RIP Raj Kishore Sasmal

 I knew Rajkishore Sasmal before joining REC (Now NIT) Rourkela in 1986 where we studied Engineering together. Both of us were from Bhubaneswar, then a sleepy township of salaried folks, when every one knew the other person in the city. One year senior to me, he was one of my father's favorite students in BJB College who taught Physics to him. A smart, brilliant student, very well behaved, soft spoken and mild mannered boy, he was loved by all teachers including my father, a trait he carried into his student life in REC, Rourkela.

Though we addressed most of our Seniors in REC with their first name followed by "Bhai", I addressed him as "Sasmal Bhai" due to his unique last(sur) name. When I arrived on a sultry August afternoon at REC, Rourkela we were greeted by a bunch of seniors looking to rag freshmen, like red meat placed in front on salivating carnivores. Suddenly I saw a tall guy bending in front of my father - "Namaskar Sir. I will make sure that Sambeet is least impacted by ragging". I instantly recognized him from his voice and exclaimed - "Sasmal Bhai, how are you". He hadn't changed much since I last saw him in Bhubaneswar, except he built some muscles in the meantime, thanks to a well equipped REC Gym. Sasmal Bhai quietly called me to a corner - "Let me tell you. Don't show your exuberance and never behave smart in public and attract attention of seniors. Pretend to be a dumb guy. It will keep you unnoticed and certainly help you escape from any brutal ragging". I followed his advice which definitely helped.

During our REC college days Sasmal Bhai was seen as a very dynamic person carrying his massive figure and personality who could be seen everywhere - in Back post, at Kresto's tea kiosk, College canteen, AV Hall, Drama competition, Spring Fest and many more. A good organizer, he was the Cultural Secretary of their batch, a coveted position to hold those days. He was an excellent team player. One winter day in late 1988 we crossed the sands of the dry "Brahmani" river to have a picnic in "Jhirpani" in the outskirts of Rourkela, followed by a feast of real time cooked Rice, Goat meat and salad. Sasmal Bhai not only arranged every thing for us, he let us enjoy while he guided the cooks, served us the food close to dusk while being the last person to eat. His action earned our respect.

In November 1989 while he was employed at TISCO he came to our hostel in REC to invite his juniors including me to his marriage. While handing me the card, he wanted me to take the lead in gathering a team to attend his marriage followed by the reception. I would have loved to, but with Exams around the corner, neither I could arrange a team nor make it to the occasion.

Last time we met was in November 2003 at the Bhubaneswar Airport. Though I saw him after more than a decade, he could instantly recognize me. Over the years he had gained some weight and developed a paunch. But his voice was soft and polite as ever. We chatted for few minutes while I waited for my luggage to arrive from the last day and he waiting for his mother coming back from Bangalore. During our tete-a-tete he adored my father who taught Physics at BJB College for a long time. Sasmal Bhai was tutored by him and told me how much he idolized my father for his inimitable and impeccable style of teaching. He admitted that my father's communication skills and style of expression and explanation of principles of physics and problem solving skills left an indelible mark in him. I was immensely flattered.

I never met him after that, but continued to keep hearing about him from our common friends. It saddened me a lot when I heard about him passing away to the other world. It saddened me more to see a young, talented man leave so early. I am reminded of Rajesh Khanna from the movie "Anand" - "ZINDAGI BADI HONI CHAHIYE, LAMBI NAHO" (Life needs to be lived King size, doesn't have to be long). He sure lived his life. RIP Sasmal Bhai. Om 🕉 Shanti.

Tribute to Fakir Mohan Senapati - A legend of Odisha

 If he wasn't born in Odisha on this day of January 13, 1843 we Odias would be reading and speaking Bengali today. Fakir Mohan Senapati, a legend of Odisha was way ahead of his time. He was a writer, patriot, social reformer and a shrewd strategist rolled into one, who fought for the survival of Odia language which at one point of time was on verge of extinction.

Had he not been there, in all probability Bengali would have taken over Odia as the medium of teaching in the state where Odia is the mother tongue of the overwhelming majority. Many eminent, powerful Bengalis at the helm of affairs those days living in Cuttack led by one Anandilal Mitra made this fallacious proclamation - "ODIA EKTA SWATANTRA VASA NAYE, "Odia is not an independent language". 

Fakir Mohan fought tooth and nail, lobbied hard against this wrong notion. He strategized in order to achieve the goal of saving Odia from total annihilation. First he started an printing press in Odia and published several books in his mother tongue. Odia survived as an language, thanks to his efforts and the likes of Sri Gourishankar Ray and Utkal Gouraba (The Pride of Odisha) Sri Madhusudan Das and the Das duo of Utkalamani (Jewel of Odisha) Sri Gopabandhu Das and Pandit Nilakantha Das.

Fakir Mohan's life was a sad saga of personal tragedies and struggle. Born in the district of Balasore, he lost his parents at an early age. In abject poverty he worked as a laborer to finance and further his childhood education. A lanky man of small frame he suffered from multiple ailments. Tragedies struck him one after another as he lost his wife, remarried and lost his wife again. He went through bouts of alcoholism in order to cover up his frustrations with  life.

He did several odd jobs to make a living - doing business is sea salt, working as an accountant and being DEWAAN (Prime Minister) of Vassals and Zamindaars (Landowners). Though never financially secure, it didn't stop him from writing some brilliant short stories - from serious ones like REBATI where a girl child's education was blamed for cholera deaths in her family to funny ones like PATENT MEDICINE, the story of a perpetually drunk man. This play was later immortalized by its musical version made by the multi-talented Akhshay Mohanty. Personally I was impressed by his short story DHULIA BABA (The Sand Shrouded Saint). In that epic story the writer has exposed the duplicacy of a BHANDA BABA (fake mendicant).

 

Fakir Mohan realized that Odia language can only be taken to the next level by popularizing and expanding its literature through various publications. His friend Gourishankar Ray published an Odia magazine named UTKAL DIPIKA (The Lamp of Odisha) for the first time on August 4, 1866. They left no stones unturned by reporting the failure of British administration to prevent and contain the great famine of 1865-66 when millions died from starvation.

Mr. Senapati irrespective of being weak and having a weakness for alcohol lived 75 years at a time when average human longevity was less than half of that. He loved Brandy and had a good number of English friends who supplied him with Foreign brands - a luxury those days. On one cold winter evening of 1866, when  he was 23 years old, there was a hot discussion amongst drinking buddies inside the exclusive Station Club of Cuttack. They were pulling legs of E. J. Barton, the Assistant Collector of Khurda who was accused by a local woman of fathering her daughter. It was the outcome of an affair of an Englishman with a native girl in an age without contraceptives. 

The folks believed her, for the newborn baby was looking like an English girl with her sparkling blue eyes and reddish white skin - a genetic trait nowhere close to the generally dark complexioned local men. A Khurda man's progeny can't be a blue eyed boy and an English child. The case was eventually dismissed due to lack of evidence at a time when DNA test was strictly fantasy and the British were in power.

This news about the blue eyed girl came like a bolt from the blue on that blue, starry evening at the Club as gossip filled tongues kept wagging about the spicy incident in the milieu amongst the bland, mundane life of the government officials. The English ladies giggled and bitched about the hot news as hot as their piping hot afternoon tea. This news was picked up by Utkal Dipika and was arguably the first tabloid scoop by an Odia magazine which certainly helped increase its circulation. Nothing much has changed 150 years down the road. Spicy gossips still persist and sell well.

Fakir Mohan was smart and witty. While working as Dewan in Keonjhar he was kept under house arrest by mutineers. He was closely monitored, not allowed any communication to the outside world. He wrote a letter to one of his close friend - "Dear Bholanath Khamaria. Send me 100 betel and 100 betel nuts. Irrigate the sugarcane fields by watering from North. Otherwise, you will lose the entire field of crop".

The letter looked too innocuous to raise any kind of suspicion. His captors duly sent it to the intended addressee. Needless to say betel was the code name for guns and nuts for bullets. The instruction was to attack from the north, lest the sugarcane field (the palace) will be destroyed. The recipient decoded wily Fakir Mohan's note and soon sent armed soldiers to rescue him.

Sad that the name a statesman of great stature now languishes in the dustbins of history, restricted only to a Government College in Balasore named after him and few stamps released on his 175th birth anniversary. Hardly anyone remembers him these days. My thousands salute and tribute to the man for his service to the state of Odisha on his 182nd Birthday.

 

  

Lal Bahadur Shastri

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

If Lal Bahadur Sastri did not die the fateful day on January 11, 1966, exactly 58 years ago, Rahul Gandhi would most likely be a mid level manager in some private company, only to boast about his great grand father being the first Prime Minister of India and great Grandma being a Central Minister, instead of being the CEO and Scion of Congress Party Inc. Only difference, the CEO of a company is accountable to its shareholders, whereas Rahul Gandhi is accountable to none.

Lal Bahadur Sastri was a diminutive man with a towering personality. A charismatic person whose personal integrity was beyond question. He resigned as Railway minister taking responsibility for a train crash, something inconceivable these days.

During his one and half years of being at the helm of affairs, he could capture imagination of millions of Indians. 

Thinking him as weak, Pakistan attacked India in 1965, soon to be resoundingly rebuffed. His slogan of the time JAI JAWAN, JAI KISAAN (Hail Soldiers, Hail Farmers) swiftly yielded results in form of yield by farmers which was enough to wipe out India's perennial grain shortage and in the form of motivating soldiers who gave a befitting response to our attacking western neighbor by reaching the outskirts of the city of Lahore. It raised him to the zenith of popularity which unfortunately didn't last long due to his untimely and controversial death on January 11, 1966.

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

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

Phir Bhi Dil Hai Hindustani

Today was the Day 1 of the "Pravasi Bharatiya Divas" (Non Resident Indians Day) at Bhubaneswar, Odisha, an annual jamboree held with a lot of fanfare. Mark Twain, the great American writer famously said - "It is easy to quit smoking as I have quit it 100 times." Same can be attributed to the Non Resident Indians (NRI) who have been promising to go back to India for several decades and still doing it. It is easier for me to go back to India as I have gone back 100 times.

But NRIs, much maligned, often butt of jokes and criticisms, referred to as Non Returning Indians, Non Required Indians, Non Responsive Indians etc have prospered as a community abroad while staying away from their motherland. NRIs in general and NROs (Non Resident Odias) in particular have made their share of vital contributions by giving back to their motherland. Technically many, including me who live overseas aren't NRIs, having relinquished their Indian Passports for long time by taking Citizenships of other countries, permanently settling down in their new homelands.

In United States where I have settled down for good, the Indian Americans are only next to the Chinese immigrants in number and prosperity. It includes a sizable Odia diaspora present in ubiquitous larger number in numerous cities and Metros, excelling in multiple fields like Science and Technology, Medicine, R&D and various businesses. Nicknamed as DESI by their own, the NRI community have carved their niche. (Mostly Persons of Indian origin use this term Desi among themselves, often in a deregatory way. Mainstream Americans are mostly unaware of the term. Though I have this uncanny ability to laugh at myself, during my inititial days I was uncomfortable being called a Desi, a term generally used to denote pariah dog back home in Odisha).

Though NRIs based in US, Canda and Europe get a lot of attention, the largest number of them are present in Africa and Gulf countries. NRI bashing is quite common, they being outrightly branded as unpatriotic, selfish deserters of their motherland. Their kids are called ABCD (America Born Confused Desi).

Not that all NRIs are great, but generalizations can go horribly wrong. Most of them carry India's brand name in America, Canada, Europe, Africa, Australia, Singapore, Gulf and so on. They remit valuable foreign exchange to their motherland, invest money in business and entrepreneurship contributing to the growth of Indian economy, generating employment in hundreds of thousands. They are not only a major driving force behind the state economies, they handsomely contribute towards charity. Kerala's economy will be in dire straits if remittance from Gulf will stop. My own state back home Odisha may not be in the same state like Kerala, but there is a spurt in NRI investment in the recent past and it is in upswing.

In the aftermath of the Kargil war many NRIs, sarcastically described as Non Responsive Indians, responded spectacularly by wholeheartedly making handsome donations towards the Kargil funds set up for martyrs who died fighting while securing our border. I was one among them and was able to contribute more since I was earning much more in America than I was in India. Did not my ability to contribute a higher amount being a NRI benefited the families of our heroes ? It dispels the myth that NRIs don't contribute to their country of birth.

The Chinese government has succeeded in utilizing the potential of their diaspora living abroad by ably supporting and encouraging them to make major investment in their economy. Our Indian government is slowly realizing this and catching up, though still years behind their Chinese and South Korean counterparts. Yet it is never too late to harness the potential of our powerful NRI community.

Based on my tete a tate with commoners in India I have observed that many have this notion of NRIs (Non Resident Indians) sleep on stashes made from wards of money and dollars grow as fruits on plants in backyard. That is not necessary true in every case. I am just a regular middle class guy who makes just enough to pay his bills. I wish TANKA MO GACHHA RE FALANTA (Money would sprout on the tree in my yard). Regardless, always happy in my heart to make my share of contributions to India and Odisha.

Here is something on a lighter vain. A NRI visiting India once went shopping for toilet paper. The store was out of it. Said the furious NRI - What kind of store you have, you don't carry a necessity item like Toilet Paper ? "Sorry Sir", the storekeeper replied politely. We don't have toilet paper but we have plenty of Sand papers. TIKE ADJUST KARANTU or THODA ADJUCT KIJIYE ("Please adjust a little bit)".

I am now reminded of this song from Raj Kapoor's movie "Awaara" -

MERA JOOTA HAI JAPANI,
PATLOON ENGLISTHANI,
SAR PE LAL TOPI RUSSI,
PHIR BHI DIL HAI HINDUSTANI,

Roughly transliterated...

"My shoes are from Japan,
My trousers from England,
The cap on my head is Russian,
Still my heart is Indian".

So, for us all NRIs, "Phir Bhi Dil Hai Hindustani" - Yet our heart is Indian.

Happy birthday Irfaan Khan

 Irfaan Khan, the versatile, talented actor of many Bollywood and Hollywood movies and one of my favorites  succumbed to his battle with cancer in the year 2020. He was only 53, a tragic young age to go. A brilliant actor, he had acted in Hollywood movies too.

I am reminded of his movie "PAAN SINGH TOMAR" where he has done a commendable role playing the leading character Paan Singh - a class IV drop out from the Badlands of Chambal, who joins the Army, where his passion for running is recognized by his Superiors. 

Yes, Indian Army in 1950s was part of a system which was was fair, honest and efficient at a time only a few years after independence. We then still retained the old school of ethics inherited from the English (Corruption hardly existed during British days, but slowly crept in when we owned our own nation - a concern by Gandhijee to Home Minister Sardar Patel moments before his assassination).

In this movie Paan Singh's talent was recognized by his Sardar (Sikh) senior in Army as he makes him run for arriving late during the perfunctory military drills. A la Forrest Gump from the iconic Hollywood movie, he never stopped running. Soon he crashed into limelight when he broke the National record in Steeplechase at the 23rd National Athletics meet held in Cuttack, Odisha in the year 1958. It earns him a ticket to the Asian Games held in Tokyo a few year later, where he ran the 3000m Steeplechase race representing India.

A heart touching saga of a person whose sacrifice to the nation as a Sportsperson and a veteran Army man never came to his rescue, when circumstances turned a hard working, proud patriot into a dacoit-cum-kidnapper. It was in the 1970s when corruption well aided by the high handedness of Indian bureaucracy did everything possible to turn the man to take to guns for his own survival. The system failed him big time.

In the movie, Irrfan playing Paan Singh is a straight shooter, both from his mouth and gun. When a newspaper reporter interviews him asks why he became a dacoit, the fugitive retorts back - DAKAIT TO PARLIAMENT MEIN MILTE HAIN, HUM TO SIRF BAAGHI HAI (Dacoits are found in  Parliament, I am just a rebel). He wasn't far from the truth.

Another monologue from Irfaan Khan needs some reflection - "After crossing 28 barriers to be the Steeplechase champion and earning accolades for my motherland, no one cared about me. Now that I have become a Baaghi and a thorn in the flesh of the tri-state Police (UP, MP and Rajasthan), I am getting fame and attention.  While I ran and won medals for my country nobody took a note, now when I became a runaways BAAGI  (rebel) I make news."

Quite a story and kudos to Irfaan Khan for his remarkable role. You crossed 28 barriers as Pan Singh Tomar. You, the fighter fought bravely against a malignant disease. Salute to you, Sir on your Birthday. Rest in Peace.

Visit to Jagannath temple on New Year's Day

 On New Year's Day the world famous Sri Jagannath temple in Puri in Odisha was kept opened for almost all night as hundreds of thousands thronged the temple to visit the ARADHYA DEVATA (The most propitiated GOD) of all Odias across the world. It has become quite fashionable these days to visit temples on First Day of January - which ironically follows the Gregorian Calendar rather than the Hindu Lunar Calendar. Many of these visitors who are the first ones to be critical of the New Year's Day being celebrated in India on Gregorian New Year are also the first ones in the rat race to reach the temple.

Not long ago, on one fine New Year's Day morning in India, I was trying to cross the Puri bound road close to our home in Bhubaneswar. I was surprised to see abnormally high traffic on a normal day, a rush almost similar to what you would see on a day of some major festival, like the famous RATH YATRA (Car festival) in Puri. While trying to cross the road, I had to tip toe my way, swaying hip, waving, clenching my hands like an eunuch at the approaching traffic of vehicles big and small zeroing on me, blaring their cacophonic horn in unison at the irritating pedestrian in me obstructing their path. 

As there were no Zebra crossing, it took 5 minutes of exhibiting my ass swinging skills to cross a 25 feet wide road. Road crossing is an art in Odisha and one needs to be a trapeze artist to cross roads at the crossroads of Bhubaneswar. That day I went above and beyond my normal hip swaying which would have made any danseuse proud.

After managing to reach home in single piece I asked my father the reason behind such an unusual rush on an usual day. He said, it has become fashionable now-a-days to do a "JAGANNATH DARSHAN" (take a peek at Lord) on New Year's Day at His abode in Puri. Like a dip in river Ganga, they trust CHAKADOLA (Circular eyelid, another name of Sri Jagannath) with his ever pervading look will purify them off their dirt accumulated over time like Aqua guard does to crude water. 

It explains why you would see many bloody, bleary eyed folks, still nursing hangover from previous night's New year's eve Bacchanalian jamborees and after dumping their last year's shit stumbling their way up the "BAISI PAHANCHA" (the legendary 22 step entrance into the temple) leading to Lord's abode. Many of them I know are prolific slimy, corrupt characters, congenial liars, champion womanizers and cheats of the highest order, who are known to religiously make this trip on New year's day to His temple and involve themselves in temple matters. I am now reminded of the Odia proverb - "ATI BHAKTI CHORA RA KAKHYANA", "too much of devotion id sign of a scoundrel". Reminded of yet another Hindi proverb which aptly describes such folks - "SOU CHUHA MAARNE KI BAAD BILLI HAZ KARNE CHALI" (After killing 100 mice the cat went on a Pilgrimage). 

Constipated with sins, they hope that the next 364 days (365 days if it is a Leap Year) will go as smooth as whistle, as the morning bowel movement post a dinner of RUTI (Chappati) and DALMA (boiled mixed of fiber rich lentils and vegetables), a staple Odia food. They think their accumulated sins will be reset to zero after entering Jagannath temple on New Year's Day. Define hypocrisy. But they forget one thing - "CHAKA AKHI SABU DEKHUCHI" (Lord Jagannath is watching everything).

We have this popular Odia Adage - "BAARA BARSA RA TAPASYA SUKHUA PODA RE JIBA", transliterated, "Twelve years of penance will be swept away by consuming broiled dry fish". It means, all the great efforts and perseverance for a long period can go wrong by a single stroke of stupid act. Reverse this theorem - A trip to the abode of Lord Jagannath on the first day of the year guarantees buying peace and tranquility for the rest of the year, erasing off the sins in one stroke, a la the wiper of a car swishes away all the dust accumulated in summer after fresh monsoon rains. May KAALIA (as Lord Jagannath is known for his Amber complexion) bless them for the next 364 days, until their must visit yet again on January 1, 2026.

Happy New Year 2025

 2024 paves way to year 2025 - a New Year we perpetually wish to be better than the previous one. The passing away year was unique, a leap year, with a date of February, 29 which comes once in every 4 years, enabling those born on this unique day the rare opportunity to celebrate their birthdays on the actual day.  Also it was the year of the Olympics held in Paris in the summer.

I am reminded of Morarjee Desai, who in year 1977 became Prime minister of India at the ripe age of 84. When a reporter questioned him about his old age, the witty PM answered - "I am just 21", alluding to his date of birth. His birthday occured once every four years as he was a leap year child, born on February 29.

While stepping into the New Year of 2025, thousands of Nostadamus, Baba Vanga and Malika predictions from our ubiquitous Whatsapp University are circulating on social media. Yet we don't know for sure what lies ahead of us and what's in store for us next year in an age of unpredictability. No one predicted Covid Pandemic 5 years ago as we stepped into 2020, something which came with cataclysmic events associated with it.

As the old man 2024 bends his spine, bends forward extending his hand to open the door to welcome the New Year, it is now time for some retrospection. The passing year 2024 will be forever be remembered for several reasons. The Coronavirus pandemic which was a scourge for past several years is now passe. Economic uncertainties and wars at hotspots of the world still continue. 

India won the T20 Cricket World Cup, part of which was held in America where Cricket means an insect emitting shrill noise. The game of Cricket is a great unifying factor in India, a nation of 1.4 billion. The English say "God save the Queen", the Americans say "God Bless America". I say 'God bless Cricket". Arguably our national passion, the game of Cricket, unites every Indian from Kashmir to Kanyakumari, Bengal to Baroda. When India plays Cricket, we feels ourselves as an Indian rather than a Punjabi, Tamil, Marathi or Odia.

A la getting rid off old cloths for the new ones and the soul moving from one body to another as famously extolled by our Hindu God Sri Krishna in BHAGWAT GITA, our Hindu Scriptue, year 2025 will be reborn yet again at midnight tonight as the soul of 2024 passes away. The year dawns with the cherubic smile of a newborn, as another number is added to its age in the form of New Year. But hardly anything else ever changes with the arrival of the New Year. For me the mundane life trudges ahead as the same shit, different day - with different color and texture. Hardly anything worthwhile difference occurs, the status quo is maintained more or less.

The antonym of "Happy New Year" is "Unhappy Old Year". Year 2024 was pretty close to that for me due to various reasons. I lost my mother in May, not to mention a few close friends and relatives who passed away to a different realm. This year came and went with a mixed bag of good, bad and ugly, with additional baggage of  memories gently rolling into next year. Made new friends, revived old ones and lost a few near and dear ones once and for all. I may sound nihilist, yet the year comes with this stark reminder to me - life goes downhill from here, tasks become uphill and years are numbered before we go over the hill. 

I do not make any New Year's resolution as can't keep them. Resolutions like promises are made to be broken. I simply roll over to the year ahead of me. We may forget history but we repeat it year after year, similar to this starting stanza of Kishore Kumar's song :

EK RUUT AYE, EK RUUT JAYE PHIR,
MOUSAM BADLENA, BADLE NASEEB.

"One season comes and another goes,
Seasons don't change, fate does". 

To me, almost all New Year wishes expressed over the years have been too pleasant to be forgettable. The Homo Sapien species which is inherently cynical has this instinct to remember the unpleasant ones and I am no exception. I remember this one from 1st January, 1982. On the first New Year after his marriage to princess Diana, when the nosey British Paparazzi got a scent that her marriage with Prince Charles wasn't going too well, he wished them - "Have a Nasty New Year".

But I don't have to be nasty and negative. So let me repeat the forgettable wish, as I do not forget to do at the end of every year - HAVE A WONDERFUL NEW YEAR 2025 ahead and stay blessed.