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.

Happy birthday Sastri jee

 The birthday of Mahatma Gandhi always overshadows that of a hardworking, honest, patriot Indian, a great leader who shares October 2 with our Bapuji as his birthday. He is no other than Lal Bahadur Shastri, who was India's Prime Minster, albeight for a very short tenure.

If Lal Bahadur Shastri did not die the fateful day on January 11, 1966, exactly 60 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 Grandma being a Central Minister, instead of being the CEO and Scion of the 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 and unthinkable from politicians of current generation. 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 food grain shortage and motivating the 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 very long due to his untimely and controversial death on January 11, 1966 out of country in Uzbekistan, then part of the Soviet Union.

Truth is the first casualty of war. It reminds me of a column by the eminent writer Khushwant Singh. The legendary Sardar, known to be friendly towards Pakistan was once invited by the Pakistani consulate in Bombay where Premium Scotch and succulent Kabaabs were served. When K. Singh enquired about the occasion for the celebration, he was told that the party was to commemorate Pakistan's victory over India in 1965 War. Khushwant Singh exclaimed, "May Allah grant you more and more such imaginary victories and may I be invited to such parties where Premium Scotch is served."

Shastri'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 more 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.

Cat has 9 lives

 Years ago one fine morning in January I was driving my son to his Taekwondo class amidst a mist sprinkled; fog engulfed weather. On a narrow road leading to the arena I could see through the haze a Black Cat crossing the road right in front of me.

I was assured the black cat is going to be the harbinger of bad luck for rest of the day. As per the familiar superstition back home (especially in Odisha), I thought if I back up a little bit I should be able to ward off any evil effects destined for me. 

So I looked at my rear view mirror. There was no car behind me. I backed my vehicle counting 1 to 7. Then shifted back to forward gear and continued my journey ahead. My son was perplexed with this strange behavior of mine, gaping at me with widened eyes. I explained to him about the superstition, to which he retorted back - "You afraid of a kitty cat ? How silly !"

It could be silly, but old habits die hard; especially those related to superstition. Even the most logical and educated folks I have seen harbor some kind or other superstitious behaviors. It probably has to do with some sense of insecurity every individual carries. I am no exception. So I breathed easy after my to and fro motion on road and drove on, assured of all the evils being warded off. The day passed off uneventful. Yet I took no chance. Cat might have 9 lives, I have the luxury of only one.

Molestation on New Year's Eve

News came out about molestation of girls on New Year's Eve in certain cities in India which made ripples in media, social or otherwise. As every Faci-zen (Facebook Citizen) has an opinion about everything from Rocket science to Igneous Rocks, I didn't want to be the one left behind. So here is my take on this.

In our Metropolitan cities we have two Indias which mutually coexist side by side - one modern and liberal, the other misogynistic and voyeuristic kind. Both have this unwritten rule of sticking to their own territories. But on occasions, this thin viscous line of separation evaporates in the heat of the moment, encroaching into other's private territory.

This happens when both cultures clash, the cusp can be a large gatherings like New Year's eve. A la the warm and cold fronts clash across Jet stream causing weather phenomena like Tornadoes, such cultural clashes cause social tremors. The infamous Nirbhaya rape in Delhi and many more recent incidents are results of a milieu sitting on a gunpowder keg. All it takes someone light a matchstick to ignite it.

Constitution provides us freedom to hold peaceful gatherings. Yet freedom come with a price, it is never totally free, not even in America which boasts itself as the land of freedom. Let me narrate this story narrated to me by a friend of mine which pretty much tells the story - When copies of books like "One quarter of hour in night @ call center" and of hundreds of such titles mushrooming, the authors of such masterpieces being decorated with Padma Awards, such incidents would be very common in future. The other day, while with my wife and son, I witnessed a boy and a girl indulged in serious love making in broad day light and their two wheeler was acting like a bed ! We could not look and talk to our son for rest of the time !

For those have nots, who don't get such an opportunity in real life, do get a voyeuristic, vicarious pleasure watching these scenes. For them the sight of vociferous Damsels in midnight's crowd in darkness is a God sent opportunity to grab, so they grope it.
 
One can't clap using one hand. It always works both ways, so both moral and regular policing can help. By moral policing, I am not suggesting sermons by sundry Netas (Leaders) or Gurus. We should look at Singapore, which applies a carrot and stick policy. Carrot - Ethical values infused in their educational system, some guided by our eminent Odia writer Manoj Das as cultural consultant to the Citi-state. Charity begins at home, the parents and elders should cultivate ethics in their young minds.

Stick - Fear of lashes as the DANDA (stick) works wonder, where logic fails. Once during early 90s, the Singaporean authorities went on to lash an American tourist who broke the law of the land, in spite of the Superpower exhaustively exerting its diplomatic might to prevent it. Singapore doesn't have this concept of sparing someone, because that someone is someone's SALA KA MAMA KA BHATIJA (nephew of my Uncle's brothers-in-law). They went ahead and implemented the sentence. Our DANDA is no less effective than their lashes. If implemented without fear or favor, can yield awesome results.

Here goes the lesser known Odia Adage,

MADA KHIA MAHADEVA
MADA KHAILA BARA DABA, 

transliterated...

Thrashing prone Lord Mahadev
Grants boon, if he gets thrashed
For only thrashing he obeys.

The fearless Lord Mahedev once granted boon to a demon impressed by his penance only to be severely thrashed by the later. As we say in Odia, MADA EKA AMOGHA ASTRA (Thrashing is an effective weapon). Nothing works like DANDA therapy, which can work wonders. Legendary writer Khushwant Singh famously mentioned that during internal Emergency imposed from 1975-1977, efficiency in government and public sector services increased manifold. It yet vindicated that we Indians respect rods more than democracy. Not suggesting a Saudi style moral policing, but Prevention in the form of practising certain discretion in public is always better than cure in the form of DANDA therapy. Otherwise, it will take someone to strike a matchstick in a room filled with inflammable gas to initiate the next firestorm, which is waiting to happen.

Visit to Jagannath temple on New Year's Eve

 On New Year's Day the world famous Sri Jagannath temple in Puri in Odisha is kept open 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. Define hypocrisy !!!

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 like an Odishi dancer 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 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 which is display of ultimate 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 of time 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, 2027.

Happy New Year 2026

 Year 2025 paves way to the year 2026 - a New Year we perpetually wish to be better than the previous one. The passing away year wasn't unique like a leap year, but important to us in many ways.

While stepping into the New Year of 2026, 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 6 years ago as we stepped into 2020, something which came with cataclysmic events associated with it.

As the old man 2025 bends his spine, bows forward extending his hand to open the door to welcome the New Year, it is now time for some retrospection. The passing year 2026 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. 

A mixed year for India in Cricket, a game which is arguably a religion in India, but in America Cricket is known as an insect emitting a shrill sound. 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, especially against Pakistan, 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 2026 will be reborn yet again at midnight tonight as the soul of 2025 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 2025 was pretty close to that for me due to various reasons. I lost 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 2026 ahead and stay blessed.

RIP Ameen Sayani

 

We just passed is the birthdays of Ameen Sayani and the legendary singer Mohammed Rafi, both inseperable from Bollywood Cinema music. Ameen Sayani was the voice of CIBACA GEETMALA, a popular musical program on Radio Ceylon in the 70s and 80s which had good share of popular Rafi songs, the singer whose soft and sweet voice was unmatched in the world of music, though in the 1970s and until he died Kishore Kumar at the height of his popularity dominated the show.

Come December, come waves of memory recollection from the airwaves the indomitable voice and Hindi songs from the famous BINACA GEETMALA (which later changed to CIBACA GEETMALA) anchored by Ameen Sayani and aired by Radio Ceylon (as Sri Lanka was known then). The hour long program of contemporary Hindi hits played every Wednesday night which ranked songs based on their popularity chart struck a chord in me. At end of the year in the month of December Radio Ceylon aired a special program ranking the top 15 popular songs of the entire year. It instantly took me down to the memory lanes of 1970s and 80s.

Once a week, wafting over the airwaves would float in the unforgettable familiar voice of Ameen Sayani - BEHNO AUR BHAIYON, AAP SAB KO LE CHALTE HAIN ISH GANE KO, JO PICHHLE HAPHTE  PADAAN NUMBER 10 SE ABHI PADAAN NUMBER 6 PER AGAYA, "Dear Sisters and Brothers, taking you to this song which has jumped from position no 10 from last week to position number 6 this week".

The program played clips of a plethora of popular songs flooding the airwaves of our childhood and youth. Those were the nights sans television in Bhubaneswar. I would be waiting eagerly for every Wednesday, to tune in to what would be a non stop one hour feast of music fiesta commencing at 8 PM. At sharp 7.55 PM I would elongate the antenna of our MURPHY Brand radio. It was followed by a good 5 minutes of struggling to adjust the vertical bar to the exact location with intermittent bursts of stuttering farts from it, CHRRRRD... PRRRRRTT.., before I could finally manage to tune in.

It would be a very delicate balancing act on the short wave Radio. One millimeter here or there you get a whole different station and miss your favorite song. The reception was particularly bad towards the end of December when the special annual version of the program was aired as a fitting finale, bidding adieu to the year.

The program earlier used to be called BINACA GEETMALA, but the name BINACA was changed to CIBACA sometime in the late 1970s - a popular toothbrush/paste brand of the time (not sure if it still exists). But Ameen Sayani's mellifluous, sweet loquacious voice and unique style of narration which would arguably be the best marketing brand that company ever had remained unchanged.

Kishore Kumar & Lata Mangeshkar (often their duets) dominated CIBACA Geetmala those days, though other singers like Rafi, Mukesh, Asha Bhonsle, Suresh Wadkar had their fair share of contributions too. Popularity mattered. For example - in 1980 the song "HAME TUMSE PYAR KITNA" voiced by Kishore Kumar topped the popularity chart and played more often than the same song sang in a classic classical tune by Parveen Sultana. The choice of a music aficionado would be Parveen Sultana, however the general public went ga ga over Kishore version of the Gana (song), who was a natural singer pure in Raaga.

Kishore Kumar and Radio Ceylon have a history together. Internal Emergency was declared in June 1975 by the then Prime Minister Indira Gandhi. Her all powerful son Sanjay Gandhi wanted Kishore Kumar to sing in a Congress rally. Kishore Kumar, an extremely popular singer at that time refused to sing for Sanjay Gandhi and was promptly banned from government controlled All India Radio and TV. Folks used to tune to Radio Ceylon to hear Kishore da's songs until the ban on him lifted.

Amidst intermittent losses of signal and constant sputtering it was great fun nevertheless to listen with ears glued just inches away from the radio, wrapped in a shawl on those cold winter nights while waiting on a hot dinner of RUTI (Indian flat bread) and Cauliflower Reagan. Vegetables like Cauliflower, Cabbage, Tomato, Turnip etc used to be very seasonal and unlike these days it wasn't available round the year. Eaten during the short span of winter months the Cauliflower would be very tasty in November but eventually boring to the taste bud towards the end of the season.

I would pick a piece of hot cauliflower from the curry bowl, followed by blowing air with snorted lips to cool it down before munching. No sooner I finish a couple of florets than the rest of the cauliflowers would get cold. Blowing hot and cold, I could feel the pinch of winter in Bhonsar (Bhubaneswar as pronunced by many locals) those days with dual pleasure of eating dinner while listening to Cibaca Geetmala. These are memories from a bygone era to cherish forever. CIBACA GEETMALA is dead, so also Rafi, Kishore, Lata and Ameen Sayani, but they still live in our hearts. Those were the days and nights...