Back in America - India trip January 2024

 On my arrival at the Atlanta Airport the Immigration Officer told me as he swiped my passport - "Welcome home". It suddenly occured to me that I was away from home visiting my home in India. I hit a perfect home run in my just concluded India trip, where I felt lot at home to write about. By all means, my trip to India wasn't entirely uneventful. Met most of my friends and relatives I intended to. Those who I inadvertently missed will catch up next time. Made a short and sweet trip to my ancestral village near Puri, sweetened by guzzling Coconut water on the way. 

Apart from missing memories and moments in India, I miss the murmuring of mosquitos who loved the taste of my blood already sweetened by the varieties of local sweets my sweet tooth sampled. Like a good charitable samaritan, I shared the booty with the tiny insects, thus sustaining the food chain. Emulating the well known commercial (Advertisement) of State Farm Insurance the mosquitos of Bhubaneswar celebrated - "Like a good neighbor, Sambeet Dash is here". 

My 2 hour long Indigo flight from Bhubaneswar to Delhi was mundane and uneventful, as the return trip lacks the JOSH (mojo) of the onbound trip towards India. But a similar return trip to United States in 2021 wasn't uneventful at all. The Indigo flight to Delhi on that day growled on the termac for a good half an hour after boarding. Right in front of me was seated a middle aged man, probably in his late 50s or early 60s - short, dark, bald and plumpy with hippie hair on his ears busy frantically Whatsapping. The screen of his smartphone was barely two feet away from my prying eyes as suddenly a semi-bare female body slowly appearing on the screen raised my curiosity to eavesdrop in between the gap of the seats. 

The large size font of his smartphone and the subsequent raunchy chat got my attention and gave away his intention. From the attire of the girl, the nudity and the kind of lascivious exchanges made between the two, it was quite apparent that the conversation was between a call girl and her client. The man seemed desperate to reach Delhi. He wrote his final sentence as the flight started running on the termac - "Keep sending me your pictures for my in flight entertainment". He probably wasn't aware that he wasn't the only one inside the plane having in-flight entertainment. He switched off the phone as the flight took off and I switched my head towards the window to take a view at the fading string of the lights below as the flight slowly vanished into the cloud. 

One of the best sights I ever saw was when the flight from Delhi landed in Paris around noon local time. The clouds from the top looked like snow capped glaciers, the blue openings in the sky in between the clouds looked like melting glacial ice sparkling under the bright sun. The plane came under the cloud with the cloudy, gray wintry weather all around, same as in life it doesn't take long to dream turn into dull reality of life. 

Marriage season is in the air of Odisha. There are also plenty of other social occasions with too many parties to celebrate them. Unlike in America where social gatherings are limited around the holiday seasons of Christmas and Thanksgiving, in India it extends to most part of the year. Celebrations in USA is much less lavish and much more frugal to what I have seen in India. Consumerism has hit the roof as people aren't hesitant to spend money, sometimes just to show off their newly acquired wealth. There is a class of nouveau riche in limelight these days who got tons of money but lack class. 

With greasy food taking over the healthy local diet and increased alcohol consumption it is really a challenge to maintain a healthy lifestyle for many. Though one has to be a Roman in Rome, it is imperative to inculcate strong control over food and drinks to stay healthy and maintain fitness. A good sign is the increasing number of morning walkers in Forest Park which I frequented during my stay. In a dancing workout session I saw a bunch of pot bellies middle aged males gyrating their tummies to the tune of Hindi music exposing their white protruding chest, breast hairs and betel stained teeth. 

Long haul flights are getting more and more painful as I age. Gone are the days when air travel was a luxury. Now it is an unavoidable necessity. Crammed in cattle class like sardines is a pain in the butt, literally - not to mention close to 20 hours inside a flight carrying hundreds of passengers in a closed environment full of stale air at forty thousand feet isn't exactly healthy but a necessary evil to deal with. I try my best to drink plenty of water to fight the dehydration caused inside the flight, consume less spirit to stay spirited. The 30 hour long journey including the in flight and stoppage time seemed eternal and tiring. As the Delta flight entered the USA Airspace from New England area, the moon looked a whole lot bigger and brighter in the pollution free air - the rabbit inside the moon looked eager to jump out into the window seat I took and fall on my lap to cradle. 

Back in Georgia to a cold, late evening temperature of 40°F (5°Centigrade). It would be early morning in India. Already miss the humming of mosquitoes and brutally clapping them to death, the yodelling of mongrels in middle of night. The cold, crispy air of Georgia felt refreshingly fresh as I stepped out of the Airport. It felt odd not to hear a single vehicle honking on my 100 miles (160 km) road trip from Atlanta to Columbus. Miss the din and bustle, crowd and the continous kickee...kickkee..kickee...of bikes yonking horn and slicing their way through the traffic - the ubiquitous jerk on the road and the bumpy rides, the roads being too smooth for comfort to my back here. A person who has driven on roads of Odisha, driving anywhere else in world is a walk in the park. 

Traveled 10,000 miles to and fro between my family in United States and India. Felt sad to bid adieu to my parents in India, happy to get back to my family in Georgia. Left India with Jai Jagannath in mind, back with "Georgia in my mind" - to echo the famous song by Ray Charles. I have two hearts, India and USA, separated by 7 seas and 13 rivers, united by the bond of love. Rooted strongly in both, I am rooting for both. Though I love United States, my adopted home, like first love in life India is and always will be close to my heart. Thus concludes my travelog to India this year.

Goodbye Odisha - India trip January 2024

 A Math question for today. The first few lines of an Odia duet number I overheard in a Barber's shop (saloon) in Bhubaneswar.

Boy - TO SEXY SEXY ANTA DEKHI
          MO DIL FIDA HELA.
(Looking at your sexy waistline,
My heart is super fine).

Girl -  TO STRONG STRONG BODY DEKHI
          MO NAZAR LAKHI GALA.
(Looking at your strong body,
My eyes were fixated on it steady)

Calculate how many English, Hindi and Odia words are there in this so called Odia song loaded with tons of vulgarity. It is high time for the legendary Odia singers Akshay Mohanty, Chitta Jena, Prafulla Kar et all to take rebirth to save Odia music from adulteration, cataclysmic alteration and eventual extinction. When I told the saloon owner to switch to another song, his reply was - "Folks prefer to listen such songs these days". I am a middle aged expatriate. Who cares for my opinion here anyway !

This isn't the sole example. At a local sweet shop I saw a purely Odia looking girl talking in pure Odia with someone on phone suddenly taking a pause and asking another pure Odia shop owner - "BHAYA JARA JALEBI DENA" (Brother, give me some Jalebi). Bhai has become Bhaya and Jilapi has turned into Jalebi. Dhantera has replaced the festival of Akshay Trutiya. We are now celebrating Lori. To those who imbibe North Indian culture, how many of them celebrate Raja or Kumar Purnima !

North Indian invasion is not just limited to festivals. Nani and Apaa have become Didi. Bhinei has become fashionable Jiju and so on. A lady who I used to address as APAA (elder sister) now insists on being addressed as DIDI (as they address elder sister in Hindi). "APAA, NA KADALI CHOPAA (Banana peel), MOTE DIDI DAAKE (call me Didi)" - she retorted back. I got the message loud and clear. Ekta Kapoor's serials are clearly having their effect. First time I heard the word "bro" was in Hollywood movies and after coming to America. Now bros are roaming rampant in Bhubaneswar, many address one another with "Hi bro". 

For someone from current generation of middle class in Bhubaneswar being closer to Hindi and English sounds "Hef" (the word used for being cool here). The Forest Park dwellers, Netflix and Amazon Prime watchers are one step ahead of them in "Hef" category, as they chew "Phew, Oops, Shit" in English - for them Hindi is so passe.

The barber gave me a close shave, followed by haircut. When he was in the middle of his job, someone called him on his mobile (cell). The barber told the other guy on line - "Call me later. I got a customer here". He continued chatting with me as he clipped my hair - "These guys are from my village in Jagatsingpur who don't do anything and sit idle at home. Nothing else to do, they call and disturb me. When I visit my village, they demand a BHATA-MANSA (Rice and Goat meat) party from me. At the same time they burn with jealousy for those who have gone out of village to make money. Bloody double headed snakes". With such stories rampant here, he had a point.

In one of my earlier trips a guy suddenly barges into the saloon, combing  ploughing his hair backwards, uttering in Odia - KIRE KUNA (a common Odia nick name) TAA SHAALI BAHAGHARA RU PHERILA (Did Kuna return from marriage of his sister-in-law) ? The guy reading a local newspaper got up, walked to the front door to spit out his betel stained saliva and replied - "NA MA. SE E JAYE MEESSI KALLA KARINI". (He has not yet given me a miss call - a call on the cell phone destined to be missed but expected to be returned at the earliest). The tete-a-tete continued as the barber focused on giving me a clean shave, used his blade in surgical precision reaching out to all the nooks and corners of my face which I can rarely reach. He continued weeding out the unwanted hairs off my face, gave me a nice massage, soothing my jaded nerves. I thanked him for giving me a clean slate.

Many here suffer from IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrom). But ever since I am here in India, I am having ISS (Irritable Sleeping Syndrome). Though my jet lag is gone, I am sleeping at odd hours and up very early in morning, still longing for couple of more hours of sleep. In United States most places open for breakfast quite early, between 5 AM to 6.30 AM. Then open for lunch from 10.30 and dinner at 6 PM. Here stalls on the street selling breakfast open after 8 AM, most restaurants around 9. Lunch is eaten not before 2 PM and dinner often after 10 PM. With such late dinner one can imagine eating a late breakfast. But at our home here we don't eat that late and it keeps me sane. I prefer to have my cuppa tea early in the morning, but lunch at 2 PM and dinner at 10 PM isn't my cuppa tea.

Thanks to the information provided by my friends Shubhranshu Mishra Babu and Rajendra Jena, I was able to change my Rs.2000 note (Bill) at the local branch of the Reserve Bank of India (RBI), India's equivalent of the Fed. I arrived at the gate at sharp 10 AM. The guard at the gate casually told me to come after 10 minutes. I replied - "Is there any place to wait ? If not, the only place I can go is to my vehicle which is parked across the street. At this peak commute hour it will take me 5 minutes to cross the road to get into my vehicle and another 5 to get back. I would rather prefer to stand and wait here for 10 more minutes". The guard laughed and pointed me to a waiting area - "SAARE (Sir), please take a seat there". Sense of humor helps.

When I loaded some Airtel minutes to my local mobile (cell) phone, I was prompted to speak out my phone no. Speaking "96688" as nine-six-six-eight-eight" is often frowned upon and not properly understood. You need to pronounce 66 as "Double 6", 88 as "double 8" and so on. Being out of touch with the milieu for a while, it took me a while to figure this out.

This eminent writer R K Laxman sited this reason for him to stay back in India when he had the option to settle abroad - "Where on earth you will find so many variety of characters to write about !!!" He wasn't far from truth. No place under sun can match India in the richness of flora, fauna, chaos and characters to write about. Often chaos and disorder brings the fun and frolic out of life rather than orderly tidiness.

Overall my trip to India went well. Thanksfully no RT-PCR test before boarding flight, a requirement during the Covid Pandemic days. Though bitten by mosquitos multiple times so far no symptom of any disease. Ran lot of errands, did some charity work. The feeling was more satisfying than visiting a temple.
Met lot of friends and relatives. Made a trip to my native villages where I sat cross-legged after a long time to savor the local temple food, the taste of which beats food from any 5-star hotel by miles. Attended a marriage reception where I sampled more than a dozen of items, followed by MEETHA PAN (sweet betel). Hardly anyone stood on line (queue) at the food stalls. Many just hung around close to server so that they can take a second help without having to go back in the line.

What's the similarities between a vacation, a consulting assignment and life ? All have a start date and an end date. Like all good things in life a vacation has to come to an end. Before vacation one is rejuvenated and filled with energy. Towards the end of the trip one is jaded, somewhat depressed. There is always an inherently internal wish you had a few more days to spent. Three, four or five weeks, however long you stay it is never enough.

In the wee hours of the trip it's always the endless cycle of last minute shopping, meeting friends and relatives, run errands, packing, weighing, repacking and re-weighing of luggages.  Now the time has arrived to bid adieu to my motherland. Good Bye India. See you later...

Day XVII in Bhubaneswar - India trip January, 2024

 In USA, barring few exceptions, we cook our own food, even make our own tea. Being cooked and served these by someone for a difference feels very different. So invited for lunch I didn't want to miss such an occasion during the last throes of my vacation. It was the day of making a trip to my ancestral village of Biranchidashpur near Sakhigopal on way to Puri to attend a function, which in local lingo means a social event.

The drive on the 4 lane expressway was impressive as it has cut down the time of traveling by half to the village compared to a decade ago. But there were signs of "old habits die hard" not yet dead. There were drivers who could be seen coming from the opposite way on the same lane, against the tide of the one way traffic. Unnecessary roadblocks by man made barriers and animals like gangs of cows and stray dogs were strewn around - all prospective causes of accidents.

The sun was striving hard to force through the misty air during the early hours of the lazy, holiday afternoon, as the fog painted the horizon in white like a broad brush on a blue canvas. The smiling white KASHATANDI (Saccharum spontaneum), a lanky flower on sandy soil with a white broomlike top and the coconut groves waved at us through the haze. We passed through golden yellow paddy fields, the harvested ones forming cylindrical crop circles. Drove past SUANDO, the native village of Gopabandhu Das, though the meandering pucca roads under archways of coconut groves, as the banana and palm trees swayed by the afternoon breeze.

After a long time got a glimpse of life in rural Odisha. Curious women and urchins gaped at us as we drove past them. We encountered greenish village ponds every other miles. Children were jumping on to water, while ladies bathing struggled to cover themselves as our vehicle passed by. On the village outskirts, cows were strapped to tiny poles as a bull was inspecting them for insemination.

All roads to my village lead to the conclusion that communication technology has come a  long way. I saw many cyclists and bikers in GAMUCHA and LUNGI (loincloth), head tilted with a cell phone tucked between their chin and shoulder.

Cricket has penetrated deep into rural India, Odisha being no different. Due to salubrious weather I saw at least half a dozen cricket matches by the roadside. On the village roads kids and adults alike were playing gully cricket. We passed a guy on bicycle, holding a cricket bat on one hand and handle of the bike using another, eager to arrive on field.

Felt awesome connecting to my roots as it was my first visit to my village after 2018, before the cataclysmic Cyclone Fani changed the flora of our village like a bull in the China shop. Earlier the houses were dwarfed by the coconut trees. Now there are hardly any thatched roof left in village.

Houses built of concrete dwarfed the few coconut trees which survived Fani. I had my moment of embarrassment when the strings of my sandal, part of which was eaten by stray dogs came off while walking on village road. I had to cover some distance to the temple in bare feet limping slightly, dragging myself forward and come all the way back to Bhubaneswar in bare feet. Luckily for me, the January sun spared my feet from getting burn from the scorching asphalt road. After long time I ate seating cross legged on floor and loved every bit of it. I thought it would be inconvenient for me, but I passed the test in flying color.

I am a bibliophile who has a decent collection of books at home in Bhubaneswar. As they are gathering dust, I wanted to donate those to our village library. But I was sad to learn the sad state of the library which has now become defunct. Unlike the libraries in Alexandria in Egypt, Athens of Greece and Nalanda of Bihar, they were not destroyed by any outside invaders, but by the villagers themselves. The destruction of the famed libraries was seen as the harbinger of the demise of those civilizations. The decapitated village library doesn't augur well for its future. All the books were stealthily stolen as neither the books and sometimes the borrowers themselves never returned.

From what I heard, the goats on the ground and monkeys above are the major nuisance for our villagers. Goat rearing is very popular these days, for their ever growing demand in the ever growing Bhubaneswar. They roam around, munching with impunity whatever comes on their way, entering and destroying the kitchen gardens of the hapless village folks.

If goats are pain at the bottom, monkeys are pain from the top. They come in droves, eat and destroy all fruits, especially the prized cash crops like coconuts, papayas and betel nuts. All the methods to drive them away, yelling, beating BAJA (drums) and bursting fire crackers only succeeded temporarily.

Yet goats are far easier to handle, as they are dispenible, destined towards slaughterhouse. It is another thing about monkeys. Being the descendants of Lord Hanuman, no one dares to earn the wrath of our "Monkey God". So someone came with this creative idea to outsource the killing of the head of the clan of simians to a group of Muslim hunters. The later managed to track and kill the monkey chieftain. 

The villages were spared from their the menace for a while. Within a few days they returned, not the monkeys but the hunters filled with remorse. The hunters have now become the hunted. They narrated that ever since they killed the monkey, misfortunes one after another have struck them. A bout of diarrhoea attack killed few from their community. Many of them Butchers by profession lamented in Urdu laced Odia "LAXMI CHHAADGEIS" (Laxmi, the Goddess of wealth has left us) as their business plummeted.

Since they beat the monkey to death their meat business had taken a severe beating. They were convinced that Lord Hanuman's wrath had been bestowed upon them with Laxmi following the suit, leaving them. It was amusing to hear the local Muslims scared to death of Hanuman and talking about the subsequent loss of Laxmi. No more Monkey business for them. Loss of life and business trumps over religion. Slowly the monkeys kept coming back. No one in our vilage or its surrounding ever wanted to repeat the fiasco as monkeys still mean business. Never say " Mere Monkeys" ever again. More later...

Day XV and XVI in Bhubaneswar - India trip January, 2024

 A man once went to an astrologer, who after seeing his chart said "You will be begging after two years". "What will happen after 2 years ?" asked the man, now somewhat curious and concerned. The astrologer replied - "Don't worry. You will get used to it". Similarly during my initial days in Odisha, the incessant honking and zigzag traffic sounded irritating to me. Now in little more than couple of weeks I have got used to it. 

Bhubaneswar used to be extended village. It still is. As far as civic sense and sense of entitlement go, we have some catch up to do. A city originally designed for 50,000 people is currently 12.5 million strong, growing annually at the rate of nearly 3%. Once a sleepy township of salaried class people, Bhubaneswar has many sleazy stories to tell these days which comes as part of the package with the ever growing population.

But it is nothing compared to the "Auto" cracy I witnessed in Bhubaneswar. The 3 -wheeler vehicles want to outsmart and outrun each other in the rat race of catching the next BHADAA, in Odia it means rental passengers. A taste of autocracy I got the other day when the driver had to slam his break as an Auto Rickshaw came right in front of our car from nowhere. A hundred feet ahead both the auto Rickshaw stopped next to our vehicle at a red light. As the vehicles stopped, some bikers and the autos came from behind, snaking their way, sneaking through, filling the narrow gaps in between. This recalcitrant auto rickshaw which my car almost hit moments earlier stood next to me.

I rolled over the window and chastised this moron, "KANA MARIBA KU PRABALA ICHHAA (You got a tremendous death wish) ? The guy had no remorse. He bent to spew red spit on the ground and grinned back to me to my chagrin, exposing his black betel stained teeth like the snarl of a rabid dog. As he sped away, he spewed some venom at me. It was drowned by the high decibel traffic, but from his lip movement I knew he wasn't saying praiseworthy things about me. As a thank you note, I promptly reciprocated kindly with my lip movement of praiseworthy stuff for him, which would have made anyone from Puri highly proud. As he sped away, from his look I could gather my message was well conveyed, inaudible but effective.

Just the other day as I was walking on the street across our house, a car was backing up to take a U-turn. A la a doggie protruding its head out of car window, the driver drooped his outside the window and did a "pooch" to spit out his red beter saliva on the street, continuing backing up while brushing his hair looking at the rear view mirror. He didn't care to stop even if I was walking right behind his car. If I didn't stop on time, he would have no hesitancy to run over me. I hollered at him - "KANA MOTE MAARIBA KU ICHHA (Do you intend to kill me) ? The driver gave me a half baked smile and nonchalantly drove away. From someone having a death wish by coming right in front of me to another guy eager to run over me, the errant drivers have come a long way, putting me in tenterhooks.

Years ago, I was walking at exactly the same spot across the street from our house where the car almost ran over me. Suddenly I saw a car's side view mirror hitting a little girl as it tried to overtake her, clipping her right shoulder tangentially from behind. The poor girl fell flat on the street. The reckless driver looked back and sped away. But before he fled, I managed to captured his number tag and photographed it in my mind.

The bystanders including me rushed to the girl. She was shell shocked and shobbing. Thankfully her injury was minor baring few bruises on her knees and elbow. Her parents who lived at a stone's throw distance soon arrived at the scene. As the girl, still crying hugged her parents for comfort, her father asked the bystanders if any one by chance knew the driver of the car or noted its number tag on plate. I came forward and told him to note the number starting with "OD-Whatever" before I forget. Her father was fuming in anger and was furious - "MU SE HARAMI KU CHHADIBINI (I won't let that son of a bitch get away). I am going to press charges to police". Thanking me profusely, he took my local address and phone number. I assured him to reach out to me for any further help.

After coming back home, I narrated this incident to all present, thinking I would be appreciated for my efforts. But I was wrong. My mother and PIUSI (father's sister) started chastising me - "You are a GADHA (donkey), a GANDA MURKHA (deep rooted moron). Being a visitor here only for just a few days, why do you get entangled into this mess ? Police case HEI JIBA. TU HAIRAAN HABU (there could be a police case and you can be in trouble). Folks here are very wary of police and prefer to stay away from them.

The only person who didn't say anything after listening to my ordeal was my father. His silent face bore the quite testimony of the approval of my action. One indeed needs to be very careful while walking on the roads frequented by vehicles, keeping an eye on the traffic around. Prevention is always better than cure. Pedestrians generally have right of the way, but here in Bhubaneswar they don't. Cat has nine lives, we just got one. More later...

Day XIII and XIV in Bhubaneswar - India trip January, 2024

Walked into our neighborhood grocery store earlier this morning to buy milk packets. The owner of the store who is known to me for more than three decades was excited to see me. He welcomed me asking the standard question I get from all during my India visits - "When did you come and how long you will be here". After the pleasantries were over, he told me - "TRAWMPAW AU BAIDEN BHITARE PUNI KANA LADHEI HABA ! TRAWMPAW AMA DESA PAI BHALA THILA. Pakistan KU SABAD KARI DEITHILA. NA KANA APANA KAHUCHANTI (It seems Biden and Trump are going to fight again. Trump was good for India who taught Pakistan a lesson. What do you say) ? I said - "APANA TA SABU JANICHANTI. MU ADHIKA KANA KAHIBI" (You are Mr. Know All. What more can I say) ? From his body language I could decipher that he took my response as a huge compliment.

Foreign policy and economics experts mushroom in every tea stall, grocery store and betel shop kiosk, often metamorphosing into their domain of expertise in these fields, especially on social media. The next question followed - "AMERICA LOKANKA AYODHYA MANDIRA UPARE MATAA-MATA KANA (What's the opinion of the Americans about Ayodhya) ? My short answer was "They don't know, don't care".

The marriage season in Odisha came to its peak as soon as I arrived in Bhubaneswar. Marriages might be made in heaven but dances take place on earth - once during the marriage, then couples dance to the tune of each other post marriage, especially husband to his wife's tune. One day all of a sudden my vehicle came to a complete halt as from nowhere arrived a BARAJATRI/BARAATI (bridegroom side) procession barging in right front of me. I prayed for the ensuing traffic jam to ameliorate, wishing the crowd to dissipitate fast.

But my ordeal was not going to be over anytime soon. Among the cacophony of the honking vehicles around, I enviously watched the bikers sneaking their way though the labyrinth of vehicles. I had no such luxury but to bear the exteremely loud music played by the BAND BAJA BARAAT (Band party of the Groom's procession) blaring from the loudspeakers mounted on top of truck a few feet from my ears, playing the song :

DIL TUJH PE A GAYAA,
KYA NASHA CHHAA GAYAA,
HE HE HE...

Roughly transliterated,

My heart has fallen for you,
How intoxication has spread around !
Hey hey hey...

I plugged my both ears using my fingertips but kept my eyes wide one and watched the accompanying BARAATIs (friends of groom) dancing on the road.

Their dance was more like a monkey jumping fiesta than any kind of rhythmic twist to the tune of the music. Many were stamping on each others feet, some apparently in an inebriated stage. A few fell on the ground, wiped the dust off their hand and body, then continued the jumping spree. Among the dancers were few fat ladies gyrating their sweaty torso with waves of fat on waist below their Saree clearly visible.

The place was close to one of the KALYAN MANDAPS (marriage venue) nearby. Many well dressed girls gaped through the gate to take a glimpse of approaching procession. Their presence acted as a catalyst to the dancers. Like a bull getting excited upon seeing a Red Flag, the BARAATI guys wriggled and jumped with more power and enthusiasm. Couple of guys upon sighting the giggling girls started NAAGIN (Serpent) dance. One of then playing the role of Serpent rolled on the ground, face up, his both hands folded like a hissing Cobra. Another guy was swinging on top of him, biting one end of a long handkerchieIf and holding the stretched other end emulating a Snake Charmer, his handkerchief posing as his luring musical instrument. More the girls giggled, some with their mouths closed with palm more the guys jumped and rolled. (Those who are not familiar with it might mistake this NAAGIN dance involving two guys as a gay courtship dance).

This continued for a while until the giggling of the girls subsided. A cop arrived on scene, trying to regulate the crowd and snarling traffic which had come to a screeching stop. A guy stepped out of the melee, walking towards him. I assume he is a true Gandhian, as I saw him surreptitiously pushing a few greenish papers bearing Gandhi's head into the cop's underhand. As a token of  appreciation, the cop let the jamboree continue for some more time. Finally the ordeal ended, as the crowd and cop slowly melted away. The road was now clear for me to continue my journey through the road and rest of my vacation. More later...

Day XI and XII in Bhubaneswar - India trip January, 2024

Pandian and Politics here are the two major topical topics to talk about. There is not a single gathering I attended where politics wasn't mentioned or Pandian wasn't discussed - a veritable blend of some truth, some hearsay, some fictional accounts. Many are unsubstantiated rumors and myths surrounding the man, adding to the mystery. But one thing is clear. After the British who ruled and left in 1947, no non-Odia outsider has captured the imagination of the Odias as much as this man has.

This morning my mother caressed me and said - "MO PUA KALA PADI GALANI - my son as turned dark in complexion". Far from being a racist, she was simply echoing the Indian obsession for fair complexion. No question, we are a fair skin crazed Indian Subcontinent, never been able to get rid of this complex about our complexion. Fair skin lotions sell like hot cakes. Indian matrimonial columns are filled with ads where the prime most criteria for the bride is "FAIR", followed by Tall, Beautiful, Qualified blah blah blah. In Odisha when a marriage broker says "JHIATI TIKE MANDA RANGA, meaning " the girl has little bit dull color", it's an euphemism for dark complexion. Can't blame the marriage broker here, it's not fair to kill the messenger. He is just trying to make his sales pitch in a marriage market where fair complexion rules the roost.

Fair enough. No doubt we got a complex about our complexion in a nation where leading Hindu Gods Sri Ram, Lord Krishna and Lord Shiva are known to have dark complexion.  An article in India Today magazine not so long ago mentioned about numerous high society Call Girls operating in Delhi are from the impoverished ex-Soviet Republics. The answer given by a pimp to the undercover reporter - "White skin is more sought after than the rest".

Winter weather in Odisha can be summarized as warm days, cool nights. But today was a cooler day - a cloudy, dull, windy day here in Bhubaneswar, harbinger of rains. For me it is shorts and T-shirt wearing weather. While driving a Scooty, slicing through the dusty air in a dusky atmosphere, I could feel a bit of cold due to the windchill factor. There was more air to in the air to follow. A guy on a bicycle was riding next to me, looking like an Eskimo attired in a monkey cap, muffler and a shawl wrapped around his body. He suddenly lifted his ass, farted twice, sat back again and continued biking with an apparent sigh of relief on his face.

Hovering around since morning the gray cloud started converging, turning grayer and darker, clustering together as the day progressed. After dusk the sky opened up, as ADINA MEGHA (unseasonal rains) lashed out late in the evening with dust filled wind giving way to heavy droplets of water plattering the ground with rhythmic music. The swaying coconut trees looked like gargantuan Wind Mills, their branches a la giant windshield wipers were seen swish-swashing the silvery gray sky of patchy clouds amidst a backdrop of bright shining stars in a distant horizon. It was a pleasant feeling of tranquility spending time on our balcony, relishing the wind shower which briefly reminded me of Bhubaneswar of my childhood days.

The rain commenced with few droplets to bring out the petrichor, the smell of fresh rains on parched earth which can beat the best of French perfumes any day. Steady rain continued overnight. Standing on the balcony I was looking at the nearby plants and trees showering under the bright street light. The silvery stripes of rain turned into golden sprinkles by the neon light before it could reach the ground. I watched the rains wiping off dust from the foliage like wiper blades of a car, as the rainwater rolled from coconut and betel nut palms. The buildings looked brighter. The parked cars looked fresh after the rain wiped off the surface dust, providing them a free, natural car wash.

The morning after the rain cleared, the sun smiled, struggling through the disbursing clouds, glad being able to see though the far less dust studded air, thanks to the unseaonal but much needed rain. The air looks clean and crispy. City-zens of the city, enjoy the dust free air while it lasts.

The buildings are looking wet but lightened up by the sunshine peeping through cloud. The craters on the street across our house were filled with muddy water. One of those craters was used by the familiar stray dog who is part of our family, for we never fail to feed him. He was seen slurping the khaki color water as his eyes were scouring for a drier spot to rest. The flora and fauna around were trying to make the best out of the unseaonal rains. More later....

Day IX and X in Bhubaneswar - India trip January, 2024

Fruits and vegetables, plants and vegetation, flora and fauna perennially inspire me. There are perennial Banana, Coconut and Jackfruits trees in our backyard, followed by few flowers and "GUA" betelnut trees in our front yard. I love greenery. Both envy and proud of my mother's green thumb. She had planted some of these trees, maintains them even today by succinctly raising and protecting them. 

Am eating a lot of local fruits and vegetables. They are in season and plentily available, great way to keep my arteries and bowel clean. American food can clog your arteries and cause constipation. Eating a whole lot of Guavas, Barakoli Jujube (a berry), Sapetas (Sapodila), Saag (leafy greens) and the Odia dishes of Dalma and Santula - all tasty, fiber rich food packed with vitamins and other essential nutrients. Win win situation for a foodies - eat tasty, healthy and nutritious. I am not eating these days, rather sampling the food. With age, my appetite has gone down. Instead of having a stomach feeling meal I prefer to sample a bit of each.

I saw Broccoli here but desisted from buying as we get plenty of it in the US. I remember when my mother visited America and saw Broccoli for the first time in her life, called it as "Sagua Kobi" (Green cauliflower). Here I prefer the local stuff. Every other day I visit the the HAAT (Flea or Farmers market) at Samantaraipur Chhaka, barely a kilometer (1/2 mile) from our house in order to grab some fresh leafy green veggies - especially my favorite LEUTIA, KOSALAA SAAGA (Local Leafy Greens) and DESI ALU (Yam). I have become the favorite of an elderly lady veggie vendor who I think likes me for two things. Every time I buy, I don't do any bargaining at all and tell her to keep the changes when she returns me the balance due.

The first time I purchased vegetables from her, I gestured her to keep the change. It raised her curiosity as she raised her head, putting her hand over her forehead to take a close peek at me through the sun glare. Now I got her attention. Every time she sees me standing in front of her mounds of vegetables, she hands me over the choicest pieces of DESI ALU and five bundles of SAAGA which she sets aside exclusively for me. It seems I have become her favorite customer as I don't dishearten her.

Remembered this incident years ago during one of my summer trips to India. One fine morning I came to this same vegetable market to do some shopping and catch a glimpse of the milieu. No sooner I finished my purchase from a vendor than I heard someone shouting MAHADEB, MUNDIA (Salute, O Lord  Shiva. The venerable Bull is the ride of Lord Siva). I turned my head to notice a huge Bull sniffing vegetables hardly couple of feet from me. The mountain sized bovine acknowledged the greetings by nodding its head while still happily munching on the vegetables offered to him.

A man suddenly arrived on scene clad in LUNGI (A loincloth wrapped around the waist which can be conveniently removed for multiple purposes). Scratching his private parts in public (blame the hot and humid weather for that) he asked the lady vendor, "ALO BAIGANA KETE NEKHA - Hey, how much is the cost of the Eggplant (Brinjal)" ? 

Then came a woman covered in rags, shouting explicit at another vendor who refused to part her with vegetables. She started cursing the vendor's whole family to die from BAADI (cholera, a killer disease of yesteryears but now defunct). She could have cursed her to die from Covid or Cancer as one has a better chance to perish these days from these diseases rather than Cholera. She also went on accusing the woman vendor of soliciting illicit relationship with her mothers and sisters. I couldn't understand why she didn't direct her anger towards her father and brother rather than mother and sister. Apparently we are a male dominated society where mothers and sisters are the butts of profanity and curse.

After being content from covering every member of her 14 generations with all her curses she finally relented. The lady selling the vegetables ignored her and went on shouting BAIGANA BAIGANA (eggplant, eggplant). I asked the lady vendor the reason behind the other woman's sudden outburst. Before she could answer my query, a man in loin cloth and unkempt hair told me "She is a mad woman. No one takes her seriously". He sounded serious and logical.

As he walked away, the vegetable vendor started giggling. I asked her - "What's so funny about what he just said ? It was quite obvious that the woman didn't sound to be mentally sound". She replied, "Babu (Sir), this man just told you that the abusive woman is a PAGELI (mad woman), right ? Hee, Hee, Hee". "Yes, I think I heard him loud and clear", was my reply. She continued giggling "Hee hee. He is no different. He is a PAGALA (he-mad) too." And he calls the woman mad. Hee hee hee. She continued giggling.

Now trying to make sense out of the madness surrounding me I swept off the beads of sweat from my forehead as the tropical sun was peaking right over my head. It was time to rush back home, far from the madding crowd. More later...

Day VII and VIII in Bhubaneswar - India trip January, 2024

Height of observation. It didn't go unnoticed to me that the heights of the current generation of Odias have increased by couple of inches on an average. The girls are taller than their moms, the boys than their dads by at least a couple of inches - the usual disclaimers apply. I saw quite a few young girls as tall as 5 feet 10 inches, a rarity among Odia girls back in those days, but not so uncommon today. A good height always attracts the opposite sex. Also keeping a beard is a fad amongst the youth here, perhaps popularized by our Indian cricketers most of whom sport a beard. Cricket stars in India are considered as Demi Gods and icons in a nation where Cricket is a religion, practiced more widely than any religion in a highly religious nation where religion is a way of life.

A day doesn't go by without the average Odia, including my father looking at the PANJIKA (Register or Treatise of Hindu Lunar Calendar) to find what "TITHI" (auspicious day) and "BAARA" it is and what occasion goes along with it. Odisha is a land of BAARA MASA RE TERA PARBA (13 festivals in 12 months). No sooner the Makara Sankranti was over on January 15, than follows the festival of Samba Dasami on January 20.

In USA I watch cat fights on regular basis as there are a dozen or so feral cats who loiter around in my backyard. Kitties being territorial in nature, like their tiger cousins often engage in turf war of supremacy. Few days ago the local newspapers carried the news about a cat fight of different kind, between a bunch of girls in the heartland of Bhubaneswar.

Three girls were eating "GUPCHUP" (As Golgappa or Panipuri is named in Odisha) at the Master Canteen Chhaka, a centrally located area in the city. Another girl suddenly barged in showing attitude with a sense of entitlement and demanded to be served before the 3 girls who were already ahead in line, already munching the tangy, crunchy  snack.

Arguments started between the girls, followed by fisticuffs. A ferocious cat fight ensued. The bystanders cherished the sight of girls clawing, scratching and bitching each other using choicest of words from Odia vocabulary, rolling over the dusty floor strewn with paper cups of left over food and muddied water. Spectators were enjoying every moment of the scene, capturing and taking pictures of the cat fight. Now with Smartphone on hand every one is a reporter these days for social media. As usual, police arrived after the action was over and the girls got tired of wrestling each other, wiping off the dust from their scratch laden bodies. The police put them on a van and carried them away.

I remember one of my prior visits when I was standing near a GUPCHUP vendor who was busy perforating the large, crunchy, puffed shells using his long, uncut thumb nails looking dark from the dirt inside it. It was about 6 PM, the peak time when like all fast food vendors in street, he got busy pouring mashed potato and chickpea paste into the shell, dipping it into the spicy water stored in a large, earthen pot before distributing it to the surrounding buyers.

The vendor's customers, almost all of them girls holding tiny plates made from leaves (more eco friendly than plastic plates) were taking their turns extending their hands to the man, demanding - "MATE AU TIKE PANI DIA. MATE SUKHA GOTE DIA" (Give me more spicy water, gimme a dry one). The multitasking man was super busy catering to their needs, counting the number of Gupchups he passed on to his customers, keeping track of those consumed by each individual.

Done with their rounds of GUPCHUP munching, the girls left their leftover plates strewn around, a pariah dog lurking around, waiting for the right opportunity to start licking them, polishing off whatever he could in the narrow window of the timeframe he had before being chased away. The irritated vendor shooed it away with "Hey JA JA (Go away), as the hapless mongrel fled with its tail well tucked behind hind legs. There was a puddle of water nearby. Feeling secured and safe from a distance of 10 feet, the dog started slurping from the puddle to quench its thirst post feasting on the spicy leftovers.

I heard a girl closeby talking to her friend in a soft but audible voice - "EI MAA, TU JANICHU NA, MO BOYFRIEND TA EBE BEWAFA HEI JAICHI (Oh my dear, do you know this ? My boyfriend has turned untrustworthy)" ! The other girl was absorbing every bit of the spicy story of her friend's "Bewaafa" boyfriend in rapt attention, spicier than the watery Gupchup she washed down her throat. Both girls were oblivious to my eyedropping. Good luck young lady on your "Bewafa Boyfriend" and thanks for enriching my Odia language by adding a news word "Bewafa" to it. More spicy stuff later...

Day V and VI in Bhubaneswar - India trip January, 2024

 I don't use toilet papers here in Bhubaneswar. Be Roman in Rome. As toilet paper is to Subway sandwich, cold water is to Indian hot and spicy food, absolutely ablutionary and soothing.

A NRI (Non Resident Indian) visiting India once went shopping for Toilet paper. The store was out of it. Retorted the furious NRI, "What kind of store you have, you don't carry a necessity item like Toilet Paper ?" "Sorry Sir" - the storekeeper responded politely. We don't have toilet paper but we have plenty of Sand papers. TIKE ADJUST KARANTU ("Please adjust a little bit)".

OLA and UBER cab services are arguably the best thing to happen to the city in recent time. Just book them using your Smartphone App, you can see the cabs rolling in on the screen, doing on-screen somersaults before showing up at your doorsteps in minutes. 

The other day I took an UBER cab. As usual I never lose an opportunity to chat, even if that person is a stranger. Sitting next to him I started a tete-a-tete with the driver. Bit stiff initially, he slowly loosened up and boasted that he can slice his way fast through the clogged roads of Bhubaneswar, adept at it as fish is to water. He was planning to drive on till midnight that day and on long term until he goes over the hills over the wheels.

A late migrant from the district of Phulbani to Bhubaneswar, like many job seekers from the hinterland of Odisha he came to the capital city, his city of neon lights and opportunity. He landed up as a driver for UBEREY (Uber pronounced in Odia accent) after having a stint spending few years in its competitor company OLA. He shared a small room slong with 2 other OLA - UBER drivers with an unattached mosquito infested toilet located outside. Every month he sends money to his family in Phulbani. I asked him - "Why don't you go back to your village" ? He replied with a sigh, tired from a long day of stressful drive - "There is hardly any opportunities here. Here I am much better off having a job and save some money to feed mouths back home". The man made his point.

He also shared his frustrations of handling occasional fastidious, recalcitrant passengers, last minute cancellations et all. Like many he dreaded trips to Cuttack, for it's a challenge for him to drive in the labyrinth of lanes of the old city which prides itself on its 52 Bazaars and 53 Streets (BAUN BAZAAR, TEPAN GALI). He detested his customers of Silver City whom he found to be much more obnoxious and less rule abiding compared to those he encountered in Bhubaneswar.

I asked him - "How can you simply generalize like that" ? He continued - "Trust me, you haven't seen Cuttack". He was right. Though Cuttack is our neighboring city, I haven visited it no more than half a dozen times in my life. He went further - "The traffic in the new Capital city of Bhonsar is a walk in the park compared to Odisha's Old Capital city of Cuttack". I chuckled back - "I certainly see how every rule abiding Bhubaneswariya makes his or own road rules on daily basis. Cuttackias can't be any worse".

A la those who come to America rarely go back to their home country, those who once arrive in Odisha's capital are sticking it. The Bhubaneswar I grew up with has changed leaps and bounds over the years. Not everyone is happy about the immigrants, especially Bulu (a common nickname among Odias), the owner of a locally popular "Bara" Dokan (shop), a fast food stall barely 100 feet from our home. A proud, original inhabitant of Bhubaneswar he detests all outsiders.

The crowd outside his small kiosk vindicates his popularity. Odias love "Bara". Many don't get a bowel movement if they don't eat Bara for breakfast. Though tasty and okay for occasional consumption, it is unhealthy and produces a lot of gas. No wonder many Odias suffer from gastro-intestinal ailments. People of all sorts cluster around Bulu's Bara Dokan (kiosk). Those from the upper middle class and the nouveau riche of our locality send their domestic help to procure their breakfast. Many on their way to work stop by at this stall for an express breakfast consisting of half a dozen Bara soaked in Ghuguni washed down with hot tea.

All sorts of topics are discussed here. From the cold, bland ones like current weather condition to hot and spicy political gossips like Pandian being the de facto CM of Odisha, who will or will not get party ticket in the upcoming election - as hot and spicy as the simmering Bara dollops getting fried in hot oil. As Bulu the Chef moved around the dollops of "Bara" swirling and wobbling on the surface of boiling oil using his jumbo sized spatula, he exclaimed in an excited voice - "SALAA SABU GAON RU UTHI ASI KAHIBE AME BHONSARA RE RAHIBU" - All those brothers of the sisters I have seduced (SALAA means wife's brother, but in local lingo its usage suggests the speaker is the seducer of the sister of whom so ever concerned). They have come out of their villages with the desire to live in Bhonsara (Bhubaneswar). "RAJADHANI PANI, TANKU ANUCHI TANI - the water of capital city is luring them into it".

Bulu continued further - these folks used to live in squalors in their native villages got no civic sense. They come and live in GOLAM NAGARI (Slave city, ascribed to the rapidly developing portion of the city by those natives who pride themselves as the original city citi-gens), live like POKA - JOKA (insects and leeaches) in illegally constructed buildings. SALE SABU CHIPI HEI MARANTU (Let those guys whose sisters I seduce get trampled and perish). 

The tea and snack stall owner Bulu made his point loud and clear. He prides being the true blue blooded boy of Bhonsara, born in Kapileswar, one of the native villages constituting Old town, the real Bhubaneswar. But he is sad, feeling helpless, unable to evict the rusty, arrogant immigrants from his city. Least he can do to change the course of time other than whine about it.

"Baras" were now slowly starting to turn light brown from the spotless white dough made out of the soaked grams (lentils). It will take a few more minutes before they get ready. Bulu's unabashed character assassination of the new immigrants continued unabated as my takeout order of Bara was getting ready. Soon the discussion shifted to a spicier topic of someone's teenage daughter from the locality eloping with a smart boy who used to kill line (LINE MARUTHILA) that girl. I looked outside the small kiosk as a big gray bull dumped a fresh mound of shit only a few feet away from me as I could overhear more bullshit discussions going on behind me, akin to the bullshit which I peddle on Facebook on a daily basis.

I picked up my PARSALA order (the carry out or "to go" order is called PARSALA here, the way parcel is spoken in Onglish, i.e., Odia accented English). My order of a dozen of hot Bara costing me only Rs.36 (40 cents) was ready for pickup. A tasty family breakfast for 40 cents, fresh out of wooden clay oven - can't beat it. As he sprinkled some black salt over the dozen pieces of dark brown colored Bara in a THUNGA (Paper packet) along with couple of green chillies and handed over to me, Bulu delivered his final message - "AGYA BHONSARA RE AU RAHI HABANI - Bhubaneswar has become unlivable for us. Glad that you emigrated abroad". It was deja vu for me. He is not the only one who complains about Bhubaneswar, but hardly any one leaves the city. I haven't too, for like one's first love Bhubaneswar still remains close to my heart. More later..

Day IV in Bhubaneswar - India trip January, 2024

 Life in Bhubaneswar goes at a slow pace but time passes fast. Before I realized already 4 days of my vacation is over, and before I realize my entire vacation will be over just like the twinkling of an eye. So it's better to make the best out of it. 

This year's Makar Sankranti festival fell on a Sombaar (Monday), making it a very special and auspicious occasion. Bhubaneswar being the capital city harboring multiple government offices with salaried class people saw relatively less crowded on its roads as today was a government holiday here. 

I just discovered that I am left with barely 500 Rupees ($6) with me. So I rushed to the local bank to withdraw some cash (I don't carry an ATM card here). To my dismay I found the local SBI (State Bank of India) branch closed due to Makar Sankranti. So I had to borrow Rs.500 from my father just in case and promised to return him the money the next day. My father said - "Don't be silly. You can keep the money with you. There is no need for you to return it. Rather feel free to take more money from me to be on the safer side". I replied - "I can manage for a day. Anyway I am carrying credit cards with me in case". Manage and adjust are widely used words.

It was a cool, cloudy morning on the Sankranti day with light wind blowing the dust around. The tree leaves on foliage were desperately trying to shrug off the dust by swaying to the wind. Slowly the wind started to taper and winding up. I accompanied a group of friends for a walk inside the Forest Park. The holiday morning traffic seemed a walk in the park. The floor of the park was filled with few broken twigs and leaves from the wind. There were plenty of "Baul and Krushnachuda" trees inside the park. The mango trees in nascent bloom were adorned with "Baula" (mango flowers) looking like star studded mini Christmas trees protruding out of the dusty, green leaves. Patches of greenish yellow flowers sprinkled all over the walking trail.

The Park was crowded with walkers and a few joggers trying to outrun each other. The walking crowd consisted of many 4 feeters fitting perfectly to the local profile of highly disproportionate figures - slim hands and legs with protruding bellies with muffler wrapped heads looking like Eskimos. Some were seen frantically scanning their smartphones while huffing and puffing ahead, taking a break to text before resuming their walk. A few taller and fitter guys were around, taking longer laps among the dust laden trees.

Completing 5 rounds in the park helped me ameliorate the guilty pleasure of my gluttony. Forest park is a commendable place surrounded by tons of greenery supplying fresh oxygen. The Park gets crowded between 7 to 9 AM, hence if you are looking for plenty of elbow space and privacy during that time, it may not be the perfect place. Otherwise much recommended park for a walk.

Centuries ago Bhubaneswar was the center of Saivaites, unlike many back in those days who were Vaisnavites. There was a division amongst the Saivites and Vaisnavites. Even the kings fought with each other based upon their allegiance to two prominent Hindu Gods. Bhubaneswar is full of temples of Lord Shiva, at least a dozen within couple of miles radius from my house - the most prominent being the Lingaraj temple built by Lalatendu Keshari.

After finishing my brisk walk in Forest Park, followed by a quick shower I took a slow walk to the local Sukhmeswar temple, barely 500 feet from our house. The temple had more than its usual share of devotees today being the double whammy day of Sankranti and Sombaar, with Bhakts (devotees) making a beeline to enter into the narrow entrance of the temple, touching the feet of the Bull, the carrier of Lord Shiva lying near the entrance.
I finished my "Darshan" (beholding of the diety) and started by walk home after ringing the temple bell. Suddenly rang a bell of this episode from one of my prior trips.

Before walking to the temple I drank Tea, followed by Amul Lassi and couple of glasses of PAIDA (young coconut) water freshly plucked from one of the Coconut trees in our backyard. While on my way back from temple I realised my bladder was about to burst as I won't be able to hold on to it much longer. As there was still some distance to be covered (distance is a relative term and not just a number when you walk with controlling nature's call when meters seem to be miles), I thought it would be prudent for me to open the valve midway.

Frantically looking for a spot with privacy, I found a suitable peeing spot by roadside. It was a dry spot near a wet wall, heavily stained by betel leaf saliva and more heavily stenched by rivulets of urine mixed with red saliva. Couple of guys joined me on both sides of me inspecting the site for a location. The guy on my right looked up into the sky while relieving himself. I turned my head to the left and smiled at the other. He reciprocated by smiling back at me, exposing his phalanx of 32 of his dark, betel stained teeth.

We all shook ourselves off the residual droplets, lifted and tightened our pants and bid each other an unspoken good bye. It is another feeling of the pleasure of relieving oneself under open, blue sky, something I rarely do these days. A la a doggie I managed to leave my scent behind, may be back one day to reuse the spot. It is the best way to recycle these wall urinals lurking around the smart city. No place to wash hands, I knew it will be a few minutes before I reach home to do so - sincerely wishing of not getting an opportunity to shake hands with someone. Feeling completely light and relieved, I started trudging my way back towards home.

Soon my wish was to be belied. On my way back, I saw a familiar face, a neighborhood Mausa (Uncle) rushing towards me - "HAIO KEBE FOREIGN RU ASILA. KETE DINA ACHHA" - "Hey when did you come from abroad (Foreign in Odia is the term used here to denote a nation outside India, especially Western Countries). How long are you staying", extending his hands for a warm welcome handshake. I did a "Namaskar" to him, thinking there won't be a need for any handshake. But he insisted on shaking my hands. So, reluctantly I took my hand forward, squinting my nose, hesitantly extending my right hand towards him. The smiling person at the other side shook his hands we me enthusiastically for a good few seconds. 

Post handshake, he rolled his hands over his lip and chins, making me squint and raise my nose further. Hope someone recorded this handshake moment, it could very well get million plus hits on YouTube a la the greatest handshakes in history - Chamberlain with Hitler, Nixon with Chairman Mao, Ronald Reagan vs Mikhail Gorbachev and so on. Glad I didn't meet any more Mr. Fortunates on my way to shake hands with. More later...

Day III in Bhubaneswar - India trip January 2024

 While crunching on Cuttack Mixture and washing it down sipping my morning cuppa tea, I was watching the local high decibel Odia News channels churning out non-stop nonsense. They give me more headaches than any cold virus. At middle of the Odia news in a prominent news channel, suddenly the screen flashed in English "BREAKING NEWS". It can very well be transliterated literary as BHANGA KHABARA (broken news), most appropriately describing the way our Odia anchors and newsreaders speak in needless accented, broken Odia. It's a new fad here these days which sounds so cool and pure Odia sounds so GAUNLIA (village like) to many. 

Some "Breaking  News" are outrightly funny -

SASHU SAHITA JWAIN FERAR" (Mother-in-law eloped with son-in-law). "SARAPANCHA KU NISTUKA MADA" (The village head being thoroughly thrashed), "UTYAKTA JANATA BHANDA BABAJI RA DAADHI KAATI DELE" (irate mob cut the beard of a fake Sadhu). And not so amusing pieces like "SAANA BHAI RA TANGIA CHOTA RE BADA BHAIRA MRUTYU" (Younger brother kills the elder one using an axe). And more followed, like DURDANTA APARADHI CHAKULI GIRAF (Notorious criminal CHAKULI has been arrested), NAKALI GUTHKA COMPANY UPARE POLICE RA CHADHAU  (police raid on fake chewing tobacco company). MATI CHHANTI Road Romeo" - Eve teasers on prowl harassing girls on roads in epidemic proportion. 

I had my tryst with a bunch of Road Romeos few years back. One summer evening after a bout of fresh monsoon rains my wife, son and I stepped out, waiting on the street right next to our house for our Uber ride. Three guys on a motorcycle started oggling at Tanujaa. No sooner they saw her, than their heads turned in unison by 90 degree towards her, like they hadn't seen any girl before in life. 

All of sudden their pillion stumbled a pothole filled with ankle deep water. Distracted, one of them fell on the muddy poodle, while the other two got busy extricating their buddy from the mess. We had a hearty laugh at the fallen road Romeo's expense. Monsoon has its share of fun and joy.  

On the optimistic side, on local newspaper I came across the news of Bhubaneswar Municipal Corporation (BMC) is planning to neuter stray dogs on a war footing basis, with 600-700 dogs targeted in a day. That's a steep target but a step in the right direction. Though an uncontrolled boom in their population is causing traffic hazards and rabies, I am strictly against culling poor stray dogs. May BMC known for more PAAPA than PUNYA (pious act) than PUNYA, they are doing the right thing. May God bless the poor doggies. 

Hope BMC gets more proactive and does something about the mosquitos 🦟 menace. Plenty of them are swarming around savoring my sweet blood further sweetened by the plethora of sweets I am devouring. They are champion at humming flattering tune around ears, immediately followed by backstabbing, an art they have perfected living among the humans. As we have covered our windows with nets, not many can get inside our house. Those who manage to get in I mercilessly clap them to death. But drunk with blood like the legendary demon RAKTABIRJYA, hundreds of mosquitos sprout from each one of them you kill. 

At Unit IV fish market my friend introduced me to a person -"This is Sambeet, my friend visiting from America". I had a chit chat with the guy for few minutes in pure, unadulterated Odia after which he replied  "APANA LAGU NAHANTI AMERICA RU ASILA BHALIA", you don't seem to have come from America. I retorted back - "What makes you think so" ! He responded - "APANA BADHIA ODIA KAHUCHANTI", you are speaking flawless Odia. I took it as a compliment. 

He made a point. More and more NROs from my generation now a days speak less and less Odia among themselves - They drink PHEPSI (Pepsi in American accent), drive THOYOTHA (Toyota), and punch their Odia sentences with a liberal dosage of "Oh Boy, Oh Gosh, Oh man" and so on. The more you pronounce "P" as "Ph", "T" as "Th", the more American you are. So as long as I am on "Jagannath Land", I take opportunity to converse in Odia with the commoners here before I return back to the "Jesus Land". More later....

Day II - India trip January 2024

 The first night after arrival with a jet lag can be painful. A stubborn Jet lag was a real pain in my butt. My body clock simply refuses to relinquish the US Time Zone as I woke up at 3 O'clock in morning. Jet lag for me now seems to get too stubborn to relent as I age. It feels miserable to get up so early, without being able to sleep any further. Kishore Kumar's song from Rajesh Khanna's movie AAP KI KASAM - KARWATE BADALTE RAHE SAARI RAAT HUM (turning sides on bed for whole night) never sounded more prophetic.  

Thanks to internet and Facebook I could keep myself preoccupied for a while until the tom-tomimg of GHANTA (brass plate) from a nearby MATHA (monastery) sounded like music to me, much more musical than the sporadic KAWALIs (group music) from stray dogs across the street. No sooner one gang of musical mongrels on the Eastern end of the street facing our house finished with a seqience of wooo.. wooo..woof.. than their western side competitive cousins responded with their musical version of wooo..wooo... wooo...woof. The Kawali sessions continued for the better part of the night with intermittent 10 - 15 minutes of breaks. 

The long arduous wait in dark paved way to dawn. The eastern sky grew brighter, turning crimson red as the light morning light slowly strived to drive away the darkness. By now the early rays of morning sun sprinkled the trees with a golden hue, giving their dust covered leaves a shining copper coating. The chirping of birds grew louder, so also the sound of GHANTA from the nearby Bengali Sri Guru "MATH" (Monastery) - sounding the end of the morning session of prayer. Amidst the banging of GHANTA and GINI (musical instruments made from Brass), wafted in a Bengali Bhakti (devotional) song through the dust laden mango, jackfruit, coconut and betel nut trees. I could grasp the following stanza it - 

JASHODA JANANI DAE, 

BAL KRESHTO KHAE RE.

SONAR NUPUR BAJE,

HARI JENE JAE RE. 

Roughly transliterated... 

Mother Yashoda gives,

Kid Krishna to eat.

Golden anklet makes sounds,

Wherever God goes around. 

I went over to the balcony to take a peek at the outside world. It felt bit cooler compared to yesterday with a cool breeze blowing the dust around. You must have heard about Sand mafia, Land mafia etc. Have you heard of Flower mafia ? They come at wee hours of the morning, steal flowers from the frontyard gardens and sell them off to the larger market segment. My senior citizen parents can hardly do anything to stop them. 

Once a man leaned over our fence and pulled down a flower tree to surreptitiously steal low hanging flowers. When he saw me noticing, he pulled away and moved on to the next house. But not every one notices my Peeping Tom eyes. In one of my prior trips I saw a man stealing flowers looking left and right to make sure no one was noticing before letting out a bombadistic fart audible 20 feet away from me viewing from the balcony. 

Our never aging gray colored gigantic local Bull never stops placidly chewing cud on his bed of a big mound of sand in front of our house with his head drooping in an up and down motion. Couple of mongrels sleeping nearby noticed the tectonic shift in their surrounding as the giant Bovine suddenly stood up, shrugging off sand from his body. The doggies shifted further off to a nearby semi-broken concrete culvert perceived by them as a more secured, safer location from the big bully Bull. 

Two pariah dogs were indulged in a face off, their protruding mouths barely a feet from each other. The bigger, aggressive one about to prounce on the other like a dragon in fury. The smaller doggie in a defensive, crouching pose was snarling at its bigger opponent with its tails well tucked within the hind legs. The barking and snarling continued for a few minutes until they made a truce and went their separate way. 

From a distance approached our local Newspaper walla (guy). He swung and threw the newspaper past our main gate with immaculate accuracy and moved on to the next house. A stray dog tiered from last night's Kawali sessions woke up, sniffing his way near to a man walking holding a milk packet only to be rudely shooed away - HEY HEY JA JA (Hey, hey, go away). The doggie nonchalantly walked away. Well began is half done. It was a day well began in Bhonsar, the way locals pronounce Bhubaneswar. More later...

At Home, Day I in Bhubaneswar - India trip January 2024

 I was welcomed at Bhubaneswar Airport by a cool and foggy morning with the Sun struggling to shine through a hazy hue. At 7 AM, this is the earliest ever in the morning I made a touchdown at the Bhubaneswar Airport. There were fewer people inside and outside the Airport, lesser din and bustle, less annoying honking of vehicles and haranguing touts (in local lingo TAUTARs).

No sooner I stepped out of the Airport, than I smiled at the gray sky and utterd "Good Morning Bhubaneswar", suddenly remembering the Hollywood actor Eddie Murphy in the movie "COMING TO AMERICA". Coming from America, I wished to replicate the same. In that scene from the movie, the actor's wish at top of his voice, "Good Morning my neighbors", is instsntly returned by an equally prompt response " Hey, F...k you". Eddie Murphy returns with a smile "F...k You too". Glad no one responded to my Good morning wish at the Airport to reciprocate in kindness.

Everything inside the Airport glitters. But all that glitter isn't gold. There are 3 lanes in front of the Bhubaneswar Airport, lane 1 devoted to the VIPs, lane 2 used by lesser humans for regular airport drop offs and pick ups, lane 3  for the OLA, Uber vehicles booked via online. We are probably the only country on earth still clinging to this sick VIP culture, Odisha being in forefront. The whole place is swarming with scums, touts and unscrupulous elements with many passengers having unpleasant experiences to share. Many people present at the Airport are neither passengers, airline or airport staffs. They have no business to be there. Yet they hang around the place creating nuisance.

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. 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 and I loved every bit of it. Be Roman in Rome. Through bathroom skylight I could hear the tweeting spree by a bird tweeting "Tweetwoo tweetwoo.. tweetwoo...", with no restrictions on characters to tweet put by its social media counterpart Tweeter.

No sooner I finished eating my typical Puri style home made lunch of my favorite "MACHHA HALADIPANI" (Fish cooked in turmeric water), "NADIA BARA" (coconut cutlet) than I lied down on bed tired after a long journey and jet lag, starting to doze off to the sound of the overhead fan. 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), sellers of AMBAAAACHAARA LEMBAAACHAARA (Mango pickle, Lemon pickle).

Back of my mind I thought of avoiding a siesta so that I can better sleep in the night. In a supine pose on bed I started reading the local vernacular Odia newspaper "SAMBADA". Soon I could feel my eyelids refusing to stay open. Didn't realize when sleep overcame me until 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". I got up, feeling the poor newspaper lying on my side, the smiling face of Odisha's Chief Minister Naveen Patnaik on the cover page torn from the middle inadvertently by my elbow when I slumped on it, thanks to my tiring journey of 30 hours. 

My mother's 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 born when she was still in her teens. With passing time 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, trying to make best out from my finite stay. 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 trigger me being 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...

Arrival at Bhubaneswar Airport - India trip January 2024

 After checking in for my last leg of flight to Bhubaneswar, I settled down on a chair next to the boarding area. The Indigo flight to Bhubaneswar starts from the Terminal 2, a  walking distance from Terminal 3. As it neared the scheduled departure time of 5 AM in the morning, I could recognize the typical Odia crowd close by from their looks, language and mannerism.

The Indigo flight to Bhubaneswar wasn't connected to the departure area via jet bridge. So, before boarding I had to take a bus maneuvering through the dark and dense fog of Delhi to the Airplane standing on the turmac. I was reminded of this incident from several years ago when I was climbing the stairway to get into the plane, the guy couple of steps front ahead with his ass facing me farted right on my face. You should have recorded the moment and my expression, following by sharing it on the social media. It would have gone viral with a million hits. No such thing happened this time. 

Another time I saw a guy surreptitiously scratching their private parts in public while waiting to board the flight, grimacing with an orgasmic pleasure of big sighs "Aah, Ooh" laced relief from the itch as the heat and humidity of India can cause real havoc down under. When our eyes met he pretended to adjust his belts with a "Not I" look on his face. 

The Domestic Terminal 2 was bit chaotic, especially around the security gates. There were lot of people taking the morning flight. The departure area of the Domestic Airport before boarding resemble our BADAMBADI Bus stand in Cuttack. The Airport Authorities and CISF were doing a decent job, managing the recalcitrant ones.

The Indigo Airlines flight took off from Delhi turmac slicing through the dense fog like a hot knife through butter. I looked outside the window. Midway through the flight the sun on the Eastern horizon slowly popped up, its orange hue looking like the sunny side of poached egg for breakfast. Crimson color cloud on the far eastern horizon suddenly looked like hot lava flowing from a dormant volcano turning active. The world above the clouds is dream, takes you to Cloud 9. The world below it is the reality. 

The roaring big bird was flying high, whizzing past low lying clouds, enabling me to take a peek outside to get a Bird's eye view. The plane was flying over snow white fleece of cloud looking like a vast cotton plantation or a big flock of sheep. Huge mushroom clouds looked like the snow capped castles of some distant planet in the Guardian of the Galaxy.

Inside domestic flight to Bhubaneswar I have the opportunity to interact with many interesting personalities. Years ago while I was flying alone to Bhubaneswar on a similar flight, a guy next to me was conspicuously reading The Economics Times. I asked him why he is travelling to Bhubaneswar. He said he is on a short trip to Odisha where he envisions future lies in Organic farming as a potential money spinner.

During the course of our conversation the amateur farmer in me asked him certain aspects of farming, which I expected this gentleman with an interest in agriculture to be aware of. Apparently he turned out to be a very novice about farming, sounding more of an investor on a hunt for big bucks and ready for the kill, not to nurture the nature, akin to a general who had never set foot on battle field, a city boy who had never grown a plant by himself. Our conversation turned out to big a damp squib.

Another time, a man sitting next to me was a garrulous guy full of hot air - both literally and figuratively. He boasted how like Hercules he carries all his company's responsibility on his shoulders and without his expertise the would collapse like a pack of cards. How indispensable he was and visited all the 75 states of India on various company trips (never knew there were 75 states in India, even if you include the Union territories).

Years ago in one such homeward flight, groggy with jet lag, I dozed off to the humming of the airplane engine for the first half an hour of the flight, my head drooping sideward. The Airhostess politely woke me up - "Veyzz (veg) or Non - Veyzz, Sir ?". "I like non-veg", was my reflex action reply in a semi asleep state. She served the food, suspiciously glancing at me, thinking I passed a double entendre. In India non-Veg means food containing meat, poultry or fish, but colloquially it denotes a person with carnal or amorous instinct. Bawdy, dirty jokes in India are often termed as "Non-veg" jokes. Living outside India for a long time had taken its toll on me.

As the plane lowered itself preparing to land at Bhubaneswar, the rivulets meandering through the grayish landscape down below formed a spectacular sight under basking in a foggy, grayish and bit dimmed morning sun. The green, undulating waves of Eastern Ghat mountains were swimming in the misty fog. River Mahanadi looked like a huge cold blooded Anaconda taking a sunbath on golden sand to stay warm. Approaching Airport, the river Daya down below appeared like a gargantuan brown horseshoe covered in muddy water.

Every other year I fly over Bhubaneswar, the city I moved into as a 7 year old in 1976 and never left, sadly I see more concrete and asphalt, less green foliage as the asthetic city once known for its salubrious weather slowly turning into an urban jungle. Peeked below to take a view of the city I grew up with to notice that has outgrown itself. Saw multiple skyscrapers staring at the plane from down below as vehicles looking like match boxes were snaking on the highways. I left Bhubaneswar for good for more than a quarter of a century now, but the city has never left me. Way too many skyrises see from the top have gone over the top. They are becoming a growing environmental concern - gonna to bite this city big time sooner or later.

How contrasting is the worms eye view of the sky from the ground to the bird's eye view from the top. It makes me understand the meaning of the phrase "Down To Earth". When it all seems you are on top of the world, in minutes you are back on the ground. So are the vagaries of life. How much and how high you fly you have to come down - in no time you must descent from 39000 feet to ground zero. Airplane teaches us a lesson on life. More later....