I reached Bhubaneswar Airport on a warm, balmy morning. It took me a while for my pickup vehicle to reach the Airport as the Chief Minister of Odisha was inaugurating an airplane dedicated to late Biju Patnaik, a popular, maverick pilot turned politician who also happens to be the current CM's father. Unfortunately for me I was at the wrong place, wrong time on the wrong day. Today was Biju Patnaik's birthday and the place surrounding the airport was looking like Fort Knox with armed police around, blocking roads and controlling the traffic to the airport.
There are 3 lanes in front of the Bhubaneswar Airport, lane 1 devoted to the VIPs, lane 2 used by the lesser humans for regular airport drop offs and pick ups, lane 3 for the OLA, Uber vehicles booked via online. The whole place is swarmed with scums, touts and unscrupulous elements. The heavy vehicular traffic outside the Airport was moving at a snail's pace in a staggering, halting manner for whatever inauguration was going on. So not sure why some of them were not diverted to the VIP lane which was virtually empty. It would have alleviated the traffic clog, which could have easily been bypassed to the so called VIP lane for better flow of vehicles. We are probably the only country on earth still clinging to this sick VIP culture, Odisha being in the forefront of it.On reaching home after a long journey of 30 hours spanning over 3 continents and 10 time zones, I badly needed a shit, shave, shower and sleep in my comfort zone of home. Closing in to midday, the stifling heat and humidity was already starting to take its toll on me, my first pee at home resembled thick mustard oil. Inside the bathroom I turned the faucet on to brush my teeth. Prrrt.. Prrrt.. it farted twice before emitting a thin stream of water which slowly got thicker.
The overhead shower wasn't working. So I put water inside a bucket and started pouring mugs after mugs on my head and torso. It was fun to take shower the old fashioned way after a long time. Through bathroom skylight I could hear the tweeting spree by a bird sitting on a nearby Mango tree "Tweetwoo... tweetwoo...tweetwoo..", with no restrictions allowing unlimited characters to tweet put by its social media counterpart.
No sooner I finished eating my typical Puri style home made lunch finished off with succulent mangoes than I lied down on bed tired after a long journey and jet lag, starting to doze off to the sound of the continuous whirring of the wall mounted AC. On the branch of the nearby mango tree I could hear the coarse cawing of a crow interrupting sweet flute tone of the Cuckoo. It was interspersed with occasional spurts of passing by bikes honking - -"keee..kicky.....kicky...keee.." and wafting voices of street vendors - E JHADU NABA JHADU (Want to buy Broom), KAREI NABA KAREI (Want Utensils), E KADALI KADALI (Voices selling Bananas), AMBAAAACHAARA LEMBAAACHAARA (Mango pickle, Lemon pickle).
I could feel my eyelids refusing to stay open. Didn't realize when sleep overcame me when at twilight I could feel my mother's hand caressing me, waking me up - "Get up my son. Don't sleep any further. Save some sleep for tonight. You have lost weight. Aren't you eating enough these days". Her caressing hands on my forehead and chest felt so soothing, something I was longing for days and months. A mother's love is panacea for all ills. Though she equally loves all her children, she has a special affection for me being her only son and her first child when she was still in her teens. I was her only solace to cling onto in an extremely in-laws dominated family, which wasn't quite uncommon in that age of when the society was more patriarchal, consisting of nuclear families where a newly wed daughter-in-law has her own challenges. That era is gone, yet her feelings towards me hasn't wavered a bit.
All mothers are alike. Time and again she would ask me - "MO PUA (my son). You must be hungry. Have you eaten anything ?" though I have been munching all the time. A mother's love for her child is always pure like the water from the mouth of a mountain spring - perennially pristine, unequivocally soothing, unwavering and unflinching. In her voice laced with care and caution, she instructed me to sip my evening cup of hot tea before it gets cold. The black pepper tea boiled in ginger shugged off my jaded nerves. It was follwed by me overcome with a sudden desire to rush to the bathroom. It was 6 PM in India but 7.30 AM morning in America which expained the urge for a trip to toilet. I was reminded though currently in India, I left my biological clock back in USA. More later...
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