Thanksgiving 2022

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

Facebook taught me writing. Ever since I discovered my blogging skill a decade or so ago, never in my wildest of dreams ever I imagined coming this far. From a few lines of scrolls in the beginning to a wide variety of thoughts kept flowing like streams, merging and taking the shape of a larger river on social media, I have taken a long road. A decent number of kudos started trickling in, motivated me to pen more and more. Like women and fire who never say enough, I say never enough to writing as I haven't stopped penning ever since. 

Soon compliments started pouring in. Many of them from unknowns who admit (some grudgingly) of enjoying my writing. One went further, "even if you write junk, don't know why, I still make it a point to read it. You have converted bullshit into a form of art." I took it as a compliment. It's not easy to sell bullshit.

I thrive to be a raconteur of human foibles. Folks love spicy stuff, be it food or writing. I readily oblige them. People may give long speeches about the health and nutritional values of the Odia dish SANTULA (a boiled mix veg dish) and DALMA (a dish of boiled Dal & Veggies). But in reality they cherish spicy chilli chicken or mutton curry. Human character is full of contradictions. I cater to the taste of my audience, unabashdly dishing out spicy stuff.

It feels flattered when on occasions folks I barely know walk towards me to compliment on my writing. It's no doubt a very pleasing experience to know that there is a silent majority out there who love reading my posts. Some who never put a "like" or comment on my posts, surprise me by doing the same verbally. Writing as an art I discovered fairly late in my life. Sometimes I secretly wish that Facebook was there when I was young and single.

Occasionally few solicit my advice to improve their writing ability (anyway I don't consider myself of having any great writing skill). I get pleasantly shocked by the heroic adulation from many having done nothing heroic other than posting tons of crap on my Facebook wall. My answer to them - there is no magic or silver bullet on writing. Like any creative skill if it's inside you, one day it will burst open like a dam unable to control the surging water. So just go ahead, pen your thoughts and let it take its own shape.

Some even suggested me to chose writing as a professional career. It is a great creative outlet and escape from the daily drudgery in life, accompanied by a sense of pleasure and fulfillment. I don't have an iota of doubt about it. Hence I 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 in my life. There is an immense sense of satisfaction as a writer, but frankly there is 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. Sad, but it is the reality of our time.

My current profession does not pay me a whole lot, but pays my bills - with a few additional safety net of some post retirement benefits. A la the electrical main switch of a house, it keeps my home lighted, warm and fuzzy during winter and keeps a roof above my head for rainy days. Everything else falls in place and would stop the moment the main switch gets turned off. So at most I will keep writing as a hobby, with a book or collection of articles down the road.  

Having bored you to death with this long monologue, wish you all a HAPPY THANKSGIVING. Happy Turkey gobble day. Stay safe. Enjoy the occasion with family and friends.

Happy birthday Indira Gandhi

 On this day, 105 years ago, a girl was born to Jawaharlal and Kamala Nehru. She was named Indira Priyadarshini by her parents and would later become a 3 term Prime Minister of India as Indira Gandhi, a name she took after she defied her family to tie the marital knot with her beau Feroze Gandhi.

Indira Gandhi became a widow at a very young age of 32. Per the writer Khushwant Singh who once upon a time was very close to the her family, especially to her favorite son Sanjay Gandhi, Indira had many affairs. She had a long time relationship with Nehru's moon faced Private Secretary M.O. Mathai before she got bored with him and shifted to her Yoga teacher Dhiren Brahmachari who was much younger and stronger with a slim, yogic body with a flat stomach. It is rumored that her elder son Rajiv Gandhi was old enough to know about his mother's affairs with Dhiren Brahmachari. No wonder the controversial Yoga teacher died in a mysterious plane crash few months after Rajiv Gandhi becoming India's Prime Minister.

Indira Gandhi was a legend of her time. She earned the tag of "Iron Lady". Though a woman, she is the only manly Prime Minister India ever had. Unlike her illustrated father, she was poor in academics. Her known qualification is High School Matriculation - her division unknown. As a student she dropped out of several institutes, from Santiniketan to Oxford, failing to acquire a post High school degree. She also had a failed marriage. After her husband's death she moved with her two kids to her father Nehru's Prime Ministerial residence.

Politics was in her blood and she carved her niche in it. She was made the Prime MMinister in 1966 after the untimely death of Lal Bahadur Sashtri by a bunch of old faddists and obscurantists leaders in Congress. The ruling Syndicate of Congress Party, a cabal which included the likes of Morarjee Desai and Atulya Ghosh sarcastically branded her as GUNGI GUDIA (dumb doll) so that they can rule by pulling the string from behind. 

But she proved them wrong by taking over the party and then the country - using her charisma and powerful oratory skills to single handedly sweep the National elections of 1971, destroying all her detractors in her party. She was hard working and a tireless campaigner. Post India's victory over Pakistan and carving out a new country named Bangladesh under her leadership she was branded as Goddess DURGA not just by her supporters, even by then opposition stalwart and later PM of India, Atal Vihari Vajpayee who extolled her then as part of Jan Sangh, precursor to current BJP.

Soon Indira became a cult figure. In South India she came to be known as "AMMA INDIRAMMA (mother Indira) and stood by her even during her electoral losses elsewhere. With cult status came sycophancy - the Congress style. D K Barooah, a party leader from Assam famously said "India is Indira, Indira is India". He also said Congress will never lose as long as ALLI and COOLIE vote for it. Muslims and poor class people formed the backbone of Congress party's votebank then.

An insecure Indira (she had an insecure, lonely Childhood as her mother died young and father was jailed) imposed Emergency in 1975 when the court declared her election as illegal. She lost the election that followed, again making a comeback in 1980 as the Janata Party experiment at center failed miserably.

But after her young, favorite son Sanjay whom she groomed to follow her in politics killed himself in an air crash, Indira was never the same decisive leader. She dithered on Punjab where terrorism peaked in early 1980s and ultimately paid for her life. 

One fine Fall morning of October 31, 1984 she was shot dead by her own Sikh bodyguards. It came like a bold from the blue, shocking the entire nation. More aftershocks were to follow in the form of riots in Delhi and other places where hundreds of Sikhs were made Sikh KABAABs (Barbrcue) as they were doused with gasoline and burnt alive by Congress goons. The inept and corrupt authorities turned a blind away to this massacre. It was ghastly.

In 38 years after her death a lot of water has flown under the bridge. Yet in her life and death, she was a significant figure, a newsmaker. Love or hate her, you can't deny her space in India's history. 

Her tenure was a mixed bag, a saga of lack of vision and missing opportunities when China and many Asian nations took the path of Capitalism and moved droves out of poverty when she steadfastly stuck to her brand of socialism, accentuating poverty in India. But her biggest contribution was her single handendly disfiguring India's perennially pugnacious and obnoxious nation called Pakistan, keeping it at bay. On her Birth Anniversary, she duly deserves kudos for the astute boldness and leadership she showed in handling the Bangladesh crisis - India's one and only one manly woman Prime Minister.

Adios Windy city - Chicago trip 2022

 Bulls and Bears aren't just limited to the Wall Street. The Football team Chicago Bears and the city's basketball team Chicago Bulls are household names here. The sporting teams are butts of jokes too. Papa and Mama Bear were going through a divorce settlement. The judge asked Teddy Bear to make the choice of going with either Papa or Mama Bear. 'No' I will go with Chicago Bears. "Why ?" the perflexed judge asked. "Because they never beat anybody" said the cute Teddy Bear. 

As icing on the cake was the snow which fell on the day of my departure. The white snow started falling like tiny cotton fluffs bursting out of torn pillows after a pillow fight between two lovebirds. The snow blanketed the ground, looking like a vast cotton plantation in Dixieland or a large flock of sheeps in some Scottish Highland. The supine maiden on on the front yard covered with snow looked like taking a foam bath after a tired day. What a wonderful sight of pristine white everywhere, from tree top to chimney, from cars to shrubs all covered in spectacular white beauty.

From the windows I watched the last yellow color leaf from a tree falling down, then defying gravity as it went upwards floating like a butterfly before hitting the ground, rolling over a few feet before lying still. It reminded me the poignant story "The Last leaf" penned by the great American writer O'Henry. Many works of creativity emanate from restless minds. O Henry was one such writer who wrote his classics from jail including this one.

Since childhood, most from my generation have been fed with this idea of controlling our restless mind for creativity. Now I am fed up with this notion. I have reason to believe that a controlled mind achieved via controlled breathing and meditation might earn you a great Job or higher Grades, but shouldn't be seen as the best bet for innovation.

I can site several example to contradict this myth. The best example to bet against this prevalent theory are the eminent writers R.K. Narayan and Khushwant Singh. Both were never academically brilliant. The ebullient, unorthodox Sardar, the perpetual agnostic admitted that college exams gave him nightmares. He hated Yogas and Asanas prescribed to him, as it hardly made any difference to his fertile mind. One of my favorite poets John Keats wrote his best poems when Consumption (Tuberculosis) was consuming him.

Many creative brains and innovators are poor degree holders. So also Toru Dutt, the talented Bengali poetess of 19th Century, who wrote some masterpieces before she died at the tragic young age of 21. Most of her poems were composed during her painful battle with terminal tuberculosis, which eventually claimed her.

Earnest Hemmingway, the brilliant American writer was suffering from depression, eventually committing suicide. So also the Oscar winning Robin Williams and our own legendary Guru Dutt. An Oscar winning Hollywood movie "The Beautiful Mind" best depicts the story of another eccentric genius with turbulent mind.

Kishore Kumar, arguably the most complete artist in Bollywood - an actor, singer, music director etc, was a genius but an outright eccentric. He was known to be extremely restless on the sets, but no one could match his versatility. The actors Shah Rukh Khan and the cricketer Tendulkar are also known to be extremely energetic, but are known to channel their ebullience to positive endeavor. The popular actor is a chain smoker and self proclaimed addict to video games - both tell tell signs of mental agitations.

Tendulkar, probably the best batsman India has ever produced, rarely gets a good night sleep before an important game. Yet, he hardly shows any sign of fatigue on field, eking out one master knocks after another.

And there are many such examples. The mind of a normal person like me may benefit from a boost from reigning it in using meditations and mind control. For a genius, a restless mind is the best bet. Geniuses are always born - rarely made. Their minds need not be altered, best left to themselves.

Now the time has arrived to bid adieu to the Windy city, post my staycation (a vacation where I mostly stayed at my sister's home) some wonderful time spent with the cherished company of family and friends. Advancing age and having lived  long in South has taken a toll on my cold tolerance. Struggled a bit to adjust to the cold, but enjoyed the snow on my day of departure. Goodbye Chicago. Catch you later...

Chicago Trip 2022 - Part II

 Suddenly the windy city turned cold, damn cold. It felt really like the real Chicago as by evening the temperature dropped down to freezing point. The cold snap accompanied by howling wind gusts of 25 miles per hour gave me a cold slap, forcing me cover my other cheek with the jacket hood and rush seeking warmer comfort.

For someone from deep South it felt as if I reached the foothills of the Himalayas. The most exciting human experience is not joy but relief. I was relieved when I entered from a cold, heartless outside into the warm comfort of home. It felt like the warm hug of the beloved, her sweet, warm breath from the lungs filling the heart of the lover.

It's not unusual for the weather in middle America to plummet in a few hours, as unlike India, there is no Himalayas in North to protect the cold winds blasting its way from Canada. Himalayas stands tall as a barrier from the marauding chill of the Pamir plateau giving India its unique geography and demography. While the runt Rocky Mountains in USA running from the North to South hardly prevents the intrusion of the Canadian artic chill which blasts through America's heartland.

The north-western Chicago suburb is as white as snow, with a few Desis (Indians) and Chinese strewn in. Having stayed in the Dixie Land for a long period of time, the demography here felt distinctly different. Chicago is located in the midst of the Northern Prairies. One can sees miles of its famous grasslands, scattered lakes, undulated mounds of meadows interspersed with a few bald trees, some of them still sporting a few golden colored fall leaves glistening under a setting fall sun, like Donald Trump's hair, ready to fall off from its height from pedestal.

The commercial minded Americans have converted these rolling Meadows into Golf courses, a few I saw criss crossing the Chicago suburbs where I am staying. The accent of the midwesterners is as flat as the flatlands of the Prairies. It is far cry from the Southern drawl I am more conversant with. Didn't hear anybody talking y'all at all.

The English accent varies a lot between the North and South, with the New Yorkers having their own Yankee accent. The midwesterners have a flat accent. I can see that the English accent of my nephews and neice who grew up in Chicago quite diferent from my son which has a southern tinge.

Same in Odisha where we have Katati,  Puri, Baleswari, Barhampuri style southern accent as well as the Sambalpuri western Odisha accent. When a Minnesotan says "you betcha", it reminds me of "GAMATA EKKA" (Fun only) in Barhampuri Odia. Same as Mein (in pure Allahabadi Hindi), Hum (Bihari Hindi) vs Apoon Ka Hindi in Mumbai. Accents do vary, so also slangs with their regional punch exist in every language across the world. More later...

Arrival in Chicago - November 2022

 I love Chicago, Illinois, the richest state of America's midwest which has a rich history. It is the state of Abraham Lincoln who saved United States from getting divided after a bloody Civil War from 1861 to 1865. I have been to this city no less than a dozen times and excited to visit it once again.

The holiday season is yet to start but the flight from Atlanta's Hartsfield International Airport was full for middle of the week. It was packed like sardines. That's probably why the Airlines was offering $500 flight vouchers to be used for any future flights, if I rebook on another flight leaving next day. I passed this generous offer.

The Delta airliner from Atlanta Airport roared like a gargantuan bird, gently gliding into the sky leaving the Atlanta skyline behind. It shuddered and wobbled a bit trying to beat the haze amidst the gray nimbus cloud brushing against the airliner like white bristles cleaning a vehicle in a car wash. Slowly it ascended into the sky, diving into an enormous darkness of the distance. The fading lights below flickered like stars in some distance galaxy

A blustery windy night welcomed me to the aptly named Windy city of Chicago. Bursts of fresh air swarmed around me, caressing me with its soft, open hands embracing me as I stepped out of the Chicago O'Hare airport. The balmy weather of 66 degrees close to around 10 O'Clock in the night approaching middle of November in Chicago felt really unreal.

Soon I realized that I have become a slave of social media, vindicated by the fact that no sooner the flight landed than I started checking my text messages on phone. When I looked around I discovered that I wasn't alone as almost everyone except an infant sitting on her mother's lap drooped their heads on their phones. Two hours without access to social media is eternity these days.

The full flight makes me think that may be one day, a la town buses in Bhubaneswar, people will be allowed to stand in flights. At the time of landing, take off and turbulence, one can hang on to the plastic covered metal linked chains, hanging like hangman's noose stuck to horizontal metal bars at the top. I am sure folks won't mind, especially in the short duration flights around holiday seasons.

During my REC (Now NIT) Rourkela days I once sat on a stool in an overnight bus service from Rourkela to Bhubaneswar as all the seats were occupied. In the middle of journey, a junk movie named PAAP KA ANT (End of evil) was playing on the hazy TV screen, as the bus topsy-turvied its way forward. To my drowsy eyes the name looked Italian - PAAPA KA ANTA (Dad's Waist).

As I rubbed my eyes trying to figure out the movie, the driver suddenly slammed the brakes. Every one surged forward in sequence, same way a bunch of bricks standing in a line would fall upon one another, if the chain reaction is triggered by kicking the brick at one end.

Thankfully I was in the middle. The guy on the stool in front who was gaping at the screen with his mouth wide open savoring a scene from the cinema was not so lucky. He bore the brunt of  Newton's Law of Motion (a body continues to be in rest or motion unless an external force is applied) as he was flung foward, his phalanx of front teeth hitting the thick metallic rod in front of him. Ouch, it must have hurt him bad.

We Odias are genuinely peace loving Gandhians with a high sense of tolerance and a higher forgiving mindset. Rather than being annoyed, he smiled back, exposing his swollen lips and bloody teeth, continuing watching the movie. It may so happen in our lifetime stools will be placed in the middle for a Boing 757 to accomodate the overbooked passengers. More later...

 

Living in a fake vainglorious world

 A whole bunch of BJP leaders, at least one Chief Minister, a Governor, multiple Ministers of state and center from the party talk about our glorious past in the year 3548 BC when we used to fly Airplanes, used TV and internet - not to mention the extensive usage of plastic surgery and nuclear missiles.

India was the El Dorado of past. It was not only rich, it has a rich ancient history, its glorious culture and traditions can be the traced to thousands of years. I am aware and immensely proud of our magnificent temple architectures, medios "Charak and Shushruta" and India's contributions towards numeral zero. But what I am not proud is GULLIS killed (telling lies) in the name of our great history for scoring cheap political goals.

You may think our politicians don't know what they are saying. Wrong. They know what they're saying. After all, they're politician who are playing to the gallery of gullible people using nationalism as their trump card - scientific temper being damned. Every thing is fair in love, war and now days as vindicated by recent incidents - Politics.

When I was a child our grandmother used to tell us stories to put her recalcitrant grandchildren to sleep. She used to warn us - If you don't sleep soon I will take you to the witches who hang late night owl kids like you upside down from a Banyan tree and slowly roast them using the flame from a pyre barely inches below the body. These unique witches can be identified by looking at their feet which have their toes pointing backwards. 

The oil which drips out of the victims body from this process of slow combustion similar to chickens getting barbecued on a summer grill were carefully collected in bottles. They were later sold to the GORA rulers (the British) who used it to join the cut off limbs of their soldiers injured in the war using these drips.

She could be right, stem cell existed not long ago. The witches simply kept the secret to themselves. They were too modest to patent their product and get Nobel Prize for Medicine. Or may be they didn't want their feet to be seen in public during their trip to Stockholm to collect the coveted award.

Reminds me of a neighbor who lived in our Colony (As Residential neighborhood is called a colony back home in Bhubaneswar) living in his fantasy filled vainglorious past. He use to boast - 40 years back I was a KUSTI (wrestling) expert who could wrestle down 3 people at a time. His fragile figure belied that. He also bragged - years ago, Biju Patnaik used to take advice from me on politcal matters. 

Once he went further - As a child Janaki Patnaik used to kiss and fondle me (he maint that JB, an ex CM of Odisha was affectionate toward to him) inviting muffled chuckles from his audience. I tried to change the topic to save him from further embarrassmen. He retorted back, "ARRE TU KANA JANICHU, JANAKI AU MORE AJA NAATI SAMPARKA (Hey, what you know ? Janaki had a maternal grand fatherly instict for me). 

I used to tell myself - "BICHARA BUDHA GULLI MARUCHI" (Poor Old man is killing Gullies, or uttering lies). As he was not doing so well in his profession as a lawyer, he used to fantasize about a vain (glorious) past and cherish it. I accepted it, but unlike others who pooh poohed him "KAHI MAUSA GULLI MARUCHA" (Uncle, why are you killing Gullis or uttering lies), I patiently to his fables and let him have his few minutes of fame. Not that I believed an iota of what he said, yet tried to be polite giving a patient hearing, letting him live in the castle in the air he built for himself.  

Not many know the famous Scientist Einstein was Aintha Sahoo from the Aitalang village, not far from Bhubaneswar. After migrating to Germany he converted into Judaism and became Ein-Stein. Hope this qualifies me to get a BJP ticket from Bhubaneswar - Ekamra constituency, which includes the birthplace of Aintha Sahoo.