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.