Happy New Year - 2019

The year 2018 paves way for the next teen year of the Millennium 2019. While we step into the year, we don't know what's ahead, what's in store for us. As the old man 2018 bends his spine and extends his hand to open the door to welcome the New Year, it's time for some introspection. 

A la getting rid off old cloths for the new ones, the soul moving from one body to another as famously extolled by Lord Krishna in the BHAGWAT GITA and other Hindu Scriptues, 2019 will be reborn yet again at midnight tonight. The year dawns as the cherubic smile of a newborn, as another number is added to its age in the form of a New Year.

But hardly anything ever changes. Life trudges ahead as just the same shit, different day with different color and texture. Hardly anything cataclysmically different happens, rather more or less the status quo is maintained. I don't make any New year promises to me as I don't and can't keep them.

We may forget history but we don't forget to repeat it year after year. Similar to this starting stanza of the Kishore's song

EK RUT AAE, EK RUT JAAE PHIR,
MOUSAM BADLENA, BADLE NASEEB.

"One season comes and another goes,
Seasons change not the fateful woes".

This year came and went with a mixed bag of good, bad and ugly for me, with additional baggage of memories to roll into next year. Made new friends, revived old ones and lost a few near and dear ones, once and for all. Yet the year comes with this stark reminder - life goes downhill from here, tasks become uphill and years are numbered before I go over the hill.

To me, almost all the New Year wishes expressed over the years have been pleasant enough to makes them forgettable. Homo Sapien's inherent instinct is to remember the unpleasant ones. I being no exception - remember this one from 1st January,1982. On the first New Year after his marriage to Diana, Prince Charles wished the nosey British Paparazzi, "Have a Nasty New Year".

But I don't have to be nasty. 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 ahead and stay blessed.

Thackaray - The movie

The difference between Indian and Western Culture starts with toilet - they use commode and we squat. It was said by non other than Bal Thackeray, the controversial Siv Sena leader from Maharashtra. I was reminded of this monologue of him from one of his interviews as I watched the trailer of his biopic Thackeray, both in Hindi and Marathi.

Awaaz kunacha? Shiv Sena cha! (Whose voice is it? The Shiv Sena's!)' - the self proclaimed Tiger roars in the Marathi version of the movie. He gets bolder when he leaves no stones unturned against South Indians in Mumbai with his diatribe "UTTHAO LUNGI, BAJAO PUNGI" (Lift their Lungi and Kick their ass), alluding to the attire of mostly Tamil and Malayali immigrants in Bombay. From South Indians whom he described as YENDU GENDU WALE poking fun at their accents to Muslims and BHAIYYAs the deregotively described cowbelt immigrants to Bombay from Bihar and UP, Bal Thackeray spared no one.

In one of his rare praises on a Muslim, he eulogized Abdul Hamid, the hero of India's war against Pakistan in 1965 while otherwise being virulently and overtly anti Muslim. Once he openly questioned the shops being closed in Muslim dominated Bhendi Bazaar area after the Pakistani dictator Zia Ul Haq died in 1988 and bursting of fireworks in the Muslim dominated areas when Pakistan regularly defeated India in cricket matches in the late 1980s. He also revered Hitler for the German's love for his nation, though he described the killing of the Jews as ghastly.

On occasions he was Congress friendly describing Indira Gandhi as a strong lady for carving out Bangladesh from his bette noire Pakistan. Congress and Industrialists of Bombay used him to break the backbone of Worker Unions who under the leadership of George Fernandez and Dutta Samant (later assassinated) would bring Bombay to as screeching halt with lightning strikes. Siv Sena goons under Thackeray's leadership straightened out the Commies. Interestingly, a known hater of outsiders was soft on Gujjus who dominated business of Bombay with his utterance - one should not bite the hand which feeds you.

In one of his press conferences, a rookie reporter addressed him as 'Bal Thackeray'. The Sena chieftain sternly intervened to insist that he must be called 'Balasaheb Thackeray'.

Training his big eyeballs piercing through thick glasses he told in a chilling tone to the young Journalist, 'Mee tuzhya borabar lahanpani gotya nahi khel lo (I didn't play marbles with you during my childhood).'

The implication was clear, the threat distinct. 'Okay, Saheb,' came the meek reply.

Khushwant Singh, the eminent Sikh writer and no fan of Bal Thackeray inadvertently took on the later when he wrote that Shivaji needlessly killed Afzal Khan when the burly Muslim general came to embrace him. The furious Shiv Sena chief ordered copies of the Periodicals which carried the Sardar's article burnt on the  streets of Bombay.

Ironically the role of Bal Thackeray, also known as Senpati is played by Nawazuddin Siddiqui, a Muslim from the State of UP - neither the community and people from the state which the Maratha leader was fond of. It denotes that the secular fabric of India is intact in its art and culture. Being a lover of biopics - it will be interesting to watch the movie, come January.

Himalayas - Our Protector

It is a balmy 62 degree (16° Centigrade) this morning warmed by the air influx from Gulf packed with moisture - a far cry from 36 degrees (2° Centigrade) couple of days or so back. Weather in America can swing like pendulum, a la the mood swings of a woman.

It's not uncommon for the temperature in America to plummet drastically in a short time, as unlike India there is no Himalayas in North to protect the cold winds from the arctic blasting its way through. Similarly warm air from the gulf in South can suddenly make you feel like Spring in middle of winter. 

Unlike US which has a varying weather pattern, India has a distinct weather pattern - thanks to the Himalayas standing tall as a barrier in North protecting it from from the marauding Siberian chill, while the runt Rocky Mountains in USA hardly helps to prevent the cold intrusion from Canadian artic.

The High Himalayas, with its Mt. Everest at its highest point of 29,000 feet, runs East to the West, acting as a natural barrier to India from the bitter cold winds coming from Siberia and Pamir plateau. The tallest mountain range in the world gives India a unique geographical identity, keeping it warmer compared the other places in the world along the similar latitude.

It explains why Calcutta is warmer than Canton in China and Jaipur is warmer than Jacksonville, Florida - though they are in identical latitudes. The gigantic mountain range also keeps the monsoon restricted to the Indian subcontinent, providing ample rains during the summer months, while rest of the season it is mostly dry.

The benevolence of His Majesty, the High and Mighty Himalayas doesn't end there. It protected us from the evil eyes of Chengiz Khan from Mongol days who could have ravaged India like Shakti Kapoor does to his rape victims in Bollywood movies. Only due to limited access via Khybar pass we stayed better protected from many, if not all invaders. Persian, Turks, Afghans, Moguls in form of Taimur Lung, Mahmud of Ghazni, Ghori, Babar and Muhammad Shah et all looted or occupied us. British did the same, but came via the sea route.

Yet Himalayas has done its job of protecting us. Otherwise, half of us would be of Mongoloid origin, speaking Chinese today. In those days sans contraception, the Kings sired broods of bastards out of wedlock. It is said the biggest such contributor was Genghiz Khan, the marauder of Central Asia, who sowed his oats wide enough to be traced from the entire Eurasian Ukraine to the Middle Kingdom China. Thanks to the high mountains of Himalayas, his range of spread remained land locked, never crossed the barrier of the highest mountain chain of the world to reach Indian Subcontinent. Take a bow to our natural Northern frontier protector.

Trump's Sudden Declaration of win over ISIS

Trump suddenly announced withdrawal of troops from Syria on the basis of his self proclaimed win over ISIS. This is far from the truth. The decision of the mercurial president of the United states is both premature and preposterous.

It is actually Trump's Christmas gift to his master Putin who controls American President as his Poodle Dog (on top of that Trump also announced waiver of US sanctions from couple of Russian Oligarchs close to Putin to keep the  Russian dictator warm and fuzzy)

ISIS is like whack a mole. You whack one, another bunch pop up. It is akin to RAKTA BIRJYA RAKHYASA (Blood seed Demon) described in the Hindu mythology. He was granted a boon by one of the Trinity Gods - that if one drop of his blood hits the ground thousands of the Demon's clones prop up. Similarly, you think ISIS is finished, it manages to raise its ugly head.

In reality it is far from finished. A month ago I met a soldier who had just returned from Afghanistan where he had a stint as part of Special Operations force. According to him - come Spring, ISIS never fails to springs a surprise or two. 

He had several interesting anecdotes to narrate. His Special Ops team have fought with both Talibans and ISIS. Talibans when sense defeat, feel outgunned and outnumbered flee to fight another day. Per the special op guy - Talibans who are trained across the border, an euphemism for Pakistan are told to back out when their opponent has an upper hand. It is a smart ploy as Pakistan doesn't want to lose their assets and want them to fight another day rather than die fighting a better equipped adversary.

In contrast, the ISIS volunteers fire at the Apache Helicopters and motivated enough to fight until death. They even continue their suicidal fight rather than surrender or flee, even if they know they are doomed. ISIS are akin to our Rajputs in Medieval India who would launch a frontal attack and fight until death rather take a rain check to fight another day. The Talibans are like our Maratha warrior Shivaji - fight guerilla warfare and pragmatic to do a tactical retreat when facing reverses to come back to fight on a later day.

I am not saying that US should get entangled in all imbroglios in the world, especially in the messy Middle - East. But this abrupt announcement of withdrawal of US troop withdrawal and victory is the reflection of an idiotic mindset of our Commander-in-Chief who is clueless about Foreign policy ( on domestic matters as well). As absolute power can corrupt absolutely, an absolute moron can destroy a nation absolutely.

Reel life from the real life

It is said people try to copycat movies into real life. Often it's other way round. A lot of movies are known to have lifted chapters from real life into reel life with plenty of connections and connotations.

A Bollywood movie named KHATTA MEETHA (Sweet and Sour) is at best passable. Shot in a small town of Maharashtra, the actor Akshay Kumar is a simple contractor struggling to meet his ends engulfed by a corrupt system both outside and inside his home - where his brother and brother-in-law curry favor with government officials by entertaining them in his house.

One late evening Akshay Kumar returns home to see his unmarried sister forced to serve alcoholic drinks to government officers and petty politicians who are entertained because they can get men of his household some lucrative contracts. As she bends over to pour a drink, the lusty lot take a break from the goblets and gossips to lasciviously peep at her curves. The peeved brother in Askhay Kumar promptly orders her to go inside to the chagrin of the guests and gives them a piece of his mouth, but can't buy peace in his house for shooting straight.

Such incidents are not uncommon in India. Decades back, the son of a Government Contractor complained about similar unpleasant situations. His father used to throw lavish parties for Who's Who of the time who can pass his bills. One of them was a BADA SAARE (Big Officials) well into his fifties drank himself silly and while picking his nose and scratching his private parts in public was known to pass lewd remarks disguised as double entendres to females old enough to be his daughters. 

Yet SAARE (Sir) had to be tolerated and kept in good humor. It's common knowledge that some of our Babus (bureaucrats) and Journos are champion freeloaders - great at imbibing alcohol at the cost of other's money. Long story short - his father tolerated this officer's nuisance as an unavoidable professional hazard and collateral damage to his self esteem in spite of the later creating embarassing scenes.

In another part of the movie, Akhay Kumar's now estranged girl friend taunts him for not thinking like an Indian. He retorts back - "Who tells we are Indians. We are Marathi, Punjabi, Tamil and Bengalis first. Only time we think and feel like Indians is when India plays cricket against Pakistan". 

A very pertinent monologue indeed. The actor wasn't far from truth. Nothing gets India more united and brings the best patriotism out of us than the game of cricket (to a lesser extent Hockey), especially an Indo - Pak encounter. It's arguably the only instance we don't see ourselves as a Punjabi, Marathi, Tamil or Odia, rather as Indians, thanks to our Western neighbor.

Sunil Gavaskar, an eminent cricket player of yesteryear once said - Indian movies are made for the masses by asses. Whatever he maint, he probably forgot that the asses come from masses, so also their ideas.

World Cup Hockey concludes in Odisha

Barring few hiccups and glitches related to the sale of tickets the Hockey World Cup at Bhubaneswar seems to be going well, with only a day left before the final whistle signals the end of the event.

The Opening ceremony was mostly well organized with our usual tendency to over do and go overboard with excessive Razzmatazz and Zamboree. This global eveny will go a long way in putting a hitherto unknown state of India on the world map, in spite of national media not giving the tournament its due coverage, busy counting the votes in the Assembly Elections and number of times Taimur Ali Khan, a Bollywood celebrities' kid farts and burps a day.

I have seen much more coverage on social media about Madhuri's dance, Sah Rukh's monologues and Salman's histrionics in Odisha during the gala opening ceremony - but rarely any decent coverage or analysis of the game by the so called fans. Some complained about Off Side when goals were scored, without realizing that there is no "off side" in hockey.  For most of them, going to Kalinga Stadium is akin going to a local MELA (Fair) - to hang out, have some fun and food, and for the young and some old alike to ogle and flirt with girls. 

Many spectators lack the basic knowledge and understanding of the game to go beyond shallow reporting - often going overboard with inordinately superlative accolates on team India's performance in the initial stages of the tournament. Many even predicted India lifting the Cup, a bit premature and preposterous assessment considering our long history of not winning a major tournament since 1975 - a good 43 years back.

In Odia there is a saying - NAI NA DEKHUNU LANGALA (becoming naked before seeing the river). It simply means jumping into conclusion way too soon. After a brisk and promising start, true to our self we faltered against Netherlands in the all important Quarterfinal. We failed to take advantage of our home advantage which doesn't come often. Our cup of woe relentlessly continues.

Yet it is a good beginning. The Indian side has been constantly improving though it needs a dose of killer instinct in the veins wrapped around our Hockey sticks. It's time we bring a foreign coach to infuse professionalism - for we have a tendency to listen better to the outsiders than our own. The Russian writer Leo Tolstoy said two things are important in war - Patience and Time. The same can be extended to modern day Sports. 

Assembly Elections results 2018

Not to be left behind with analysis of the outcome of the just concluded Assembly elections in India - here is mine, the 3,458,903th one on the social media.

Election results clearly portrays BJP as the loser and Congress an winner, but an Abysmal one - unable to capitalize much on the anti incumbency factor. Congress is going to have a much tougher opposition now.

Now BJP needs to take a crash course from Naveen Patnaik, the Chief Minister of Odisha and BJD Supremo. A smart guy, he has clearly figured it out that Politics is a matter of perception. True or perceived, the people whose vote matters in the state of Odisha believe that their Chief Minister is doing a commendable job - with virtually no visible anti incumbency. People who are critical of him hardly vote, explained by the fact that in the last Election the polling in Bhubaneswar was 29% vis a vis 70% in the rest of the state. Ican bet he is assured of a record 5th term, probably equallying Jyoti Basu's record in Bengal.

Hope the Congress government performs well in the states it just won. Otherwise, it won't take BJP, a cadre based party very long to bounce back to power. But whether the new CMs, shadowed by their High Command (an euphemism for the Gandhi family) will have a free hand in governing is yet to be seen.

How Honorable

A few days ago I shared on a Whatsapp group a viral picture of actor Salman Khan posing with the Chief Minister of Odisha with a funny caption. A person did not like it, responding - "Please don't make fun of our Honorable Chief Minister".

The term "Honorable" is probably the most overrated word in India, probably after "Sir". It is most commonly used by Government employess in India who address even mundane MPs and MLAs as Honorable So and So. It makes sense when "Honorable" is reserved for the deserved and reserved few, e.g., the President, Prime Minister and the Justices who are addressed as "Your Honor". 

But to address everyone as Honorable a la a Dumb addresses the Dumber as "Sir" where the honorable one is not even present simply reeks of British era sycophancy (it's another matter, an overwhelming majority of them are anything but honorable but often despicable). It is also our eager obsequiousness and hero worship of those who we elect to serve us, not rule us prevents us from making caricature of our leaders. Poking fun at the folks at helm of affairs is perfectly healthy, unless you live in Kim's North Korean Hermit kingdom or in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. If this tendency is not curbed, at this rate satirists and cartoonists will be soon out of business.

So, why is this tendency to put our leaders on an untouchable pedestal and treating them as demi Gods who are above criticism and sarcasm ? It can be traced back to our long occupation and slavery outsiders - from Afghans, Turks, Mughals to British who ruled us over centuries. There used to be a hiatus between the rulers and the ruled. As the rulers did not have an understanding of the local language and culture, they succinctly cultivated a class of DALAALs (middlemen-cum-touts) who they needed as "go betweens" to communicate the message from the Ruler to the Ruled and vice versa.  

Nothing much has changed over the years, even years after independence in the age of Smartphones and Social media. 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 - Kingship in form of Kinship goes in guise of democracy. The ever omnipresent middlemen have jumped in to fill in the void left after the outsiders left. They succinctly act as the conduit, yet reinforcing the age old adage, "History repeats itself, those who forget history are condemned to repeat".

The stigma of the thousand plus years of foreign rule won't go so easily only after 70 years of independence.  It will take some more years of independence to taste its flavor and get over the hangover of the "Superior ruler must rule over the inferior subjects". This then...

Loke Bolibe Kana - What people would say

Most Odias from our generation might be familiar with this Odia short story from our High school days, LOKE BOLIBE KANA (What the people will say) written by Sri Godabarisha Mahapatra. 

It starts with "CHANDA MUNDA KU AUNSI AUNSI" (scratching his bald head). To make this short story short, set in an Odisha village this man seen rubbing his bald head is in a classic quandary. His brother with whom he had a turbulent relationship has just passed away, his dead body lying on his veranda.

The guy is in a dilemma, whether he should take his corpse for cremation or not. Though he never had a good relationship with his sibling, he still has to do his duty. Otherwise, LOKE BOLIBE KANA (What the people will say) ?

Very powerful story indeed. My teenage mind those days was not able to fully comprehend and fathom the ethos and pathos associated with the story. But now I can visualize the mastery of the writer, the legendary Godabarisa, who in this short story set up nearly a century ago has captured an inherent human paradox. 

We now live in a smart phone, social media driven world where thoughts fly faster than twinkle of an eye. Technology has reached its zenith, but the basic human nature has not changed. We may not agree, nor enjoy doing day in day out in our personal and professional life dealing with A Grade A - holes. But just do it for the heck and sake of LOKE BOLIBE KANA (What the people will say) - to prevent folks from saying anything which may be counted against our image, the object be damned.

It may not be any of others business, yet we succumb to the norms of the milieu. Mortal men, immortal writing. Kudos to Sri Godabarisha Mohapatra, you were way ahead of your time.

The misadventure of the American missionary in Andaman

Last week a 27 year old American was killed by a tribe as he set his foot on an isolated island, part of India's Andaman & Nicobars. The reclusive Sentinelese tribe who live there are known to be allergic towards outsiders. 

The local fishermen he supposedly bribed 25,000 ($350) in local currency to take him to the island last saw him walking towards the hostile inhabitants as they welcomed the intruder with a volley of arrows which got him killed. The last the fishermen saw him was lying in SARA SAJYA (Bed of arrows) a la Pitamah Bhishma of Mahabharat fame. 

The young man was a Christian missionary apparently on a conversion mission. The terrible misadventure cost him his life. It is another thing to debate over the veracity of these missionary activities. But can't but admire the risk they take, fully aware of their lives being at stake when they venture into these dangerous, often life threatening jaunts into arguably the most inhospitable spots of the world. 

There are frequent, multiple reports of preachers getting killed in Africa, Latin America and the theocratic Afghanistan - where it will be foolish go on a normal visit, forget trying to convert the hard core Jihadists who are more suicidal than the Christian missionaries.

During the mid 1990s in Calcutta, I saw a leper whose entire torso was covered in wound filled with pus. Flies swarmed around, feasting on it. I was too scared to stare, soon turned my head and back to this helpless guy. Engraved and entrenched in my memory, that abominable sight refuses to go away. I feel short of kudos for the likes of Mother Teresa who sheltered them and nurtured their wounds. 

They have their admirers and critics. I belong to the former category. The missionaries do have intention to convert, but they do some decent charity work. My cousin belonging to Indian Police Service was once posted as SP in a remote district of Chattisgarh. He narrated me his AANKHON DEKHA HAAL (First Hand Information) of a densely forested area which was under his supervision for maintaining the law and order.

Most part of that district was remote, inaccessible, evenly infested with Maoists and Mosquitoes who can carry you for miles. The administration is virtually non existence. Only folks who tread inside and tend to the tribals are Christian Missionaries. 

They provide them food, shelter, education and healthcare. They dare to go where our government spectacularly fails to do their job, i.e. provide the basic governance. If I am suffering from hunger and shivering from malaria, it may not take me long to prefer Jesus over Ram or Rahim if seduced by the persuasion of someone who helps me at that time. 

In contrast our Hindu zealots are mostly frauds, cheats and social media warriors who are chicken hearted and don't even have a fraction of guts these evangelicals possess. Champions of long sermons, they bicker amongst themselves and have an abysmal record of social service. Forget about being adventurous, rarely you will see a Sadhu (mendicant) serving poor and destitute, most of these charlatans can be seen well ensconced in their airconditoned abodes, surrounded by their female disciples (Usual disclaimers apply).

It is perhaps the soft aspect of Hinduism and lack of hard adventurism which enabled us to be ruled over by Muslims and Christians for more than thousand years. Not much have changed ever since. We are still by and large a soft nation. Though being over adventurous can backfire big time as was in this ill fated mission by the young American Evangelist, the spirit of human adventure will never die.

Prelude to the Hockey World Cup 2018 in Bhubaneswar

My memory of World Cup Hockey goes back to late 1981 when Bombay hosted the event. It was probably the last time a world cup hockey was held on a natural grass surface. In the epic final Pakistan team led by their legendary striker, a Kamal Hassan look alike with a strikingly similar name, the handsome striker Hassan Sardar on whom girls swooned over  took the lead for Pakistan with couple of brilliant field goals.

But the Germans (West Germany then) known to be gritty fighters whether in soccer or hockey, made a spectacular comeback with quick penalty corner goals by their powerful, hard hitting penalty corner specialist and captain Michael Peter. Pakistan finally won the final 5 goals to 3. There was no TV then in Bhubaneswar. I followed the tournament on Radio and from photos on glossy Sportstar magazine.

Since then the world of hockey has come a long way, so also the World Cup. Soon astro turf took over the hockey ground. German still maintains their edge as their Eurpoean style hockey suits the synthetic turf. Pakistan and India much before have lost their edge. Though India's slide was steadfast, Pakistan still maintained its class with players like Sahbaz Ahmed, Wasim Feroze, Tahir Zaman, Sohail Abbaz and won the World Cup in 1994, a bronze as late as in 2004 Olympics. But soon it slid into abyss and still struggling to catch up. Pakistan's arch rival India who has improved some sort of late has been consistently defeating it - earlier it was the other way round.

Hockey is not a mass sports unlike soccer and cricket. Even in nations like Australia, Germany, Holland, Belgium and Argentina - the current top 5 nations, hockey comes far behind Soccer in all except in Australia where comes next to Cricket and Aussies Rules Football. Empty stadiums in Frankfurt, Amsterdam, Sydney during World Cups and Champions Trophies tell the story. Even a major hockey game in Delhi or Mumbai, Lahore or Karachi hardly attracts any crowd, conspicuous by empty stands - unless it is an Indo-Pak encounter. 

This is where FIH, the International Hockey Federation came with this masterstroke of awarding the World Cups and Champions Trophies to 2nd tier cities like Bhubaneswar, who craving for some attention and in eagerness to showcase their potential can go an extra yard to ensure the success of the event as host. 

That's exactly what Bhubaneswar is doing now. It's citi- zens are now overwhelmed with a lot enthusiasm as an world cup of any kind being held on their soil. Tickets have been sold out as there has been reports of glitches in the selling website due to high demand. There is a Political angle to it as well. The government led by the ruling party has left no stones unturned to ensure its success, a nice showcase of its organizing ability a few months before the national and Assembly elections. 

Large hoardings and Billboard across the city at all major intersections advertise the upcoming Hockey tournament, side by side lies the ostentatious face of the Chief Minister of the state smiling at the passersbys. Not sure if the man has held a hockey stick in his life, but a smart political image makeover which certainly doesn't hurt when election is around the corner.

It's win win for all - the International Hockey Federation, the government, the party and of course the locals who are taking immense pride in an international event coming to their own city and state.

Team India though an improved lot, still falters and loses steam in the major tournaments, often at the right moment losing when a draw is needed or drawing when a win is necessary to advance into the knockout rounds. This has became a recurring habit and hope we take this opportunity of home advantage to come out of this infinite loop of losing streak.

Last time India won the Hockey World was in 1975 under the Captainship when many reading this blog may not have been born. Hopefully we break the logjam and win the cup in my home city after long hiatus of 43 years. Good luck Team India and Bhubaneswariyas making the cup a successful event.

Thanksgiving to my readers - 2018

It's Thanksgivings Day in America. Like every year this day I take the opportunity to thank all my friends on Facebook for taking the pain and patience to go through my posts. As far as possible I try to inform you, amuse you playing the role of a raconteur and occasionally irritate you. But I love you all. Your comments and likes good, bad and ugly keep me going.

It is always okay to agree to disagree on my views or rather troll me in a respectful way. If I am wrong please free to correct me, but not the freedom of my free thinking which I cherish the most.

Ever since I started writing blogs 7 years back, never in my wildest of dreams ever imagined coming this far. A decent number of kudos started trickling in from my few lines of scrolls starting sometime in 2011, which motivated me to pen more and more. I haven't stopped ever since. 

Compliments started to pour in - many from unknowns who admit of (some grudgingly) enjoying my writing. One went further "even if you write junk, I still make it a point to read it, don't know why. You have converted Bullshit into a form of Art." I took it as a great compliment. It's not easy to sell bull shit, unless you are Donald Trump.

I thrive to be a raconteur of human foibles. People love spicy stuff, be it food or writing. People may give a long speech about the Odia dish SANTULA (a boiled mix veg dish) or DALMA (a dish of boiled Dal and veggies) as great, healthy food. But in reality they cherish spicy chilli chicken or goat meat curry. I cater to the taste of my audience, unabashdly dishing out spice laced flavor to them.

I feel flattered when folks I barely know walk towards me to compliment on my writing. It also surprises me those never put a "like" or comment on my posts verbally admire me. A very pleasing experience to know a silent majority out there reading my post. Me too get a decent number kudos messages from fairer sex soliciting tips about writing which drives my wife nuts. Writing is an art. Never knew that art can attract so much attention until now, secretly wishing Facebook were there when I was young and single.

Last month in India a friend took me to his office on a working day. Chattering and mouse clicking of desktops came to halt. Heads went up as pens became silent. As my friend introduced me to his coworkers, adulations started to pour in - how they never missing my blog, never fail to share some with their children to improve their writing skills. I was pleasantly shocked by this rock star like heroic welcome, having done nothing heroic other than visiting them.

I get my fair share of brickbats and gauntlets too, for being occasionally blunt and extrovert - not afraid to speak out my mind and pokingly sarcastic at hypocrites. Not long ago, someone inboxed me, threatening me of thrashing upon my arrival at Bhubaneswar for a self deprecating joke alluding to Odias. I responded him back, a la some convict asking for last wish - "May I have my wish fulfilled before getting thrashed ?"

"What" ? He sounded confused. I went on - "Before beating me up, please spare  me 5 minutes of your time and a can of JADAA TELA (Castor oil). PITHI RE LAGEI KI ASIBI (I will smear a liberal dosage of it on my back) and you can thrash me to your heart's content". He didn't respond any further.

I am not a brave person, but the threat of being beaten by some lumpen element doesn't disturb my night's sleep. Also, not sure the urban legend of castor oil being prescribed as an antidote for thrashing and its efficacy. Does it relieve the pain from getting beaten ? Does it act as a lubricant making the marauding hands slip off from one's back ? Don't know.

Accolades or gauntlets, by no means it helps me going, filling me with a feeling of immense gratitude. I extend my wholehearted thanks to them. Many solicit advise about writing. My answer to them - there is no magic bullet. It's like any creative skill. If it's inside you, one day it gonna burst out. So just pen your thoughts and let it take its own shape.

Some even suggested me to chose writing as a career. It is a great creative outlet and escape from daily drudgery in life, accompanied by a sense of pleasure and fulfillment. I don't have an iota of doubt about it, so plan to keep penning my thoughts till I go over the hills.

But writing as a profession? I don't think it is a pragmatic path to chose at this stage of my life. There is an immense sense of satisfaction, but frankly no money in this line. No offence to their professions, even the PAANA and MADA DOKANIs (betel and liquor shop owners), petty DALAALs (brokers) make more money than writers these days. It is the reality of our time.

My current profession does not pay me a whole lot, but pays my bills - with the additional safety net of some post retirement benefits. A la the electrical Main switch of a house, it keeps the power turned on in my home. Everything else falls in place and would stop once the main Switch is switched off. So at most I will keep it as a hobby, with a book or collection of articles sometime down the road. 

After I have bored you to death with this long monologue, to those in USA, HAPPY THANKSGIVING turkey gobble day. To those Odisha, Happy CHHADAKHAI and KARTIKA PURNIMA. Stay safe and enjoy the day with your family and friends.

Bureaucrat Aparajita Sarangi joins politics

Usually I avoid writing about persons whom I personally don't know much about. But recently an extremely close friend of mine prodded me to pen a few lines about this lady bureaucrat, excited by the prospect of her joining politics and bringing some much needed changes to the state of Odisha - a state my heart belongs to, though I have been living thousands of miles away from it.

Frankly, I am no big fan of Babus. Many of them are great in academics and slug their way into Civil Services only to end up serving their political masters and become their pawns than contribute anything noteworty to their nation or state. Some become quite controversial and even outright corrupt, giving a bad name and reputation to their service and leaving a bad taste overall.

But some do a pretty good job in their job. As indicated by my friend, Aparajita Sarangi, an IAS officer from Odisha cadre belongs to the later category. She has just resigned from her services and joined BJP, a national political party and expected to contest from Odisha in the next elections. My friend has big hopes on her and managed to persuade the cynic in me to write about her, hoping that presence of more intellectuals in politics can make a major dent to public life in a more positive way.

Mrs. Sarangi is known as an efficient Officer who has carved her niche as the Collector of district Khurda and BMC Commissioner. My friends back home have a lot of positives to speak about her efficiency in executing massive projects on time. Her commendable job in streamlining the Department of Mass Education towards better efficiency has been much noted and published on media - social or otherwise. It is said, she has worked diligently towards the girl's education and women's right, striving hard for the betterment of the biggest minority of India, the fairer sex.

Looks like a horde of ex-bureaucrats are joining politics in Odisha just in time before the approaching election. Though not an unsual phenomenon across India, this is arguably the first time a good number of ex-Babus (a Babuani in case of Mrs. Sarangi) are jumping into the political bandwagon. Hope they do some good work, unlike their predecessors, the likes of Natwar Singh and Yashwant Sinha who don't have a great reputation behind them much to write about.

I am positive she will be different from her tribe and deliver in a state dominated by poor tribes whose habitat extends from North East to South western part of Odisha. Unlike the in and around the state Capital of Bhubaneswar where she has done a wonderful job, there is a lot to be done in rest of the state where the much neglected Odisha heartland resides. Good luck lady. 

16th Death Anniversary of Akshay Mohanty

Today is the 16th death Anniversary of legendary Odia singer Akshaya Mohanty, who passed away this day in November 2002. Like Kishore Kumar, he was a virtuoso, a multifaceted artistic talent.

Though more famous as a versatile singer, the lyricist in him penned many songs, from serious, romantic to comic ones. The music all rounder in him arguably stood him above his contemporaries from his generation, which included a field of gifted artistic talents in the state of Odisha.

KHOKA Bhai (his went by this alias), started singing in 1950s and was at his peak during 1970s. During that time he made the cardinal mistake of quitting his government job to fully focus on his musical career.

Unfortunately for him, he was from a state, better known as the graveyard of artistic persuits, a milieu those days which looked down up and harbored anathema towards anything but secured SARAKARI (government) jobs. He could have rubbed Clarified Butter on his moustache (NISARE GHIA MARI) and worked nonchalantly in his government job nonstop till 58, stil singing untill his death - completely assured by the safety net of Sarkari pension. But he took a risk to follow his first love, music and paid big time for his decision.

Khoka bhai sang many Odia hits, his records sold well. He was hugely popular and immensely admired, yet his going pro did not fetch the remuneration to compensate his ability. By mid 1980s he was not exactly in great economic shape. All admired his songs and music from going pro didn't provide a sustainable income. He took to alcohol (my brother-in -law who interacted with him extensively during the maestro's trip to Chicago in June, 2001 often found him drunk and staggering around. His reckless abuse of own health probably cut short his life and career, as he died only a year later).

Akshaya Mohanty visited America multiple times and enthralled the NROs (Non Resident Odias) with his nostalgic songs. My memory goes back to 1979 when visiting America was a big deal. The legendary singer, just back from America was quoted in the popular local daily SAMAJA, that even cats and dogs are better off in America. Soon came out a song composed and recorded by him, based on his American experience,

AMERICA RE PREMA HUE
BEECH ROAD UPARE,
AAU AMA CUTTACK RE PREMA HUE
BHAI RASTHA PACHHARE.

Transliterated....

 (Love in America
  is a road side show,
  In Cuttack love happens
  behind Rickshaw).

India has come a long way since 1979, now a trillion dollar economy chugging ahead. Visiting America is no big deal to publicize in newspapers. The young generation since have lifted their veil of shyness, long shifted their erotic advances to parks and pubs - even on BEECH (Middle of) road as hand pulled Rickshaws have given way to their Auto cousins.

Saluting the Maestro and wishing him a Happy Birthday, let me end my ode to him with this funny number, which he penned himself,

"PREMIKARA BARIADE BAIDHANKA
 AU BICHHUATA BANA...
DEKHIBAKU MANA CHHANA CHHANA
KUNDAAI KUNDAAI GALA PRANA"..

Roughly transliterated

" My beloved's home backyard
Has a jungle filled with Poison Ivy,
 In the eagerness to watch her stealthily,
 I had to scratch myself heavy."

RIP Khoka Bhai. I doubt our generation will ever see a virtuoso from Odisha like you, especially when Odia music is on death bed.

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...

India trip 2018 - Day XIV

There is some marked differences in some commonly used phrases in American and Indo-British English used here.

Indo-British : One to one meeting.

American : One on one meeting.

Indo-British : Going to office.

American :   Going to work.

Indo-British : Let's have lunch together.

American :  Let's do lunch together.

Indo-British : Are you Going to lunch with us ? 

American : Are you Coming to lunch with us ? 

There are also differences in the usage of certain words (phrases) in America and my native state of Odisha. One such word is "Nonsense". In US it means something which doesn't make sense or difficult to understand. But it Odisha "Nonsense" can be considered as a GAALI or rebuke, taken in a derogatory sense. Another one is the phrase "I don't care". It implies lack of inclination or disinterest or simply "it's non of my business". In Odisha saying "I don't care" can instantly brand you as a heartless person lacking empathy. Meanings can be lost in translation.

In the Webster's dictionary smart means "clever, witty, brainy" etc. In Bhubaneswar parlance a guy on a bike wearing shining shoes and chasing girls is considered a smart guy. The name "Smart city" tag given to Bhubaneswar speaks for itself.

Most here rarely eat dinner before 10 PM. 6 O'Clock in the evening is the time for CHA JALAKHIA (Tea and snacks) for most. Around 9.30 people slowly flock the restaurants in Bhubaneswar, peaking from 10 PM onwards. In US most finish dinner by 7 PM, though I eat mine in between 8 and 9 PM - a classic case of a DCBA (Desi Confused by America) walking the middle path.

I was further confused by the sound of dance and high decibel music emanating from the Sri Guru Math, a monastery of a Bengali Guru a stone's distance from our home. Surrounded by greenery, this religious abode attracts hundreds of devotees from Bengal. Curious about the devotional song accompanied by a group of DHOTI clad males gyrating their hips - swaying, toing and froing, circling around banging their GHANTA and GINI (musical instruments made from Brass), singing the Bengali Bhaki (devotional) song a portion of which I could grasp -

JASHODA JANANI DAE, 

BAL KRESHTO KHAE RE.

SONAR NUPUR BAJE,

HARI JENE JAE RE.

Roughly transliterated...

Mother Yashoda gives,

Kid Krishna to eat.

Golden anklet makes sounds,

Wherever God goes.

They went on and on until the SHESHA AARAT (the zenith of final chanting of prayer). The Prasad (offerings) of a mixure of fruits were distributed among the devotees and unlookers. The most pleased are the local fast food vendors who make some quick bucks selling peanuts, GUPCHUP (Golgappa or Panipuri) catering the bus loads of devotees coming mainly from Bengal. Only complain the locals have when they use loudspeakers on special occasions like Puja blaring cacophony, especially in the night leading to disturbed sleep - not to mention some of them being eyesores for relieving themselves in public. More later....

India trip 2018 - Day XIII

While UBERing inside the city today I saw Auto - cracy in Bhubaneswar. The three wheeled motorized rickswaw is everywhere and can come from nowhere and dangerously barge in from narrow lanes to main road without yielding to the incoming traffic. They can suddenly overtake and stop right in front of you to any extended hand indicating it to stop. The Autoricksaws want to outsmart and out run each other in the rat race of catching the next BHADAA, the Odia term for rental passengers.

Bhubaneswar made me conclude that no one breaks any traffic rule in the capital city - they make their own. In IT parlance, we use the term Deadlock to describe a situation when two processes try to access the same resource at the same time. In such a scenario, one waits for the other to complete its task until its turn arrives. Similarly we get a Deadlock situation at road intersections when two drivers are stuck, hoping for the other one to go first like "Lucknow KI DO NAWABON KI GAADI PEHLE AAP PEHLE AAP..." - as two vehicles carrying Royals of Lucknow, a place known for etiquette request each other to go first.

In Bhubaneswar, it is other way round. Everyone wants to go first at the other's expense. Letting the other go first would be considered too benevolent, outright stupidity - a pipe dream. If I ever get behind the wheels here, either I will hit someone or someone will hit me within a mile of my driving.

It turned out to be a hectic day for me. Met my school friends over breakfast and did lunch with my Engineering College friends. As my vehicle stopped at a traffic light near Ravindra Mandap, I saw the faces on bikes, inside the cars and autos suddenly turn in unison in the direction of a tall, lanky girl in dark glasses with a red scarf tied to her neck, standing below a tree at the corner of a crossroad. She was probably on a photo shoot as couple of guys were frantically clicking pictures of her from different angles using long snouted cameras protruding on tripods. It didn't go unnoticed to me that the most lascivious oglings wasn't from the youngsters around, rather from many gray haired and baldies no less than 60 years old gaping at her with eyes and mouth wide open.

There are huge billboards at all major intersections of the city announcing the World Cup Hockey tournament to be held couple of months from now, side by side with the ostentatious face of the Chief Minister of the state smiling at the passersbys. Can't recollect any international sporting event used for political promotion since 1936 Berlin Olympics which was used to promote Hitler and his Nazi ideology. 

The city planners are leaving no stones unturned to make this event a success. Part of the plan is to sterilize 1500 stray dogs ahead of it as they could be a major eyesore and nuisance when the state capital will be under international limelight this winter. 

Yet capturing and neutering thousands of stray dogs is an Herculean task given the limited time and resource available with the authorities. The pariah mongrel menace is endemic in the city which reports on an average 36 dog bites per day - not to mention innumerable vehicle accidents caused by them. This is the most humane way of tackling the stray canine population, thanks to the event it could turn into a blessing in disguise the city-gens ameliorating the stray dog menace. More later....

India trip 2018 - Day XII

More than half way through my India I have realized that time flies faster than the speed of light. A vacation week passes much faster than a work week, vindicating "The Theory of Relativity". Explaining his famous theory Einstein said "time flies slowly when you listen to a boring lecture, but it flies fast when you talk to a pretty girl". He was so correct.

Whenever and wherever I get a chance, I speak to every person from all echelons of the society I come across. While riding a car - OLA, UBER or otherwise I invariably take the passenger seat on the front so that I can talk to the driver. The common man doesn't care about GDP, Demonetization, GST or all kinds of sundry statistics. He cares more about price of gas, essential commodities and corruption in public. The first two has gone up and corruption has hardly come down. I have asked the common man on the street - sweepers, shopkeeper, intellectuals, educated ones, friends, villagers one common question looking into their eyes, "Are you better off now than you were 4 and half years ago?" The common answer from the common man so far is a resounding NO.

This evening I was standing in front of a BINA PIAJA RASUNA (Without Onion and Garlic) Vegetarian Roll Stall to buy for my parents who are vegetarians on Saturdays. A guy in a cheap Safari suit with dusty Chappal (sandals) suddenly barged in, ARRE MATE SUPOO JALDI DE (Give me some soup) - his burp smelled a mix of pyorrhea and cheap whisky. 

Undeterred, the stall guy rolled his dough, sprinkled some oil over it and flipped it. The impatient customer again yelled - HE SUPOO DE, NAHELE MUNCIPALTY KU KAHI TO DOKAN BAND KARIDEBI (Hey give me soup, otherwise I will tell the municipality to shut down your stall). The stall owner looked unperturbed, continued making rolls without batting an eyelid. Did not seem he took the threat seriously.

Today's weather was a trifle cooler - it felt a lot less humid. The smell of Puja was in the air as the retreating cyclone Titli sucked moisture bringing in the Durga Puja flavor. Durga Puja is arguably the most festive occasion in Odisha which runs into several days. I visited UTKALIKA , a store selling crafts and artifacts of Odisha located in the Market Building - Bhubaneswar's equivalence of Time Square. It was throbbing with people doing their last minute Puja marketing (local lingo for shopping). 

I walked a narrow lane connecting the main road from Rajmahal to Market Building. It was packed like sardines. A melee in front of a small store drew my attention. A woman was shouting on top of her voice - E LOKATA MO THU DASA LAKHYA NEI FEREINI. MU TA BEPARA BAND KARIDEBI (The man has taken a million rupees from me and hasn't returned back. I vow to close down his business). A crowd of curious unlookers was starting to build up, enjoying the drama and further constricting the narrow path. I snaked my way through them to emerge on the Main street of Market Building, gasping for fresh air.

Already exhausted with couple of threats to close down businesses, I stood for a while trying to figure out the shortest path algorithm to reach UTKALIKA with my hand firmly tucked inside my pocket holding on to the wallet - for I was fore warned earlier of pickpockets prying on unsuspecting Puja shoppers. I heard a girl on phone speaking in a soft but audible voice - "TU JANICHU NA, MO BOYFRIEND TA EBE BEWAFA HEI JAICHI (You know, my boyfriend has turned untrustworthy of late)". Good luck young lady on your "Bewafa Boyfriend" and thanks for enriching the Odia language by adding some news words to it. More later....

India trip 2018 - Day XI

I saw a huge Billboard at Master Canteen, a prime central location of the city close to the Railway station proudly advertising the grand opening (probably the first in the city) of a new Burger King joint at a local mall on Friday, the 12th October. Understandably so - as Friday is one of the 3 days other than Wednesday and Sunday when majority of Odias have no qualms consuming meat, fish and poultry. I was hardly excited by this grand opening, still sticking to my promise of not eating any Burger or Pizza during my stay in India. For me, A chicken egg roll is much preferred option to Burger King.

It was a day of mixed customer service experience. After making a purchase from the "Nimapada Sweets", a popular store in Bapuji Nagar I tendered the exact changes. The cashier did not like a slightly soiled 10 rupee note (A currency bill is called note here) and refused to take it. I am sure he was very aware of the profit he was making on a Rs.570 sell - a slightly soiled 10 rupee note wll hardly impact him. Though its sweets are of great quality, it privides lousy customer service.

The opposite happened during my visit to the oppositely located VENUS INN - a popular restaurant offering South Indian platters. As I was ordering a parcel (the local term for to go or carry out food), I was offered a seat and glass of water for the 15 minutes wait to pick up the order. They had no qualms about accepting that so called soiled 10 rupee note. A waiter opened the door for me as my both hands were full. Exemplary customer service by Venus Inn.

The heavy rain tapered off to a steady drizzle as I tried to cross the road from Nimapada sweets store to Venus Inn amidst a bunch of honking vehicles, swinging my hips and clasping my hands which would have made any eunuch proud. I could see a car approaching towards me through the stripes of rain painted gold by its headlight, looking like rays of fireworks emitting from sparkler on a Diwali night. 

I walked nonchalantly, thinking as a pedestrian I have the right of way and the car to stop. But apparently the car driver felt he had the right of way as it got perilously close and slammed its break hardly a feet away from me. Glad he did that - it was win win situation for both of us. I escaped unhurt and he from getting thrashed by the locals which he couldn't have avoided at such a busy intersection per the underlying mob rule - when a vehicle hits a pedestrian it is invariably the fault of the vehicle, if two vehicles are involved in a collision it is the fault of the bigger vehicle. Lucky day for both.

It rained crazily all night long, with natural fireworks of thunder and lightening. Sky was still gray in the morning. The street below was filled with leaves, broken branches and twigs from tress. I found my match in an old Bull in our locality - for he puts his bullshit on our street, I load my bullshit on Facebook. The poor old guy shared his space with couple of pariah dogs taking shelter under the mango tree protruding out above the wall near our gate. The animals shared the natural canopy, respecting each other's space with mutual trust and respect, occasionally shrugging off the excess water from their bodies and changing positions looking for drier spot. More later....