved and relaxed person after relieving myself. Nature's call can take you back to nature - exposing our helplessness. How helpless are we in front of nature. An innocuous meal of simple, vegetarian temple food almost made me shit in my pants. Nature is the world's best leveller. More later...

India trip 2018 Day - XVI

Puja is in air. It comes with its unique flavor - in the smell of JHUNA POWDER (sweet smelling powder which emits perfumed smoke used during worship), the sound of music blaring from pandals and the sight of huge idols of Goddess Durga on pedestal. Puja always puts me on a Time Machine, propelling me back to my growing up days and certain related events forever etched in memory.

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

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

I had no answer, but narrated to him my childhood experience when we used to religiously visit our ancestral village near Puri during Durga Puja vacation - the equivalence of Christmas break in US. The most awaited event would be the ASHTAMI (8th day) for the annual ritual of goat sacrifice. 

On that fateful day villagers would walk in droves to catch a glimpse of BODA HANA (Goat slaughter). The sacrificial BODA (a non-castrated male goat with a goatee and smelling horrible) destined for slaughter would be brought in and tied to a post. The priest would arrive chanting MANTRA (hymns) amidst the cacophony of the beating of GHANTA (large brass circular plates). A strongly built DHOBA (washerman) with twitched Walrus moustache would arrive on the scene, wiping off layers of sweat from his forehead. He would unleash a sharp sword glittering under the morning sun and with one massive blow detach the head of the goat from its body.

The goat's torso would meander a couple of feet before collapsing, with its still eyes still gaping at the crowd. The priest would collect its blood and offer it to the Goddess. Later the goat would be skinned and its meat divided equally among the villagers as PRASAD.

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

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

It was the day of Ashtami Puja (8th day worship) of Maa (Mother) Durga in our native village in Puri. We started early on a foggy morning which painted the  horizon white like a broad brush on a blue canvas. There was a nip in the air, as the sun broke through with its golden rays wiping off the fog as a wiper clears water droplets on the windshield of a car.

The drive on the 4 lane expressway towards Puri was impressive, but not the drivers who could be seen coming from the opposite direction in our lane. Unnecessary roadblocks by man made barriers set up by police and animals alike with gangs of cows, bulls and stray dogs strewn around were avoidable eye sores. Buildings & high rise apartments camouflaged under a misty morning gave way to green, lushy paddy fields surrounded by coconut plantations interspersed with tall palm trees. 

The smiling white KASHATANDI (lanky flowers on sand with a white broomlike top) waved at us through the mid morning haze. 

We travelled on a meandering Pucca (paved) road running parallel to a muddy BHARGABI which looked like a river of billion gallons of flowing Tea. Take a cup of water from the river, it can easily pass off as a good cup of tea with high cream content. We drove under huge archways of coconut groves, as banana and palm trees swayed and fluttered by the cool breeze. 

My reverie of watching canopies of Banyan, Ashwasta (Peepal), Neem, Debadaru, Mango, Jackfruits, Polanga, Bamboo trees hanging overhead on rural road was bluntly broken by the desperate honking by the person driving us to get pass through a maze of cattle, goats, sheeps and occasional pigs frequently coming in front of our vehicle from nowhere.

After a long time I got a glimpse of life in modern rural Odisha. Curious women peeped through their windows and the village urchins gaped at us. 

Soon we encountered greenish village ponds every other miles where Children were jumping on water while ladies bathing struggled to cover themselves as our vehicle passed by. The male bathers rubbed their backs and torso back and forth using bright red GAMUCHA (Mini loin cloth), still inside water as smartphones on the stone steps leading to water were blaring loud music. On the village outskirts, cows were strapped to tiny poles as a bull was inspecting them for insemination, confused for his pick as a male suitor in bovine SWAYAMBAR (An ancient practice in India when princesses were allowed to chose their groom).

All roads leading to my village lead to the conclusion that communication and technology has come a long way these days. I saw many cyclists and bikers in GAMUCHA and LUNGI, head tilted with a cell phone tucked between their chin and shoulder. The roads are now motorable and metallic, the edges of which provide a nice platform to squat and shit. Pigs with snorted lips hop around the edge, looking for their meal of faeces. I saw a guy relieving himself by road side with his smart phone on hand, his bottom barely an inch above a pyramid of shit. Incredible India - where smart phones are more than the number of toilets. 

We ate a sumptuous late lunch around 3 PM, very typical Puja lunch of Puri. The food of CHUNA MACHHA THUK THUKA (tiny fish curry), CHUNGUDI BESARA (locally sourced shrimp curry in mustard) cooked on wooden CHULA (burner) and served on banana leaves was heavenly bliss. On our way back home we crossed the Bhargabi river which since morning had transformed itself from flowing tea in the morning to meandering lava under a red setting sun. The sun looking bigger hid behind the trees and bushes, so also folks hid behind shrubs, some rubbing GUDAKHU (Red tobacco paste) inside mouth to trigger their bowel movement. 

We passed though hordes of cattle hurrying back as the cowherd frantically waved his bamboo stick to stay in a group - similar to the Airline crew playing martinate to cattle class passengers. At Sakhigopal we jumped on to the expressway to cruise our way back home. No more driving through narrow bazaars and buses stopping right in front of you with the lanky conductor hanging out of the door and shouting from top of his voice BHONSARA, BONSARA (for Bhubaneswar). More later...