Saraswati Puja memories from the past

 Saraswati Puja brings back nostalgic memories from my childhood days. As kids, for days we used to eagerly wait for its arrival. I could barely sleep the night before the auspicious occasion, as my mind would be preoccupied with getting early to pluck or rather steal flowers from our neighborhood houses.

I starkly remember a homeowner chasing us urchins away, after we stealthily managed to jump into his front yard to steal his flowers. In the haste his LUNGI (a piece of loin cloth worn by males which can conveniently removed for multiple purposes) slipped off his waist. In the commotion that followed he spent the next few seconds lifting the LUNGI from the ground and tying it back around waist, giving us precious enough time to jump off the wall and flee.

Back home, time to decorate the foot long statue made out of clay and pedestaled on a  wooden chair. We decorated the strings tied to the hands of the chair adorning the statue of the Goddess extended to the corner of the room with triangles of color papers, known NAALI, NELI KAGAJA with the help of glue made from ATTA (wheat flour).

After a quick shower, it was time to wear a pair of new dresses and wait for the ordeal of PUSHPANJALI (offering of flowers) to be over before eating the BHOGA (or Prasadam) to quench our already starving stomachs. An integral part of it would be the Laddoos of Rashi (TIL) made by my grandmother. My father did the Puja in our house, chanting the SLOKA (hymns) in praise of Goddess Saraswati.

Post noon, it was time to go to BJB College near our house and sample the BHOGA served by different departments - each hosting their own Puja, eager to outsmart the other. It was mostly a mixture of sweetened CHUDA (parched rice) with fruits and if luckier dosage of  lumpy, oil soaked BUNDI along with it. It was enough to fill our stomach till the evening, when we would venture out in bicycles to view Saraswati Pandals spread all over the Bhubaneswar.

Once I entered into REC (now NIT) Rourkela to study Engineering, the Puja venue was much larger and quality of Prasad much better than any other institutes I knew. The celebration was much more robust in scale, a fitting finale being the BISARJAN (immersion) ceremony.

Those days Bhubaneswar was a sleepy township with hardly any traffic. The arteries of the roads were not clogged yet, so no bypass was needed. It was perfectly safe for us to bike our way from BJB flats to Saheed Nagar amidst funnel shaped loudspeakers from Pendals blaring out the contemporary hits. One of them was "MEIN HOON DON" from the Amitabh's hit movie Don. Another one I can't forget was this Akshaya Mohanty's Odia number,

"LANDA MUNDIA DRIVER
GADIKU TIKE THIA KAR
GADI JIBA PHULBANI
SANGARE ACHHANTI GHARANI
GHARANI MUNDARE KHIA
UKUNI KARANTI BASA".

Roughly transliterated though the fun can be lost in translation. ..

"O bald headed driver

Stop your vehicle for better,
Phulbani is the destination
My better half is with me in person,
Bob tied pig tail has my wife
It is filled with lice"...
and so on.

There were many outstanding Pendals but the one by USHALA CLUB at Master Canteen, Unit 3 stood taller (literally too) than the rest. After a long tiring meandering around the city it was time to munch some PURI, ALOO DUM (curry) and sweets before hitting the bed. Gone are those days. ZINDAGI NA MILEGA DOBARAA (That Life won't come again).

Failure of Prohibition

 At least half a dozen folks died in Siwan, Bihar after consuming spurious liquor. Prohibition was introduced in the state in April, 2016. The liquor ban was shoved into the throat of the citizens, but a thirsty Bihari would always find solace to his dry mouth, thanks to the illegal bootleggers. Only tangible outcome happened so far is the depletion of the state coffers and the enhancement of coffers of the black marketers, hand in glove with the corrupt government officials, not to mention periodic deaths.

Prohibition has a long history of failures. It failed miserably when the faddist Morarjee Desai implemented it as the Chief Minister of the erstwhile state of Maharashtra, which then included the present state of Gujarat. N T Rama Rao  implemented it in Andhra, only to see the real beneficiaries being the bootleggers and bars in townships bordering the state (one of them was the border Town of Barhampur, Odisha) where folks flocked in drove to quench their parched throat.

Gujarat is officially a dry state, being the birthplace of Mahatma Gandhi and it is no exception there. It doesn't make sense to enforce this token Gandhian  value at the cost of the exchequer, when we have long since deviated from all his principles. My friends studying in REC Surat used to tell me there was a phone number the Engineering students which they mockingly referred as being used to "Dial D for DAARU (liquor)". The voice at other end will ask you the brand and quantity needed, which would later be delivered for the right price.

Prohibition has a history of failure elsewhere in the world too. America once experimented with it in early 20th century and failed miserably. However as a blessing in disguise, some famous Bourbon Whiskeys as a byproduct from that era were produced by the innovative Americans.

It's inherently human to indulge in curiosity, like smoking, drinking and sex which invariably starts during youth. It only amplifies when we are prohibited from accessing the things we aspire for. When we used to play afternoon gully cricket in Bhubaneswar, there were couple of guys who would join us, only when their martinet dads were out. Often it would happen so, while batting (Cricket in India is batsman dominated, everyone eagerly waits for his turn to bat), no sooner they hear the sound of their dad's approaching scooter from the horizon, than they would throw away their bats and start running towards home.

It's always a desperate race against time, attempting to sneak into their home through backdoor before the dad enters through the front door. The man usually takes his time to take off the helmet, elongate the folded stand of the scooter using his hind leg, park and lock it before turning the handle couple of times ensure that the lock is secured. That provides the scared kids precious little time to be at their table, pretending to be studying.

If unfortunate enough to get caught, they would be severely reprimanded, often thrashed. One was even beaten with his father's thick leather belt on regular basis. This was to suppose to prevent him from becoming a CHHATARA (a girl chasing vagabond) or BAZAARI (a free roaming guy in market). Eventually it would happen so when the son went out to live in a hostel. He was now a cage free bird and really went wild fitting perfectly into a well defined CHHATARA and BAZAARI. This is another example of the failure of self imposed "Social Prohibition" which can backfire big time. Bottom line - Prohibition has never worked in history, it never will.

The saga of the solitary penny

 The other day I was taking my afternoon walk inside our community on an unusually warm and sunny January day in Georgia. Suddenly I noticed a solitary penny lying near the curb at a turn, glittering under the bright, crispy sun. For me it was a golden moment.

But I was in a dilemma. Should I pick it up or not ! So, I decided to give it a thought while I continued my walk. If I don't, the penny would be lying there forever, dormant like the trunkless statue of the eccentric poet Percy Bysshe Shelley's famous poem "Ozymandias". (Geniuses are known to be eccentric). Once upon a time that penny could be Ozymandias, the King of Kings in Shelley's iconic poem. But over the time it has lost its value, lying helplessly dormant like the trunkless statue. They say these days it costs more to mint a penny than its actual value. But once upon a time the penny might have seen better days.

Now my first round of walk was complete as I passed by the penny the second time. I was still in a quandary - "To pick it up or not" ! The penny was starting to give me a cold, sneer stare and telling me - "All that glitter may not be gold, but old is gold". I still decided to give the penny a pass, moving forward, trudging ahead for my third and final lap as I suddenly remembered the old days, a short story tittled "Ha Penny" from my Class IX non-detail text book, a collection of tales by eminent writers from across the globe and few Indian authors as well, as part of our English curriculum in my School.

"Ha Penny" was penned by the South African novelist Alan Paton, illustrating the story of an orphan boy who longed for family affection. How touching and invaluable the story was and why I am still reluctant to touch the penny thinking it of no value ! I got teleported to my school days riding a time machine, suddenly remembering my first crush of life, the tall girl couple of years senior to me in school. In her I saw the Hollywood actress Brooke Shields, the epitome of my fascination for tall girls. The sands of time might have buried my crush long time ago, like the visage of the King Ozymandias. But no one forgets the first crush of life, its memory being so precious and timeless. The dream has never died, still glittering at the corner of my head after decades like the penny under the bright sun.

Oh, suddenly I discovered me standing right in front of the penny as I completed my third and final round of walking. Third time is the charm. The penny hasn't lost its worth, like the memory of my first crush. I could still see my dream from the past inside it.  Without any hesitation I picked up the coin and headed home. To give you the heads up, I heard that if you pick a penny lying with its head up it is going to be your lucky day.  P.B.Shelley, the eccentric genius could crush Ozymandias's ego, but couldn't crush the memory of my first crush. Heads I win, tails you lose. Shelley, I have earned my penny.

Hate and Jealousy

 Not long ago I watched a movie RAAT AKELI HAI (The Night is Alone) on the Netflix. Can't but mention this epic line from the movie "People don't hate those who possess money, house, property and fame - they are simply jealous of them."

This monologue espouses a lot of truth and connotation. It aptly depicts my interactions with a highly successful individual from our village who lives outside but loves his native place from the bottom of his heart. A true son of the soil who pays regular visits to his place of birth but makes it a point to get back to his city the same day. I once asked him - "Why don't you for a change make an overnight stay in our village ?"

His answer was - "I would love to do so, but chances are in night my vehicle may be targeted and vandalized." He is a great person. Forget about harming anyone, he won't even hurt a fly. No sane person should hate him. But the village now-a-days is filled with discarded elements burning in jealousy towards their successful counterparts who live outside. This gentleman is a highly accomplished person. Success breeds jealousy and contempt, eventually creating enemies. His decision of not to take the risk of staying overnight in the village made a whole lot of sense.

Years back in the 1980s the same person on a weekend rented a VCR and a TV and took them to his village to entertain his family. Those days craze for Hindi movies played on VCR and shown on Color TV was novelty for the villagers. The news of a free movie show spread like wildfire among the thatched roof houses. Many flocked and flooded his verandah to watch the latest Bollywood movie stars in action. 

But the verandah had a limited size and could only accommodate a certain number of people. Many couldn't fit in and had to return back. Some of them vowed that if they couldn't watch the video show, no one else can. They went to the local electricity substation and deliberately blew up the fuse. The benevolent gentleman eventually managed to get it fixed, only to be frustrated again as one power outage after another followed due to persistent sabotages.

Why did these agitated village brats create such nuisance ? There is no reason at all to hate him. Rather the villagers should be proud of an achiever from their own. But they were simply jealous of him. Jealousy, same as love is a strong emotion not easy to overcome as it defies all logic.

Not long ago someone won the Mega Billion Lottery in USA. I hardly cared. I would give it a damn towards someone's success whom I barely know. But if that person happned to be a person known to me, it might have given me some heartburn. 

The reason being, jealousy is an inherent human quality. An overwhelming majority of humans harbor this feeling. The extent of jealousy varies from a person to person, but nobody is totally  immune to it. We mostly feel jealous  towards those who tend to have what we aspire for. Women are generally jealous of fellow women about their looks, cloths, jewellery etc. For men, it's mostly about wealth, career and material possessions. (It could vary though, for we live in an age where don't ask a man his age and woman her salary).

Only exception being the parents who are never jealous of their children. Their success makes the parents proud. But the same courtesy may not be extended to others children. Any other relationship on earth is not impermeable to such feeling, especially the most jealous could be your siblings, cousins and a close friends.

Reminds me of a scene from the epic Hindi movie "3 IDIOTS", where both the friends of Aamir Khan were sad as they thought their friend Rancho failed in test. And they were sadder, when they found that he topped the class. The reason being, we can very easily share some one's sorrow, but rarely share the happiness at the same breath at his success.

The pangs of jealousy can always be overcome with logic. If someone wins a lottery it is his (or her) destiny. If a person becomes successful it could be due to hard work and being at the right place at right time, when I missed the boat. My jealousy will rather give me unsolicited headaches and heart burns, with no impact on the other person. I will end up spending more on Tylenols and Antacids. So it's better make peace with life, stop burning myself and move on.

Martin Luther King Day - 2023

 60 years back on a Southern summer day of 11th June 1963, not far from where I live, then Governor of Alabama George Wallace tried to block two black students from integrating into the University of Alabama. Only a month before in May 1963, he famously said, "Segregation then, Segregation now and Segregation forever".

George Wallace died unsung. But Martin Luther King, a young African American's Civil Rights movement picked the gauntlet from that point, gaining steam. Can't stop admiring this man's charisma and leadership. It's said that those who teach leadership quality at Harvard's Business School often allude "Leaders are born, can never be made".

Dr. King was a born leader. It was followed by his iconic speech "I have a Dream, when a man will be judged not by the color of his skin, but by content of his character." Clips of his speech on YouTube still raises goose bumps. He went on - "I have a dream, when on the Red Hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and former slave owners will be able to seat down together in tables of brotherhood". I am sure those who will be reading this feel their body hair charged and nerves shrugged off, such was the power in that speech.

Dr. King also famously said - "We must accept finite disappointment, but we must never lose infinite hope". The rest we know is history. I live on the Red Soils of Georgia and have seen the changes. Martin Luther King never saw his dream come true during his life, cut short by an Assassin's bullet in a motel in Memphis,Tennessee in the turbulent time of 1960s. But a few decades down the road, his dream was realized. Not that racism has completely vanished from American soil, but it has come a long way since then, reinforced by Barack Obama being elected the first African-American President - something unimaginable not so long ago.

Newton's 3rd Law says - "Every action has an equal and opposite reaction". Same is applicable to human emotions. Every violent action would naturally follow with an equal or more violent reaction, often leading to a continuous, never ending cycle of revenge. 

But Dr. King took a cue from Mahatma Gandhi of India and decided to fight violence in an exactly opposite manner, something different and out of box thinking, a concept called "Non-violence". The visuals of peaceful unarmed Black protesters being browbeaten brought into the living rooms of Americans by live TV had its impact, accentuated the Civil Rights Act. 

America is known to think out of box, cradle, nurture and rewards talent. It has been blessed by able leaderships, at crucial junctures in history. From George Washington who gathered a bunch of rag tagged peasants to defeat the powerful British Army (incidentally America is the only country in history to have ever defeated the mighty British, an enviable power until the mid of the 20th century), Abraham Lincoln who kept the United States united after fighting a bloody Civil War, Roosevelt who rescued America from recession to thrive in World War II, the charismatic Kennedy who inspired NASA to launch man to moon, to Obama, a self admitted skinny kid with a funny look who vindicated the American dream by being a two term African American President, and so on. The dream continues. As the US Senator Ted Kennedy famously said - "The cause endures, the hope still lives and the dream shall never die".

Happy birthday to Dr. King, the legend. You are the source of inspiration to many including me, beyond the boundaries of the land you were born, being the harbinger of positive changes in a world beyond borders. You aren't dead. You live forever in the hearts of many.

ABCD

 Most of us are familiar with the term ABCD. Those who aren't, it is an acronym for American Born Confused DESI (Ascribed to Indians in America). The term, often laced with sarcasm is not an exaggeration, especially for the children of the first generation Indians who are born on the soil of the United States.

Nothing portrays the confusion more than the adjustments the new generation of Indian-Americans have to make to the language they speak at home. The language they are more comfortable i.e. English, the ever pervading language of their milieu, differs by miles from the mother tongue of their mother - the same way, their parents were born in a different land and the adopted land of their parents are separated by thousands of miles by the same people but different languages. They are as different in syllable, phonetics, grammar and script, as CHHENA (as cheese back home is called) is different from the American cheese, same as the English spoken in the lands located exactly on the opposite sides of the globe differ a lot in slangs and syllable.

Most of the ABCDs as children start talking to their parents in their mother tongue which their parents mostly talk at home. For those from Odisha start with the words JAUCHI, KHAUCHI, SOICHI (going, eating, sleeping) etc and some rudimentary sentences to communicate with their parents. As they grow older, the communication gradually becomes a linguistic one way traffic, with the mom and pop often talking in their native languages, with the kids responding in English. Message is conveyed and parent-child communication is made, though languages of communication can be different.

Often parents are no better. Once a guy who emigrated from the heartland of Odisha not so long ago, pronounced the Odia word JANJALA (Daily Chore) as JYANJHYALA in a pure bred all Odia gathering to emphasize his recent acquisition of American accent. On hearing him I almost spilled off the PHESPI (as pronounce Pepsi was pronounced by him) which I happened to be sipping at that time. The more elongated PHHH you use for Pepsi, the more American you are). A certain well known guy from the narrow lanes (SAHI) of Puri, as Puriya as Chuda Ghasa Dalma often tries to be as American as Apple Pie by aping the Yankee accent. 

The vocabulary in any language is enhanced and enriched through more inclusivity and the usage of proverbs and slangs. This can only happen if you talk in that language outside your home, in school, in streets and amongst friends. In that respect it's always a losing battle for their parent's native language Odia, Hindi or Telugu vis a vis English. After all English is the all pervading language of the land. It is the passport to success.

Slowly as kids grow English takes over, same way the British gradually took over vast stretches of our land at the peak of their power centuries ago, followed by the era of Pax Americana - as America replaced Britain as the Superpower and English continued to flourish all over globe due to American influence. The native language soon becomes obsolete for the ABCDs, slowly pushed to the backburner only to be fetched for occasional interaction with their parents.

Efforts had been made in US by different Indian communities to preserve their mother tongue, by teaching their kids the language of their parents. It is organized in temples, in rental premises over evenings or weekends. The results are mixed and met with limited success. Odias started a movement, called "Chala Ame Odia Sikhiba" (CHAOS), which means, "Let's learn Odia". True to the word and true to their salt, it ultimately ended in chaos.

The acronym ABCD can be extended to ABCDEFG - America Born Confused Desi Emigrated From Gujarat. No Indian community has carved its niche in America as much as the Gujjus (a commonly used slang for the folks from the land of Mahatma and Modi, but often used in a derogatory way behind their back). The Gujaratis are mostly into the business hospitalilty and Hotels, so that the Motels in America can be very well named as Potels, for a large number of them being owned by Patels. So now we can extend the acronym to ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOP - "American Born Confused Desi Emigrated From Gujarat Housed In Jersey Keeps Liking Migrating Named Om Patel".

The legend of Kabi Jadumani

 We have heard many witty stories, from the legendary Birbal of Mughal Emperor Akbar's court to his Southern counterpart Tenali Raman from the court of Raja Krishna Dev Ray. In Odisha we have our own Kabi Jadumani, a poet with ready wit and humor. Born on this day January 8 in the year 1781, he was the court poet patronized by King (more like a Chiftain or Vassal) Binayak Singh Mandhata of the Princely state of Nayagarh, Odisha. A contemporary of Odia KABISURJYA (the Sun Poet) Baladeba Rath, he was also the Dewan of the King, his employer. In spite of being in a powerful position, Kabi Jadumani remained poor all his life.

There are several funny anecdotes ascribed to him. Once Kabi Jadumani was busy replacing the thatched roof of his house when the King's son came to summon him to the courtyard. An irritated Jadumani uttered - "SALA BAPA JEMITI, PUA SEMITI" (Like father, like son). 

The prince overheard this and told this to his father. In the court the King queried Jadumani if what he heard was true. To everyone's surprise the Dewan said yes. The Raja was furious but gave Jadumani a chance to explain - "CHHAMU (My Lord). As I was putting the straw pallets on my roof the father (Wind) was busy blowing the pallets away. At the same time a gang of monkeys (monkey God Hanuman is regarded as son of the Wind God Vayu) troubled him by jumping on the roof and scattering the rest of the straws away. So I said - "SALA BAPA JEMITI, PUA SEMITI" (Like father, like son. Sala means wife's sister, but alludes to the recipient as a taunt denoting seducer of your sister). The King and his Courtiers burst into laughing, saving Jadumani's ass.

Once Jadumani described a barren land useless for cultivation given as a gift to him by the King in his Odia Sonnet.

Andha Desa re gali

Darpana Biki,

Kandha Hata re Deli

Godhana Teki,

Kamuda Ghoda buke

Deli Chumbana.

Emanta Bhuin !

Chakunda Buni le Uthai nahi.

(I went to sell mirrors

 In the country of blind,

 To the tribal I offered 

 The wealth of bovine,

 Kissed the cheeks of

 A biting horse,

 O What a land !

 A Chakunda tree doesn't grow a strand.)

Chakunda is a wild but useless tree seen in coastal Odisha which grows almost everywhere. Jadumani described the ineffectualness of the land gifted to him in his colloquial witty way.

Last but the least, most Odias from our generation must have heard about our legendary GOPALA BHANDA (Gopal, the mischievous prankster). Not sure if such a person really existed or whether he was a fictional character to whom a lot of  rustic wit and a plethora of local jokes are ascribed to.

One famous anecdote involves Gopal Bhanda and his employer King. Once the royalty was blessed with a child. The elated King asked his favorite court jester Gopala, how the later felt about the King having a newborn baby ?

The later responded, "CHHAMU (My Lord), my feeling is similar to the relief one gets subsequent to taking a huge dump, especially after a complete clearance of the bowel as clean as a whistle".

The King was furious and sentenced his court jester to death. The witty Gopal asked the King for his last wish. It was to serve the king a big meal (rumored to be laced by with JAMALA, a high fibre laxatives given to horses to relieve constipation) and then followed by a joint boat ride inside a lake. The king felt flabbergasted by this wierd request, but nevertheless obliged to the last wish of his favorite jester.

After a few hours in the middle of the lake all of a sudden the King was overwhelmed by nature's call as the high fiber dish churned his stomach as he felt a sudden urge to relieve himself. He pleaded Gopal Bhanda to oar the boat towards the shore. Gopal delayed it long enough for the King to beg him to row faster.

No sooner he got close to the shore, than the King jumped off the boat and started steeplechasing through the shallow water, aiming to go behind the bushes. But unable to hold himself any longer, the King to his embarassment was forced to shit on the white river sand.

Moments later, a much relieved and relaxed King, ensuring no one was watching him, came with a big smile and forgave his jester. Now in a pleasant mood after relieving himself, the King admitted that he completely misunderstood Gopal Bhanda and rewarded the later with several gold coins. 

I do remember reading a CHATI (thin) Odia book GOPALA BHANDA RAHAHASYA (The mythical Gopal Bhanda), available near Old Bus Stands of Bhubaneswar during my growing up days. It must contain many more such acecdotes. It is perhaps lying in our house in Bhubaneswar. I will grab it when I get a chance.

Dadagiri - A matter of perception

 DADAGIRI (Bullying) is more a perception than reality. I learnt it the hard way during my teenage days than ever before.

Ragging was at its peak when I entered into REC (now NIT) Rourkela in 1986 as an undergraduate Engineering student. I was well ragged and slapped multiple times (once slapped by a senior guy until my nose bled, I just stopped short of reporting him to the authority). My independent stay in hostel and enduring the perpetual ragging in a tough milieu made me tougher, contributing towards me perceiving myself as a cool guy.

I came home for the Durga Puja holidays in the month of October. A few guys near my locality were regularly harassing my sister by passing innuendos (comments in local lingo) whenever she ventured outside from home. Sick and tired of those road Romeos, she simply chose to avoid them. 

Once she overheard one of the eve teasers talking - "Her brother can do no harm to us as he is a good for nothing PENA (nincompoop) - not a smart guy." In Webster's dictionary smart means "clever, witty, brainy" etc. But in local Bhubaneswar parlance a guy on a bike wearing shiny shoes and chasing girls is considered a smart guy. I riding a bicycle without a girlfriend at that time didn't fit to their definition of smartness. The name "Smart city" tag given to the capital city of Odisha speaks for itself.

No wonder I was promptly dismissed as a nerdy kind of a guy who is just a harmless bookworm. Their taunt as retold by my sister got into my nerves. The ragging fatigued guy in me was dying to display some macho. Though not a very brave man, I was itching to confront those vagabonds and prove them wrong. It was time for some action. And fighting for the honor of my sister was the right thing to do, not to mention the perfect opportunity to display some bravado in an otherwise lackluster life.

The following afternoon I decided to escort my sister during her walk to her friend's house with a small knife tucked inside my pocket unknown to her. After we were half way through our journey,  three guys riding a pillion approached us. The guy in the middle turned his head towards us, put couple of his fingers behind his lips and whistled at my sister.

Then followed taunts of "Hi Hi". I raised my middle finger towards them as a sign of friendly reciprocity. Not sure if they understood my gesture, but they parked the bike and apprached me twitching their shirt collars uttering in Oriya "HAIRE DADAGIRI MARUCHU' meaning "Are you bossing around ?

Not long ago I had seen the movie NAAM and tried to replicate Sanjay Dutt,  as it was not uncommon those days for the youth to emulate the Bollywood actors. (Many tend to carry the angry young man trait of Amitabh Bachchan, the Superstar of our time as a hangover lasting for few hours after coming out of the movie theater). I took out the small knife from my pocket and threatened them in no uncertain terms whoever hits me first I will push the sharp top of the knife into his bottom. 

My sister expected me to confront them but was dumbfounded by seeing me pulling out a knife, giving me a look with dilated pupils. I could feel my heart pounding fast. My mouth was hot as heater but bottom was cold as a freezer. But the born grit and stubbornness in me didn't waver a bit. Saving my sister's honor was enough motivation for me to confront them, though she was the only person other than me who was aware of the fact that the pocket knife which I was holding was so sharp that I forever struggled to cut an apple using it. But I was the only one other than her who was aware of this secret. They never expected this from a so called PENA, DHAIN - a nincompoop. It caught them off guard. They apparently panicked and walked away. More that the object, it was the image or perception which mattered.

A few days later I went back to Rourkela as the institute opened post holidays. My sister wrote me a letter (only mode of communication then in the world sans email, phone) mentioning that those guys never bothered her again. 

The little junk knife I used to scare the perpetrator Majnus wouldn't have hurt a fly, yet the perception the aggressive guy in me holding it worked and worked to  perfection. 90% of things we assume in life never happen. Lot of things or threats aren't as serious or menacing as they seem, as most stereotypes have been proven to be wrong.