Rasputin the Evil Monk

 Most of us may not have heard of Rasputin, the Evil Monk who was killed exactly 107 years, a month and a day ago, i.e. 30th December of 1916. A strapping tall peasant from Siberia, he blended his charm and rumored spiritual power to get close to Romanov family, the last Czar to rule Russia.

Using his charisma, combined with a powerful, potent mix of mystic persona along with a reputation of irresistible sexual prowess he soon rose to become a confidant to Alexandra, the last Czarina of Russia. Draped in long, dark orb, the mountain sized Russian with piercing bright blue eyes was rumored to possess a soothing healing touch, so much so that Alexandra believed he cured her hemophiliac son Alexei, the heir apparent to Czar's throne.

Alas, her dream of seeing her son ascending to Czar's throne came crashing down, as the hungry protesters of St. Petersburg crashed into the Czar's palace, ransacking it as the Cossacks called out to quell the riots refused to open fire. 

No one knows exactly when Gregory Rasputin got access to the Royal family. But what is known, the barely literate man from the far off eastern province of Siberia had a taste for expensive Cakes, Caviar, Ice Cream, exotic Champagnes and of course pretty Women. He soon began to develop a cult around him, so much so that his female followers would rush to kiss his long, dark flawing beard and scrambled to lick leftovers of cake crumbles from his plate.

No wonder the insecure women of the Court at those turbulent times when the Bolshevik Revolution was knocking at Czar's palace door found him attractive. For he was a tall man, with remarkable muscular, slim figure despite being a sweet tooth glutton and a prolific wine guzzler. Leading a hedonistic life and maintaining such a figure without any known fitness regime, it only added an aura of myth around him, with women flocking in hordes to seek solace from his company in those tumultuous days of Russian history. Rasputin took full advantage of their insecurity and his amplified personality.

The Monk's growing power and fetish for wine and women created jealousy accompanied by enemies in Czar's court. A group of Monarchists led by Prince Yusupov decided that they had enough of him and thought of getting rid of him. Knowing his sweet tooth, they served him his favorite Cake and Wine heavily laced with poison. To their surprise Rasputin finished the Cake and Ale, scaring the plotters by smiling back at them. Now a bewildered and impatient Prince Yusupov and his cohorts shot him several times from point blank, but mysteriously Rasputin refused to die. 

The nervous killers then dragged him outside to the bank of a frozen lake and shot him there too, again from close range. Rasputin slumped down and became quite. Convinced that they had the last of Rasputin, Yusupov and his accomplices turned around and started to walk away.

No sooner they walked back a few feet, than they heard him cursing them - "After me, your end isn't far away". They looked back to see a crawling Rasputin struggling towards them, still mumbling his curse, not in a mood to die and refusing to lay still. The assassins were too afraid to turn back and fled.

Nothing more is known about Rasputin after that incident. What is known, his prophetic curse came true, sooner than later. The very next year, the Bolsheviks snatched power, followed by wiping out of the entire Romanov family. All Czar's family members, including their women and children were mercilessly butchered. Curtains finally came down on an Evil dynasty as foretold by a Clairvoyant Evil Monk.

Last moments of Gandhi and Godse

 History has been the witness to many political assassinations. Leaders of stature like Abraham Lincoln, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr have failed to assassin's bullets after leaving their indelible mark in history. I am reminded by one such assassination on the Anniversary of Mahatma Gandhi's killing on 30th January, 1948 by a fanatic named Nathuram Godse. It makes it imperative to narrate certain interesting anecdotes from the last hours of Mahatma's life.

Nathuram Godse and his Accomplice-cum-mentor-in-Chief Narayan Apte (both were hanged together) booked an Air India flight from Bombay to Delhi a fortnight before Gandhi was killed. Two one way tickets (return ticket was not necessary for the nature of their mission) cost them Rs.308, a substantial amount those days when a college professor's salary was Rs. 25 a month.

Air travel was a luxury those days. On  board the aircraft sumptuous meals were served unlike these days when we are served peanuts, often literally. Narayan Apte who had a taste for good food, Whisky and women enjoyed his meal on the flight whereas Godse was busy engrossed reading his book on HINDU RASHTRA (The Hindu Nation). 

Apte started flirting with a comely Air Hostess, managed to make her accept his offer to read her palms, an old skill by men to get closer to women by playing with their curiosity. In the process of holding her palm and predicting her future, Apte persuaded her to meet at a hotel next evening in Delhi for his next stage of dating.

Nathuram Godse was not amused by his companion's flirtatious adventurism. Concerned about their mission bring jeopardized due to his accomplice's lecherous escapades, he reprimanded Narayan Apte, telling the later to abort his rendezvous with his lady friend for the more important mission of killing Mahatma Gandhi. 

The night before the D-day Godse (a Maharastrian Brahmin) and Narayan Apte finished a nice vegetarian dinner, followed by a Rs 5 tip to the waiter (a dream tip those days). Godse was cool as cucumber. But Apte was nervous and went out to watch a movie. Upon returning he found Godse soundly sleeping with his Hindu Rashtra book kept by his head.

At the same time Mahatma Gandhi was asleep after giving finishing touch to his version of Indian Constitution. The all pervading corruption in India, which was hardly prevalent during British Raj had reached an epidemic proportion soon after we got our freedom. Within months of the formation of the first post independence government of Congress party, the corruption started raising its ugly head. 

This development did not go unnoticed to Mahatma Gandhi, who duly noted this in his write up for Constitution. Signs were evident on the ground that this was not the RAM RAJYA (ideal state) he once dreamt about. (I was once a school monitor and my task was to keep a tab on erring classmates, who feared the teachers but never me. Similarly, the British made good use of DANDA or rod to keep the lid close on the can of corruption. Once we got our freedom the worms started pouring out as we were good at obeying the British, the outsides than listening to our own).

Visibly upset by this slow encroaching menace, he mentioned about it to his many visitors. A few minutes before he was assassinated Gandhi spent long time discussing with Sardar Patel, the Home minister at the time, regarding his discomfiture about the corruption in a government which was still at its infancy.

Patel was there for a different reason. He wanted to convey Gandhi about his decision to resign because of his differences with Nehru. Gandhi tried to dissuade him. Serious discussion ensued before the Mahatma realized that he was running late for his evening prayer meeting. A religious man who was religiously punctual, Gandhi was visibly perturbed even if he was running late by 10 minutes only. He instructed Manu and Abha, his lady caretakers to take him to the venue via a short cut route through the garden.

His fate in the form of Nathuram Godse was shadowing him, stealthily lurking towards him. Godse's initial plan was to shoot him during the prayer meeting. But suddenly he saw Gandhi taking a short cut through the garden, walking towards him. For Godse it was a God sent opportunity. His SHIKAR (target) was approaching right in front of him. So, he instantly decided to execute his plan. He lurched forward, as Manu tried to shoo him away saying - "Bapu is already late for his meeting, please meet him after the prayer". 

At that moment Godse was only two steps away from Gandhi. He said NAMASTE (salute) to Gandhijee and bowed. No sooner he got up than he pumped 3 bullets from close range on the hapless man's chest. The frail old man was not expecting to survive 3 bullets. Mission accomplished Godse did not try to flee. He gave himself up. 

Rest we know is history. Godse and Apte were both sentenced to death. Godse showed no remorse when he walked towards the hangman's noose. Narayan Apte, a staunch believer in astrology and palmistry, was convinced till end that his death sentence will be commuted to life as it was written on his hands. 

The last minute reprieve never came. Apte was nervously shaking when he walked towards the gallows. He fell down twice. Curtains fell on his life, as he collapsed when the hood was put on his head. He had to be assisted to complete his last journey, his astrology and palmistry never coming to his rescue. 

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.

Netaji's Birthday

 Today is the Birth Anniversary of Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose, a man who has earned my deep admiration and lives in the hearts of many more. He was our true NETAJI (Dear Leader), vindicated by the fact that he was the Commander-in-Chief of an entire Army called Azad Hind Fauz (Independent Indian Army) with no tangible military experience. This is not possible without unmatched leadership skills and ability to command respect. A highly motivational and charismatic speaker, he is remembered for his famous speech "GIVE ME BLOOD, I WILL GIVE YOU FREEDOM". Simple yet so profound, it inspired millions and still gives goosebumps. 

He was born in Cuttack, Odisha, my home state back home in India nd studied in Ravensaw Collegiate School where he topped his class in the entire state. A brilliant Netaji continued to top in his academic career, eventually getting the top position in the Indian Civil Service, arguably the most cherished and competitive test in India at the time (now it has lost its luster). He could have easily joined the Civil Services and retired as a Chief Secretary. Yet rather than joining the coveted job due to his reluctance to serve under the British, he chose the tedious path towards the goal of the freedom of his motherland. He escaped India in disguise right under the nose of British travelling ncognito around the globe, living in dense forests and unmarked houses, covering thousands miles under water in submarines and raising an army to fight an enemy. All almost single handedly.

Nazi Germany's tanks blitzkrieged into Poland on 1st of September, 1939 announcing the beginning of World War II. Later that month Subash Bose came to Odisha. As President of Odisha State Congress Pandit Nilakantha Das took Netaji around Cuttack atop an elephant. At night halt both stayed in the same house. During that period Netaji would consult Sri Nilakantha Das, his Man Friday in Odisha before taking any decision during his campaign in Odisha.

Many of his colleagues were trying to persuade Netaji to give speech in Bengali. Nilakantha told him bluntly - "Please give speech in Hindi, English or Odia. Not in Bengali". Subas Bose duly obliged. In Puri BADA DANDA (Broadway) Netaji gave a fiery speech in Hindi, mocking Gandhi "SUTA KAAT KE KYA SWARAJ MILEGA" (isn't it too preposterous to get self rule by making threads out of cotton) ? My grandfather, then in his 20s heard this speech by Netaji and mentioned it in his Diary which I still hold on to like a Precious Jewel. Per him, Netaji was a highly charismatic orator, who beat the speeches of Nehru and Gandhi by miles.

Though Subash Bose gave 200% effort to make India free from the English rule, arguably it was Hitler who was indirectly responsible for India's independence. British won a Pyrrhic victory in the World War II, subsequently lacked manpower and resources required to hold on to their colonies. They had to relinquish most of them including India - their Crown Jewel of British. The superpower who used to takes pride as "Sun never sets over the British Empire" had to reluctantly let go as they were unable to hold the reigns.

But still many believe "BRITISH KARA SUBASH BOSE KU DEKHI PANT RE JHAADA HEI GALA, SEMANE INDIA CHAADI PALEILE (British shat in their pants on the sight of Subash Bose and fled away from India). This is just unwanted bullshit peddled by the Right wing propaganda machine in India who are patriots in name only, laced with fake jingoism and nationalism. They revere Subash Bose but profess everything opposite to his qualities. Subas Bose was a left of the center politician.

These days such depth of patriotism is unfathomable. My thousand salute to the man who unfortunately never got the reward and recognition he duly deserved by the country for which he made the ultimate sacrifice and died in a disputed plane crash in the year 1945, couple of years before India got its freedom.

Now, a tale of two NETAJIs. During pre independence time people fondly addressed Subhas Bose as Netaji. He earned the sobriquet. The term Netaji is very loosely used these days to depict any politician from small timers running for village Satpanch to big fishes. Any KUJI NETA (sundry leader) is a Netaji these days, the more ubiquitous being Mulayam Singh Yadav the UP politician who was addressed as Netaji by his followers. The similarities between Netaji Bose and them end there. In Odia we say KAHI RANI KAHI MEHENTRANI (Where stands the Queen and where stands the Toilet Cleaner). In Hindi they say KAHA RAJA BHOJ AUR KAHA GANGU TELI. Meaning of the proverbs in both languages is quite obvious.

The term NETAJI has been diluted and downgraded beyond repair, regressed over time. Hoping to be proved wrong, our generation may fade away remembering Subhas Bose as the last NETAJI of our time, a la the Royal Bengal tiger, soon to be extinct. Happy 126th  Birthday to the Legend, a real leader and patriot who if didn't die in a disputed air crash, we might have seen a different India.

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.

Fakir Mohan Senapati - A legend of Odisha

 If he wasn't born in Odisha on this day of January 13, 1843 we Odias would be reading and speaking Bengali today. Fakir Mohan Senapati, a legend of Odisha was way ahead of his time. He was a writer, patriot, social reformer and a shrewd strategist rolled into one, who fought for the survival of Odia language which at one point of time was on verge of extinction.

Had he not been there, in all probability Bengali would have taken over Odia as the medium of teaching in the state where Odia is the mother tongue of the overwhelming majority. Many eminent, powerful Bengalis at the helm of affairs those days living in Cuttack led by one Anandilal Mitra made this fallacious proclamation - "ODIA EKTA SWATANTRA VASA NAYE, "Odia is not an independent language". 

Fakir Mohan fought tooth and nail against this wrong notion. He strategized in order to achieve the goal of saving Odia language from total annihilation. First he started an printing press in Odia and published several books in his mother tongue. Odia survived as an language, thanks to his efforts and the likes of Sri Gourishankar Ray and Utkal Gouraba (The Pride of Odisha) Sri Madhusudan Das and the Das duo of Utkalamani (Jewel of Odisha) Sri Gopabandhu Das and Pandit Nilakantha Das.

Fakir Mohan's life was a sad saga of personal tragedies and struggle. Born in the district of Balasore, he lost his parents at an early age. In abject poverty he worked as a laborer to finance and further his childhood education. A lanky man of small frame he suffered from multiple ailments. Tragedies struck him one after another as he lost his wife, remarried and lost his wife again. He went through bouts of alcoholism in order to cover up his frustrations with  life.

He did several odd jobs to make a living - doing business is sea salt, working as an accountant and being DEWAAN (Prime Minister) of Vassals and Zamindaars (Landowners). Though never financially secure, it didn't stop him from writing some brilliant short stories - from serious ones like REBATI where a girl child's education was blamed for cholera deaths in her family to funny ones like PATENT MEDICINE, the story of a perpetually drunk servant. This play was later immortalized by its musical version made by the multitalented Akhshay Mohanty. Personally I was impressed by his short story DHULIA BABA (The Sand Shrouded Saint). In that epic story the writer has exposed the duplicacy of a BHANDA BABA (fake mendicant).

 

Fakir Mohan realized that Odia language can only be taken to the next level by popularizing and expanding its literature through various publications. His friend Gourishankar Ray published an Odia magazine named UTKAL DIPIKA (The Lamp of Odisha) for the first time on August 4, 1866. They left no stones unturned by reporting the failure of British administration to prevent and contain the great famine of 1865-66 when millions died from starvation.

Mr. Senapati irrespective of being weak and having a weakness for alcohol lived 75 years at a time when average human longevity was less than half of that. He loved Brandy and had a good number of English friends who supplied him with Foreign brands - a luxury those days. On one cold winter evening of 1866, when  he was 23 years old, there was a hot discussion amongst drinking buddies inside the exclusive Station Club of Cuttack. They were pulling legs of E J Barton, the Assistant Collector of Khurda who was accused by a local woman of fathering his daughter. It was the outcome of an affair of an Englishman with a native girl in an age without contraceptives. 

The folks believed her, for the newborn baby was looking like an English woman with her sparkling blue eyes and reddish white skin - a genetic trait nowhere close to the generally dark complexioned local men. A Khurda man's progeny can't be our blue eyed boy. The case was eventually dismissed for the lack of evidence at a time when DNA test was strictly fantasy and the British were in power.

This news about the blue eyed girl came like a bolt from the blue on that blue, starry evening at the Club as gossip filled tongues kept wagging about the spicy incident in the milieu amongst the bland, mundane life of the government officials. The English ladies gossiped and giggled at the hot news as hot as their piping hot afternoon tea. This news was picked up by Utkal Dipika and was arguably the first tabloid scoop by an Odia magazine. It certainly helped increase its circulation. Nothing much has changed 150 years down the road. Spicy gossips sell well.

Fakir Mohan was smart and witty. While working as Dewan in Keonjhar he was kept under house arrest by mutineers. He was closely monitored, not allowed any communication to the outside world. He wrote a letter to one of his close friend - "Dear Bholanath Khamaria. Send me 100 betel and 100 betel nuts. Irrigate the sugarcane fields by watering from North. Otherwise, you will lose the entire field of crop".

The letter looked too innocuous to raise any kind of suspicion. His captors duly sent it to the intended addressee. Needless to say betel was the code for guns and nuts for bullets. The instruction was to attack from the north, lest the sugarcane field (the palace) will be destroyed. The recipient decoded wily Fakir Mohan's note and soon sent armed soldiers to rescue him.

Sad that the name a statesman of great stature now languishes in the dustbins of history, restricted only to a Government College in Balasore named after him and few stamps released on his 175th birth anniversary. Hardly anyone remembers him these days. My thousands salute and tribute to the man for his service to the state of Odisha on his 180th Birthday.

 

  

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.