All the MASTRAs will get beaten

Recently I came across a news item about educational institutions in Bhubaneswar remaining closed due to the ongoing terrible summer heat wave. The state capital, a city hitherto known for its salubrious weather has recently turned into a heat chamber with no immediate respite on sight.

It reminded me of an incident from the year 2000. My father was nearing his retirement from his teaching job in SCS college, Puri. I was visiting India at that time. One fine morning on a working day when I went to pick him up from the college, I suddenly encountered a bunch of agitated students at the college entrance. They were on a protest and trying to bar the teachers from getting inside the college building. My father happened to be present inside the building surrounded by the students.

After visiting Lord Jagannath temple I headed straight to the college to pick him up on my way home. A guy snarled at me at the gate baring his betel (PAAN) stained teeth and blocked my path proclaiming on top of his voice - "SABU MASTRA AJI MAADA KHAIBE (All the teachers will be beaten today. MASTRA in Odia is a slang for teacher, often used in a derogatory sense). He mistook me as a young teaching staff. I replied back - "MU MASTRA NUHE, MASTRA NKA PUA (I am not a teacher, rather a teacher's son)", so I may be spared the thrashing. 

He could not catch the humor. All of a sudden a bunch of girl students arrived at the scene diverting his and his fellow agitators' attention. In the ensuing melee I looked around making sure that nobody was noticing me and then stealthily slipped inside. But a la Mahabharat's hapless Abhimanyu I managed to get inside the college building but had no clue how to get out. Soon police came to the rescue and the crowd dispersed. We dad-son duo finally headed our way back home.

My father came all the way from Bhubaneswar to Puri to take a B.Sc. Physics Honours class which was cancelled for umpteenth time due to the student's agitation. Lamenting he expressed his view - "At least some semblance of teaching was there in the general colleges during your student days. These days whatever is left out of the 144 sanctioned holidays in a year, many are wasted in college elections, politically motivated agitations and other disturbances, leading to suspension of classes. Hardly anytime is left to teach and finish the syllabus on time". 

It is what it is. Couple of decades down the road I am not sure if things are better or worse these days. But educational institutes getting closed due to summer heat adds more to the glut of holidays and loss of invaluable academics hours. As the hot weather shows no signs of waning, we might see more such holidays taking a toll on the student's education. Hope the weather gets better and students better get back to class.

Janaki Bolo, Indira Bolo

 We just passed the death Anniversary of JB Patnaik, a wily politican from the Congress party in Odisha who was a 3 term Chief Minister of the state. Even the legendary Biju Patnaik, the father of the current incumbent Naveen Patnaik and JB's contemporary could do little to prevent him from occupying the most coveted position in the state, especially when Congress ruled the roost in the 1980s and 90s.

JB Patnaik was the Chief minister of Odisha for 14 long years. He was a politician who started his career in media, at a time when social media was strictly fantasy. His death Anniversary reminded me of his administration during my growing up days back in Odisha. At the time of his death in April, 2015 media had come a long way. But politics still remains murky as ever.

His inept and corrupt regime paved way to another 5 term (and still counting) Chief Minister in the form Naveen Patnaik. JB Patnaik no doubt was an acknowledged scholar of Sanskrit and Odia, a writer of prominence. But his tenure at the helm of affairs in Odisha institutionalized corruption and corrupted the institution. Widespread nepotism seemed the sine qua non in a state which still languishes at the bottom of the ladder of social indices of development.

A master political manipulator, having a penchant to cling to power by hook or crook, he was unceremoniously removed in 1999 and could never make a comeback. Controversies hounded him which included practice of black magic, innuendos of his alleged escapades of sexual perversions published in now defunct magazine "Illustrated Weekly" in the summer of 1985 - arguably did a great damage to his and his party's image but could never dent his ability to stick to power. In few words, he was the harbinger of the end of Congress in Odisha.

His death Anniversary reminded me of this incident from the year 1983. In my life I have encountered many instances of sycophancy. But nothing even comes close to the sycophancy displayed by the CONGRESSIYAs (as folks from the Congress party are referred to in Odisha), a party built in layers of sycophancy.

One fine afternoon, I was cycling back home from school. The traffic even in the peak afternoon hours in Bhubaneswar was not too bad in the capital city of Odisha. The arteries of the city wasn't clogged yet, needing no bypass. The bicycle ride from D M School in Unit IX to our flat (apartment) near BJB College, even during peak traffic rarely took more than 20 minutes. Slicing through the city traffic on bike was nevertheless fun in those teenage years.

No sooner I passed the PMG Square, than I saw a big crowd gathered near the Parade field (now IG Park). Curious, I disembarked and peeped through the shoulders of other onlookers. Gigantic cut outs of a smiling Indira Gandhi waving her hand and a grumpy Hippo faced JB Patnaik, the CM of the time were staring at me. A bunch of lily white clad NETAs (politicians) were on a podium with the funnel shaped mikes close by blaring incomprehensible cacophony.

Suddenly everybody turned their head in one direction. My inquisitive eyes followed them in sync. From a corner barged in a bunch of tonsured heads wearing DHOTI and KURTA (traditional Indian dress). Some were beating MRUDANGA (Drums) hung from their neck. Others were clanking GINI (a pair of ear shaped musical instrument made from brass plates, generally used during BHAJANs and KIRTANs). 

To the tune of these instruments, in a clear, audible tone all those egg headed guys started chanting in unison :

JANAKI BOLO, INDIRA BOLO, 

JAI INDIRA, JAI JANAKI.

(Chant Janaki, Chant Indira. 

 Hail Indira, Hail Janaki). 

The amused and bewildered crowd enjoyed every bit of it. For the organizers it was tantamount to killing two birds in one stone. Keep the sycophancy and decibel level high and flowing, while keeping the crowd engaged and enthralled. This spectacle got stuck forever in my mind, long enough to recapitulate it decades later, JB's death Anniversary being a terse reminder.

Minority bashing is the norm of the day

 The other day I was talking to a gentleman who had retired from Indian Civil Services not long ago. I always respect him as a learned person with a decent knowledge in various fields, but recently transformed into a Blind BHAKT (a term used for the rabid followers of Modi/BJP, often interchangeably) harboring belligerent views towards the minorities.

He blamed all the ills plaguing India on the minorities, especially the Muslims. He even tried to justify the myth propagated on media, social or otherwise, about each Muslim having four-four wives and ten-ten kids. The gentleman has a good knowledge of Greek History and never fails to quote the Greek mythological characters. I tried my best to reason with him, alluding to the Ancient Greeks whom he idolizes were good at logic.

I told him - "Muslims having four-four wives and ten-ten kids is far from the truth and more fictitious than any fables from Greek mythology. Forget about keeping multiple wives, overwhelming majority of Muslims I know have no more than two kids. There could be exceptions, but there are exceptions amongst other communities too. 

For example - the well known Bollywood actor Dharmendra has two wives. One of his wives Hema Malini is a MP from BJP. Also Hindus are no less guilty in producing ten-ten kids (an euphemism for having multiple children), one of them is Laloo Yadav, a prominent politician from Bihar. Hindus too are not behind at getting into a repeat-until loop until a male progeny is produced to proudly carry on their linage. As expected my explanation fell into deaf ears.

Our senior citizen and retired government official continued blaming the Muslims for the communal riots in India. I again tried my counter argument - "Most victims in the form of loss of life and property in communal riots in India are Muslims". He nonchalantly replied - "HAN MA. KETE TA PATHANA MARI GALE TA KANA HELA " - "So what if some Muslims got killed" ? I felt sick to my stomach hearing this from a high level official from Indian Civil Services who not long ago was in a responsible position in the Government.

Still trying to reason with him I continued further - "I have more than a dozen close Muslim and Christian friends. Not a single one of them is happy about Modi led BJP government. Unhappy would rather be an understatement, they feel outright insecure in this administration. I can vouch they are no less patriot than rest of my friends". Our retired Babu was hardly impressed with my logic and went on and on doing character assassination of Muslims and Christians to certain extent.

I interjected - "Well, we can indulge in these arguments and counter arguments all night long on this subject without reaching any conclusion. It is now high time to talk about solutions. BJP's leader and our ex Prime Minister A.B. Vajpayee famously said, "you can change your friend but can't change your neighbor". In India we have 200 million Muslims living amongst us as our neighbors in every neighborhood. We can't simply dump them into Bay of Bengal. We need to learn to live with them with mutual trust and respect, I said. His response was - "Vajpayee was a nincompoomp. Modi is the real tough guy to deal with the PATHANAs". I shied away - "Modi is rather part of the problem, not the solution I was looking for."

Finally, I decided to quit as I saw there was no point in wasting each other's precious time on this futile debate. Congress party was the champion of appeasement politics whereas BJP thrives on the politics of divisiveness. Just "Unnis - Bees" (19 - 20) difference in between them. Interestingly many who once used to be close to Caterpillar Congress in recent years have morphed into Butterfly Modi/BJP Bhakts. They don't belong to any party, but to the proverbial CHHATA (Umbrella) Party, with BARSA JUADE, CHHATA SIADE syndrome - "Move the Umbrella in the direction of rain" - simply meaning "A fairweather person". I bet, no sooner the Congress party comes back to power a few blind Bhakts will turn their umbrella in the appropriate direction but by then the damage too irreparable to be undone.

Matriculation examination time

 It's examination time back home, especially the Matriculation or Board examinations, the counterpart of what we call Tests in America.

Arguably matriculation examination was a make or break moment of our time. It is the first occasion during our student days to prove ourselves academically. Failure was not an option. A below par performance in any other exams always had the solace from the hope of a second chance. But if you screw up in this particular matric exam chances of a comeback is remote, though not mission impossible. Because depending upon the marks (score) you get, your future is set - as you need to chose Science, Commerce or Arts (Humanities) and go from there. During our time the choice of a subject wasn't based on interest, rather than the marks scored in matric exam. If you score 70% or above you go for Science stream, the next fortunate lot between 60 - 70% opt for Commerce and the leftover go for Arts (Humanities) - the usual disclaimers apply with a miniscule minority opting for Arts stream with Civil Services in mind.

Some I have come across still regret that 30-50 odd more marks in this crucial examination could have altered their career when they compare themselves to others at this stage in life, lamenting for falling behind for missing the boat due to being CHHATARA (Girl chasing vagabonds) and not focusing on studies. Thoough there are a few exceptions who after passing out in GANDHI SHRENI (Class) sarcastically named after our Father of the Nation who passed Matriculation in the 3rd division but later excelled in academics. Often I wonder why not name 2nd Division after Nehru and 1st Division after Subash Bose as a fitting tribute to both icons who passed Matriculation in those divisions. 

A good score in Matriculation assures you an entry into a decent college, otherwise for many the goose is cooked. Not getting into a good college can get you tagged as a DHAIN, which in the local lingo means a person with respiratory ailments gasping for breath but as a slang depicts a "worthless" person, a nincompoop. 

It's not unusual for teenagers to commit suicide due to the ignominy of poor performance in this crucial examination, as they can't cope up with the prospect of being persona non grata or as we call in Odia LOKE BOLIBE KANA (what the public will say) ? Often failing in an exam in Odisha in the local lingo is said as KHARAP HEIGALA or "shit happened"  more of a soothing metaphor rather than the ubiquitous ill sounding "Fail".

In my father's generation passing the Matriculation examination was a matter of prestige as well as a passport to a decent government job. A contemporary of him passed it after no less than half dozen attempts. His initial attempt was with Mathematics Optional paper, the preferred option for good students. After failing, he kept on switching optionals to the less preferred Sanskrit yet failed again. Finally he toggled with the least preferred Physiology & Hygiene and Home Science optionals before finally managing to clear the exam well in his 20s, following the footsteps of Gandhi by getting Gandhi class, but more importantly he passed he landed up getting a coveted Class III Goverment job and a secured life. His passing in Matriculation after 6 long years was a matter of celebration in his village as the ecstatic gentleman went around distribution sweets and offering gratitude to at least a dozen of Gods and Goddesses.

Many who could not clear the papers under Odisha BSE (Board Of Secondary Education) had the option of getting the Matriculation degree from Andhra, known as Andhra matric. The later was considered an easier option - second rate degree, yet still provided the solace of having one. Those less fortunates were condemned themselves to the rest of their life sentenced to MABF (Matric Appeared, Bychance Failed).

No wonder, In our time there was a saying in rhyme -

"Matriculation examination,
Is a great botheration,
For the young generation".

Good luck to the kids appearing in this years Matriculation, fashionably called Board Exams these days. 

RIP Prafulla Kar

 He was one of the last of the original, prominent male playback singers left in Odia music industry which has currently gone to the dogs mixed with Hindi and English lyrics (one person from that fading generation still alive is Pranab Patnaik). Others like Akshay Mohanty, Chitta Jena, Sikandar Alam have passed away to heavenly abode long ago. Today Prafulla Kar, the well known Odia singer passed away.

Those from the generation who grew up in Odisha in the 1970s and 80s still fondly remember him for his plethora of Jagannath JANANA (devotional songs) as well as LAGHU (light hearted) romantic songs and few funny numbers as well.

Sri Prafulla Kar use to write well also and wrote several columns in Odia. He is the father-in-law of my friend and classmate from REC (NIT Rourkela), Rajib Rath who lives in Cleveland, Ohio and visited USA on few occasions enthralling and entertaining his audience with his golden voice. He narrated the following funny episode in one the columns carried on a leading Odia Daily.

One fine morning during one of his trips to USA he was taking his usual morning walk in the community where his daughter and son-in-law live. He had drank a lot of water in empty stomach that morning and got an urge to relieve himself after walking some distance.

It was nature's call which could have happened to anyone. There was no public Restrooms (as toilets are called in India) nearby. He had no option but to empty his bladder surreptitiously at a wooded corner thinking no one was noticing the act. And so he thought. No sooner he zipped his pants and turned back he saw a police officer right behind him. He managed to convince the police who didn't press any charges and let him go. He narrated this incident in a funny and lucid way.

RIP Mr. Prafulla Kar. Whenever I remember the Odia Janana "MAHABAHU, AKHILA JAGATA NATHA.." I will remember you. My heartfelt condolences to Rajib and his family. Om Shanti.

When fortune drives the fate

 I finished watching the latest of the Narco series "Narcos Mexico" on Netflix. Set in the 1980s it has captured the life and progress of Mexican drug cartels, especially Miguel Angel Felix who rose from a junior level Police official in the badlands of Sinaloa to a Billionaire Drug trafficker of international fame.

It was the time "El Chapo" the infamous drug lord who is currently in US custody was merely a driver in Miguel Felix's gang. He was called by his big bosses to fetch packs of cigarettes, pour them a drink and occasionally give them a head and shoulder massage. Slowly El Chapo (meaning Shorty in Spanish) started driving the drug trade and driving the officials nuts on both sides of the US - Mexican border.

Drivers, also referred by better sounding Chauffeurs while sitting close to their bosses and listening to their conversations have a history of learning the skills of the game and acting as henchmen for their masters, occasionally adapting their master's skills. An ex-politician from India's state of Karnataka C.K. Jefferson Sharief started as a driver of a better known politician and ended up as a Cabinet Minister in various ministries during the Congress party days.

In the 1987 movie SATYAMEVA JAYATE (Only Truth Prevails) the police inspector Vinod Khanna responds when threatened by the driver of a minister for stopping the later's car - "MINISTER KA GAADI CHALATE CHALATE KHUD KO MINISTER SAMAJH RAKHA HAI KYA" (By driving Minister's car you thought yourself as minister or what) ? That was reel life. But such arrogance of drivers of folks at the helm of affairs aren't something not entirely unheard of. In real life  C.K.Jaffer Sharief went one step further. He actually became a minister. 

Miguel Felixe was the Pablo Escobar of Mexico. In one scene the famous Columbian, Escobar of Madeline cartel threatens Felix to feed him to his pet Hippos. Pablo Escobar was to drug trafficking as Pele was to Soccer - the all time great had a fetish of keeping exotic animals including Tigers and Giraff as pets.

El Chapo rose from a mere driver to the driving force behind the famous Sinaloa Cartel - a billionaire drug mafia. Many stalwarts and his competitors in the drug business would perish sooner or later. He had couple of close encounters with death too but was fortunate to survive. At one point he was almost killed when gunmen shot his boss from point blank range and were about to execute El Chapo when he pleaded for his life - "I am a mere driver. Leave me alone". "So can you drive our vehicles ?", he got an whimsical order. El Chapo wasn't in a position to decline such once in lifetime, life saving offer. He had his luck to live another day until it finally ran out a few years ago landing him in one of America's maximum security prisons where he is currently harbored.

There used to be a popular saying during the days of Mughals who ruled India at  medieval time - "TAKHT YA TAKHTA", meaning "Crown or Coffin". It aptly described the fratricidal wars fought between the brothers for the prized Kingship which knew no Kinship. In the end one ended up with Crown, the rest destined to graves.

Nothing much have changed. In the quest to control the lucrative drug trade many went unsung to their grave, but El Chapo survived by a whisker to earn the crown. Dawood Ibrahim, India's most wanted Don played the second fiddle to his brother. His brother Shabbir Ibrahim was shot dead, Dawood got shot on his thigh close to his groin but survived. He is a rumored to be a billionaire who is India's most wanted fugitive but no one remembers his brother.

In our own state of Odisha a don Pratap Swain of Barhampur was slain on the street while his counterpart in Cuttack CHHOTA (Lame) Ananta was trampled under a truck. Yet one of their contemporary Dons who rumored to have survived a shoot out went on to become a well to do businessman still at the helm. Another one such Don on to become a minister. It's always TAKHT YA TAKHTA, Crown or Coffin.

Such a thing called Destiny ! It can be freaky, cruel and rewarding, destroying at the same time. History is always partial to the winners, with losers destined to its dustbins. Life ain't fair and lovely. Fortune drives fate. It is no better elucidated in the "Narcos Mexico" series.

One and half month of war in Ukraine

 If someone is prodded to attack me, then hits me, he may give me a few punches having the initial advantages before I start retaliating. But chances are he may not stay motivated for long enough though he is the bigger bully, for he is not on a mission on his own and is fighting  someone else's war. On the other hand I being at the receiving end will stubbornly fight back as I have nothing to lose with everything at stake to protest, whereas my much powerful opponent has everything to lose being the aggressor. The more the fight lingers on, the more confidence I gain by keeping my opponent engaged and slowly dragging him into a quagmire. 

Same is happening between Russia, the aggressor and Ukraine the defender. After one and half months of the war it is quite apparent that Russia hasn't made the progress it aspired for. Without any tangible gain it seems to be on the back foot looking at a stalemate. Usually the side at the receiving is more motivated to defend its territory. That's exactly what Ukraine is doing as happened in Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan when the fancied USA and Russia after some initial success their soldiers lost their appetite to fight on long run. The underdogs familiar with their home terrain launched classic guerrilla warfare frustrating their assaulters, resulting in an eventual insulting and ignominious exit of the superpowers.

Same could be happening to the Russian forces. Who wants to die for a dictator Putin's whims and fancy, whether a country named Ukraine joins NATO or not ? A la Bhishma's wise councelling in Hindu epic Mahabharat - "YUDH KI BAAT KARNA EK BAAT HAI, YUDH KARNA AUR EK BAAT HAI". It is one thing to talk about war, another to actually fight a war.

The only motivated people fighting on Russian side I see now are the keyword warriors and self proclaimed Bhakts-turned-Putin fans who have never stepped a day in their life on a battlefield. They seem to be the ones who are excited about this war, backing Russia because it backed us during the 1971 war with Pakistan. They are conveniently forgetting that both Russia and Ukraine were part of the erstwhile superpower Soviet Union who helped us during Bangladesh war. But what more to expect from our Whatsapp University graduates !!!

The real soldiers who have stepped on the battlefield do not want their asses on line for the whims and fancies of a megalomaniac oligarch and seem to be low on their mojo to carry on forward. On the other hand the gritty Ukrainians have a lot to fight for and resist about as the needless war drags on and on. The longer this skirmish continues it will be advantage Ukraine and disaster Russia.

In the game of Chess in which the Russians are known to excell, the opponents go for a draw when they see a deadlock situation is reached from which no one can win. Hence it's high time for Putin to realize the folly and end it with a face saving gesture. A dictator with billions of dollars stashed abroad may have nothing to lose, but his poor countrymen have everything to lose. He should call it a draw to end the stalemate with a graceful exit. It will be good for him, good for the world.

Loss of culture in name of beautification

 My home in Bhubaneswar is located in the Old Town area of the City where the residents take pride as the original inhabitants of the temple town. I lived in the same neighborhood for years until my education and job took me elsewhere. The place has a reputation of old temple culture that involves SANGA, BHANGA, SANGEETA and PANGATA (Friend, Cannabis paste, Music sessions and Sumptuous Meals), similar to its sister city of Puri famous for Lord Jagannath temple.

Those who live in Old Town wear their pride of original inhabitants close to their heart. The new capital built around it which saw gargantuan growth in later years is ascribed by them as "GALAAM NAGARI" (City of Servants). It isn't far from truth. The numerous government employees quartered in its multiple Units are called Public Servants known for their servitude. It is aptly displayed by the monstrous bureaucracy where starting from the Peon at the lowest echelon, at the highest level by the IAS officer to his minister boss, all acting in unison no less than servants to their supervisors. DALAALs (middlemen) too rule the roost in a feudal Babudom dominated society. So whoever coined the term GOLAAM NAGARI wasn't far from the truth.

During my trip to India last September one day it rained incessantly all night. There was a brief pause in the morning as lashing rains gave away to a steady drizzle. I took out my umbrella and walked towards a local tea stall which also serves BARA (Vada) and GHUGUNI (Cheakpea curry) barely 100 feet from our house. There was a smaller than usual crowd in front of the stall with customers eager to savor a breakfast of Bara dipped in Ghuguni with black salt, onion chunks and green chili on the side - perfect start to a rainy day. 

After taking my order Bulu, the shopkeeper-cum-chef told me "AGYAN TIKE DERI HABA (there might be a little delay in service) as he carefully pushed around the wooden planks inside the burning clay oven to add fuel to the fire. He kept on turning the wooden shaft to turn on the heat and turned over about couple of dozens of Baras slow fried on a huge, dark pan. 

A little delay - a "little" can be anything between 5 to more than 30 minutes, little being a relative term. Bara needs to be fried on medium flame for the best results, so that both its surface and the interior is fried uniformly. Many on their way to work parked their motorbikes and bicycles by this stall for an express breakfast consisting of half a dozen Bara soaked in Ghuguni washed down with hot tea. No wonder many Odias suffer from chronic gastric issues as Bara and Ghuguni combo though tasty can be notoriously gas producing.

A guy parked his Scooty and walked in to deliver his Breaking News of the morning - A 3 storeyed building shrank by 3 feet in Dumduma area due to the ongoing deluge, now standing like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. As Bulu the Chef moved around the Baras swirling and wobbling on the surface of boiling oil using his jumbo sized spatula, he uttered back in excitement - "SALA SABU GAON RU UTHI ASI KAHIBE AME BHONSARA RE RAHIBU. "All those brothers of the sisters I have seduced (Sala means wife's brother, but in local slang it's usage suggests the speaker is the seducer of sister of whom so ever concerned) have come out of their villages with the desire to live in Bhubaneswar. "RAJADHANI PANI, TANKU ANUCHI TANI - the water of capital city is dragging them here".

Bulu continued further. These folks who are used to living in squalors in their native villages have no civic sense. They come in droves to GOLAM NAGARI to live like POKA, JOKA (insects and leeaches) in illegally constructed buildings. SALE SABU CHIPI HEI MARANTU (Let those whose sisters I seduce get trampled in the collapsed building and perish). The future prospect of Bhonsar doesn't look too good. You should see how they have destroyed our Lingaraj temple vicinity in the name of beautification. This is a glimpse of the classic old town culture of small talk giving big pleasure.

Bulu was correct. What I just portrayed is a typical Old Town GULLI KHATTI (light veined talk) discussion ridden laid back lifestyle. The area surrounding famous Lingaraj temple bustling with life where the shops, kiosks, carts, flower sellers along with Bulls, Pandas (temple priests) and visitors lived in peaceful coexistence had been cleared and relocated half a mile away. The place has been robbed off its heart and soul that defined the milieu of Old Town. 

A forlorn feeling engulfed me as I could smell the miasma of GOLAAM NAGARI now encroaching into the Old Town culture true to its self. Often chaos and disorder brings the fun and frolic out of life rather than orderly tidiness. The quintessential Old town was missing. Perestroika in name of embellishment seems to have altered its culture. I found no difference between Nayapalli and Old Town - the vivacity attached to it gone forever.

The Urdu Controversy

 There is a recent rise in the character assassination of Urdu language by the extreme right wing fundamentalists fueling intolerance, mostly by BJP and its blind supporters to score cheap political goals by juxtaposing the language with the Muslim community. Media, social or otherwise has its role in fanning this fire. Most of those who are indulged in this nefarious activities do not know "L" of any language. What more to expect from our Whatsapp University graduates ? Hope sanity prevails, but we live in insane times.

Though English and Urdu are different, both bear stark similarities. Both are flexible, don't have a script of their own (English uses Roman and Urdu uses Arabic script). Both lack any stringent grammatical rules (for that matter American English hardly follow any grammar). In fact many passing deregatory terms for Urdu language aren't aware of the fact that the script of the language is Arabic. It should be also be noted that Punjabi is written in Gurumukhi in Indian part of Punjab, whereas the same language spoken in Pakistani Punjab uses Arabic as the script. Sanskrit in Odisha is taught in Odia Script. I read and wrote my school exam in Sanskrit using Devanagari script whereas my counterparts in Odia media wrote Sanskrit using Odia script. So what so big about a script ?

Urdu is a nice blend of Hindi, Persian and Arabic, a smooth blend like blended Scotch Whiskey. The flexibility of both Urdu and English has contributed to their richness, robustness and longevity. Such languages are destined to flourish as long as they adapt to be the survivor of the fittest.

Interestingly, both Urdu and Sanskrit are ornamental languages which are not widely spoken in mass. Though Urdu is the official language of Pakistan, they mostly speak Punjabi, Sindhi, Pashto and Hindustani - a much diluted version of Urdu mixed with Hindi. Bengali not Urdu is the official language of the Muslim majority Bangladesh.

The knowledge and competence in any language, including Sanskrit and Urdu has hardly anything to do with religion. Nothing prevents folks from other religions to learn it. Many Westerners Christians are excellent scholars of Sanskrit with in depth knowledge of the subject. Many deep researched books on the history of Odisha and India are written by Westerners. In my college days the technical textbooks written by Westerners, mostly by American authors addressed my real doubts while books by Indian Authors rarely did so.

A language is not the monopoly of any faith. Gulzar, an outstanding and accomplished Urdu Poet whose lyrics are huge Bollywood hits is a Sikh. It's unwise to give a communal angle to a language. If we will continue to do so we will still stay struck in our vainglorious days of 5000 BC.

Imran Khan won't hang up

 Imran Khan still hangs on, hasn't hung up his boots yet. As the cricket captain of Pakistan he desired to defeat England in England and India in India - both countries he loved to hate. He got both his wishes fulfilled. Then he went on to win the Cricket World Cup in 1992 after motivating his team when all hope was gone as they were one game shy from elimination. He soon built a Cancer hospital in memory of his mother, first of its kind in the poverty stricken nation of Pakistan.

The ultimate Alpha Male, Imran Khan a playboy of repute bedded a number of lasses, some of them rumored to be Rekha, Moon Moon Sen and notably Zeenat Aman whom he almost married but for the objection from his mother. He produced at least one known bastard from the six feet American celebrity girl Sita White. He first denied it but in the age of DNA test he admitted of fathering a girl child when an US Court summoned him to do a paternity test. 

Sita White died young at a young age 43, suddenly collapsing before her Yoga class in Los Angeles. Imran was forced to take his daughter into his custody. He married multiple times which included Jemima Goldsmith, his first wife and daughter of a super rich Jewish tycoon - a girl half his age.

When Imran Khan joined politics, he was laughed off and expected not to replicate his success on the Cricket field in the murky world of Pakistani politics. A man destined to be the yet again winner all the way, he went on to become the Prime Minister of the country - the ultimate dream of any politician from the Indian subcontinent.

Allah, Army and America rule the roost in Pakistan. Everyone thought that by taking on to the powerful Army establishment supported by  America he will fizzle into oblivion. It ain't happened yet. The gritty Pathan is showing no signs of quitting without a fight. I always admire and adore leaders with "never say die" attitude, also famously exemplified by British Prime Minister Winston Churchill during the World War II.

A born fighter, Imran Khan hasn't hung up his boots yet. Like a cornered tiger when he came back from behind against all odds to inspire a talented but maverick Pakistan side to win the 1992 Cricket World Cup, he is still in the game. Game on folks.