RIP Pankaj Udhas

 The year was 1986. I just entered into REC (now NIT) Rourkela loaded with dreams. Being fund of music from childhood, I perennially murmer music on my lips and inside my mind, occasionally in my dream too. 

On a November day that year, close to noon the ward boy of our hostel delivered me a letter sent by mail. Those were the days handwriten letters was the most common mode of communication when cell phones were strictly fantasy. The only phone we had in our hostel was an internal in-campus landline in the Superintendent's room downstairs. Face and Book were two separate words with distinct meanings, juxtaposing them to form a social media platform was still a greater fantasy, until Mark Zuckerberg made it a reality decades later. 

I opened the letter in a flash with excitement, singing this song from an ongoing hit movie at the theaters at that time named "NAAM" - 

CHITTHI AYEE HAI CHITTHI AYEE HAI,CHITTHI AYEE HAI WATAN KI MITTI LAYEE HAI" 

Roughly transliterated..... 

"Letter has arrived, letter has arrived,

Carrying soil from homeland it has arrived". 

Though Rourkela was hardly very far from Bhubaneswar by today's standard, for the somesick in me who never ventured out of Bhubaneswar all his life, Rourkela was a city in a faraway land. A letter from family and friends was like Manna Dew, a breath of fresh air, the petrichor of a scent after fresh rains on a parched land. 

A senior walking by just heard me singing and rudely interrupted my reverie laced mood by handing me a tight slap on my cheek. I was unlucky for not wearing glasses those days, for at least my classmates those who wore spectacles were asked to remove their glasses before getting slapped, a la, a rattlesnake rattles its tail or a Cobra hisses raising its hood to give prior warning. I wasn't so lucky. Though not entirely unexpected from Seniors those days, his slap came like a bolt from the blue without any warning, like the bite of a Russel's viper or a Cottonmouth. I had to silently bear it with a mix of fear and anger. 

My only fault was singing the song too loud for the Senior's ears. He told me to finish the song. I had no other option but to acquiesce and oblige. After listening to the song the Senior said - "You have a decent voice and a good memory. Practice it well and sing it during the upcoming Spring Festival", as he melted away jumping downstairs. That's all the compliment I got from him in lieu of the slap and my impromptu song. 

Today earlier this morning when I heard the  news of the death of this great Ghazal singer Pankaj Udhas earlier this morning at a relatively young age of 72, it instantly propelled me on a time machine back to the halcyon days of my college life, the slap I got singing one of the maestro's better known songs. Akin to the slap I received that noon, the news was like a slap on a Monday morning to shugg off my jaded nerves. Not a great connoisseur of Ghazals, but when I ever listen to a Grazal, two faces invariably come to my mind - Jagjit Singh and the smiling, cherubic Pankaj Udhas. Jagjit Singh passed away more than a decade ago. Pankaj Udhas's demise marks end of an era. Mortal men, immortal melodies...

Spring and Springtime

We are having some Springlike symptoms in Georgia though winters isn't done yet. I can take my afternoon walk without wearing any warm clothing. The birds are out on a twitting spree "Tweetwoo tweetwoo.. tweetwoo...", with no restrictions to tweet as put by their social media counterpart Tweeter. The other day I saw two crows kissing each other seating on the pole near my home. Feral cats coming out of their hibernation, lazily rolling and somersaulting in my backyard, chasing squirrels. Like nip in bud, the nascent Spring is in the air. 

Two squirrels kept chasing, trying to catch each other's tails and striving to run each other out. Chirping little birds crisscross the western sky as an array of Pelicans passed by, cawing PAON PAON. Far above in the sky two commercial jet liners crossed over, painting a thick white tailgating strip, forming a gargantuan X sign on the sky, as if eager to welcome the spring. 

I could see the giant good old Oak tree on my yard, standing tall and cold, tired after fighting the old man winter. The early signs of nip in the bud protruding on its branches exites the tree like a ripe old man who gets exultation upon suddenly seeing his erection in the middle of night. The tree reminded me of the lonely "BRUDHHA (Old man) JARADGABA, the Vulture from the Jataka tells hell bent on protecting the birds chirping on its branches from the charlatan cat eyeing upon them. 

Spring time brings back fond memories of the "SPRINGFEST", a jamboree filled extravaganza sandwiched between a cold winter and a brutal summer, celebrating the arrival of the spring season at REC (now NIT) Rourkela, my Alma Mater and the halcyon days of many those passed from the institute. Semester exams over, the students were geared up, Engineered for fun. 

Weather in the Steel City of Rourkela in north Odisha during Spring is salubrious, neither hot nor cold. The mornings were cool and misty, afternoons bringing a warm comfort of a body wrapped in a comforter. The sun is luke warm while the air stays cool, the perfect blend for festivities. Like young buds of leaves and flowers sprouting from trees, the minds of Rengcolians are young, they too have a budding dream with the first touch of Spring in their youth. 

One of the major attractions in Spring Fest were female participants from outside. There was a saying during our REC days that God cursed Engineering girls to be smart but plain looking (The Usual disclaimers apply and please don't shoot the messenger here). A typical male student's psychology, whenever he looks at a group of girls, his eyes pry for a pretty face, often ending in disappointment. In the country of blind the one eyed woman can be the queen. With few girls in Engineering Colleges those days, still fewer relatively better looking, few plain looking girls took the advantage of turning into queen bees, attracting droves of boys towards them. Arrival of fresh faces from outside during the much awaited Spring fest was the cherished REGISTAAN MEIN BAARISH (Rainfall in the desert). 

Still remember this funny incident. I was on the stage during a Quiz/trivia show, a popular item of Spring Fest conducted by O'Brien from Calcutta. (REC Rourkela filled with brilliant minds with Elephantine memory was the only college those days from Odisha to qualify for the popular Quiz Time show hosted by Siddharth Basu on Doordarshan, only TV channel available those days). 

A car went to fetch our Quiz master from the Rourkela Railway Station, but came back empty. We thought he gave the event a pass, scrambling for a last minute replacement. Suddenly the Quiz Master was spotted disembarking from a Rickshaw in front of the venue of AV Hall, bargaining for every Rupee he could save. We profusely apologized for missing him at the station. He wasn't amused, feeling slighted, but nevertheless proceeded on to the stage. 

One of his questions to the participants was "Which animal sleeps with one eye open and the other eye closed ?". No one on the stage could answer, following which the question was put to the esteemed audience. "So and so", some one shouted amidst the scores inside the Hall, uttering the name of one of our friends, known for his characteristic smile with one eye closed and the other eye open. The entire hall erupted with laughter. Our buddies from REC were not only creative, they had great presence of mind with a greater sense of humor.  

The festivities concluded on the "Rock Show" night with hundreds engaged in bacchanalian twists and turns to the tune of the heavy metal music. Outside were drums of country liquor called BHATTI for those interested in some free liquor. I was one of the volunteers assigned by our Cultural Secy to fetch it from a local hooch dealer at the junction of Sector-2 and Koel Nagar. No sooner we arrived, than the owner of the Hooch Store, a dark, burly guy with Walrus moustache jumped from his KHATIA (threaded bed). 

He graciously offered us his samples in tin tumblers with big onion chunks sprinkled with salt and Bidi (locally made cigarette in India) as side dish. I took a sip of that fiery stuff, feeling it burning all the way down inside my esophagus (food pipe) reaching my stomach, clearing any doubts I had in my Biology class from my School days. My mouth was so bitter, I grabbed a bite of onion chunk laced with salt granules, snatched a Bidi from my friends hand, took a long drag to sooth my throat. I always hated Bidi, but this time it was my savior. Then I took a big gulp, this time to wash down all the residual remnants of our DESI DAARU (country liquor), fomented at the local Rourkela Koel Nagar Distillery.  

Yet the elation of imbibing this premium Country stuff with friends, was no less than sipping any Premium Single Malt. Nothing has left such an imprint on my mind as much as the brand from Rourkela Distillery, graced with chunks of salt laced onion. The drums were loaded on a trolley, we goaded it through our gate to the rock show venue. 

Later in the night, it would act as the fuel propelling the Engines of the budding Engineers, as the Rock music concert commenced. The girls were giggling at our discomfiture, watching the proceedings safely ensconced within the locked gates over the 2nd floor overlooking the arena. They were the catalysts to the inebriated gyrating hips several feet underneath in the semi dark coliseum, a few throwing up the privacy of the darker corners. 

Some were destined to collapse. They were dragged and loaded like sardines on top of the trolley to the safety of their room - Drooling DAARU from their frothing mouth, with heads hanging downwards as the trolley trolls its way to the safety of the hostels. It would be the fitting finale to an occasion the students would be dreaming throughout the year. Gone are those days of Spring and Springbreak. ZINDAGI NA MILEGA DOBARA (Life never comes  twice)

RIP Ameen Sayani

 "I have three best friends in this world. What's surprising is that they also happen to be your (audience) three best friends. They are Bachpan (childhood), Jawani (Youth) and Budhapa (old age)." 

"People bore me. Film people particularly bore me. I prefer talking to my trees. I like nature... that's why I want to get away to Khandwa. I have lost all touch with nature out here. I tried to dig a canal all around my bungalow out here, so that we could sail gondolas there." The legendary singer Kishore Kumar said in an Interview with Ameen Sayani on All India Radio. Kishore Kumar died long back in October 1987.Ameen Sayani had known Kishore to frolic about bare-footed in the jungles of Bombay's suburbs with Sachin Dev Burman, singing senseless songs like Zingalala zingalala.

Ameen Sayani died today at the age of 91. Both of them immensely contribution to my love, knowledge and respect for Hindi music and Urdu language, both of which are inseparable to each other. 

Last December Ameen Sayani had his 91st Birthday along with the legendary singer Mohammed Rafi, both inseperable from Bollywood Hindi music. Ameen Sayani was the voice of CIBACA GEETMALA, a popular musical program on Radio Ceylon in the 70s and 80s which had good share of popular Rafi songs.  

Come December, come waves of memory recollection from the airwaves of his indomitable voice and Hindi songs from the famous BINACA GEETMALA (which later changed to CIBACA GEETMALA) anchored by Ameen Sayani and aired by Radio Ceylon (as Sri Lanka was known then). The hour long program of contemporary Hindi hits every Wednesday night ranked based on their popularity chart struck a chord in me. At end of the year in December month Radio Ceylon aired a special program ranking the top 15 popular songs of the entire year. It instantly took me down to the memory lanes of 1970s and 80s. 

Once a week, wafting over the airwaves would float in the unforgettable familiar voice of Ameen Sayani - BEHNO AUR BHAIYON, AAP SAB KO LE CHALTE HAIN ISH GANE KO, JO PICHHLE HAPHTE  PADAAN NUMBER 10 SE ABHI PADAAN NUMBER 6 PER AGAYA, "Dear Sisters and Brothers, taking you to this song which has jumped from position no 10 from last week to position number 6 this week". 

The program played clips of a plethora of popular songs flooding the airwaves of our childhood and youth. Those were the nights sans television in Bhubaneswar. I would be waiting eagerly for every Wednesday, to tune in to what would be a non stop one hour feast of music fiesta commencing at 8 PM. At sharp 7.55 PM I would elongate the antenna of our MURPHY Brand radio. It was followed by a good 5 minutes of struggling to adjust the vertical bar to the exact location with intermittent bursts of stuttering farts from it, CHRRRRD... PRRRRRTT.., before I could finally manage to tune in. 

It would be a very delicate balancing act on the short wave Radio. One millimeter here or there you get a whole different station and miss your favorite song. The reception was particularly bad towards the end of December when the special annual version of the program is aired as a fitting finale, bidding adieu to the year. 

The program earlier used to be called BINACA GEETMALA, but the name BINACA was changed to CIBACA sometime in the late 1970s - a popular toothbrush/paste brand of the time (not sure if it still exists). Ameen Sayani had a mellifluous, sweet loquacious voice and unique style of narration which would arguably be the best marketing brand that company ever had. 

Kishore Kumar & Lata (often their duets) dominated Cibaca Geetmala those days, though other singers like Mohammed Rafi, Mukesh, Asha Bhonsle, Suresh Wadkar had their fair share of contributions too. Popularity mattered. For example - in 1980 the song "HAME TUMSE PYAR KITNA" voiced by Kishore Kumar topped the popularity chart and played more often than the same song sang in a classic classical tune by Parveen Sultana. The choice of a music aficionado would be Parveen Sultana, however the general public went ga ga over Kishore version of the Gana (song).

Amidst intermittent losses of signal and constant sputtering it was great fun nevertheless to listen with ears glued just inches away from the radio, wrapped in a shawl on those cold winter nights while waiting on a hot dinner of RUTI (Indian flat bread) and Cauliflower curry. Cauliflower used to be very seasonal and unlike these days it wasn't available round the year. Eaten during the short span of winter months it would be tasty in November but eventually boring to the taste bud towards the end of the season. 

I would pick a piece of hot cauliflower from the curry bowl, followed by blowing air with snorted lips to cool it down before munching. No sooner I finish a couple of florets than the rest of the cauliflowers would get cold. Blowing hot and cold, I could feel the pinch of winter in Bhonsar (Bhubaneswar as pronunced by many locals) those days with dual pleasure of eating dinner while listening to Cibaca Geetmala. These are memories from a bygone era to cherish forever. CIBACA GEETMALA is dead, so also Rafi, Kishore and Lata, and now Ameen Sayani at the age of 91. Mortal men, immoral memories.

The Betel Shop man at global mall

 Yesterday I posted a picture of the "GLOBAL PAAN HOUSE", a tiny store located near the entrance of Atlanta's Global Mall, located at Jimmy Carter Boulevard, touting that "Paan" or betel has gone global in Atlanta's "Global Mall". I have a nice anecdote relating this particular store and its owner from last summer. 

On a hot evening last August, after dropping off our son for the first time at the University of Georgia in Athens, my wife and I decided to stop by at the Global Mall in North of Atlanta. Feeling forlorn and a sad rush of gloom as fresh, nascent empty nesters, we were not in a mood to eat anything at the mall. Hence we ordered a quick carry out of Indian-Chinese food before heading home. In the mean time, to kill our waiting time, we decided to sip hot "Masala" (spicy) tea to sooth our jaded nerves fatigued from a long drive, fighting despondency. 

I was concentrating on dealing with an inconsolable Tanujaa, just separated from "Apple of her eyes", trying to get into terms of living away from her only child for a long time after all those long, 18 years filled with memories. All of sudden, a gray haired middle aged man approached our table, smiling at us. From my prior experience, I always felt unsolicited contact from any unknown individual, especially from our Desis in America (a slang used Persons of Indian origin in US), a bit intimidating. It was probably due to my prior experience of being approached during my initial days in the United States in the 1990s when "Amway" agents harangued me, so much so that I thought of putting a board in front of my apartment displaying "Dogs and Amyay folks aren't allowed". (I love dogs. Just saying to drive my point, alluding to during Hitler's Nazi heydays at the infamous Berlin Olympics in 1936 there were sick graffitis written all over the Olympics village, proclaiming Jews and Dogs aren't allowed). 

I prepared myself to politely rebuff this man as I was hardly in mood to listen to any sales pitch. But something about the man made me calm and patiently listen to him. It was already late on a lazy day of summer Sunday evening. The crowd inside the Mall was very sparse. The man bended near our table, putting both his hands on top of an empty chair lying nearby - "VYAPAAR (Business) is very slow today. I am sittle idle for a long time. Do you understand Hindi". 

Not very keen on having a long conversation, was about to rebuff him, telling him upfront if he could cut the crap and straightaway get to the point. But I stopped short and responded politely - "HAAN, (yes). I know Hindi". The man continued - "AAJ DUKAAN MEIN AKELE MACHHAR MAAR RAHA HU (Today I am sitting alone in my shop, killing mosquitos"). Though there was no mosquito to be seen around, figuratively it means he was having a lousy day in business with nothing to do. I queried - "Which shop is yours" ? The man stayed bended, pointing to the "GLOBAL PAAN HOUSE" he said - "If you can buy couple of Paans (sweetened betels), I will feel obliged. I will make a fantastic Paan for you and ma'am". 

I looked at my wife to gauge her mood. Without battling an eyelid she nodded and signslled to order couple of Paans. I instantly acquiesced. The man's mood lifted, so also ours as his genuinely exalted, expressive feelings from his looks looked contagious. He sad down on his stool inside his small kiosks, focusing on adding a layer of thin paste, taking turns on both Paans, followed by sprinkling several sweet, flavored multi-colored ranbow "Masalas" over them. Looking at the board on top of his store displaying "Global Paan House", all of sudden I blurted out a twisted version of Kishore Kumar's song from the Hindi movie "DON" popularized by indomitable Amitabh - 

"O KHAIKE PAAN GLOBAL MALL WALA, KHUL JAYE BAND AKAL KA TAALAA". 

(From Global Mall the Paan you find,
 it unlocks your closed mind). 

The man now lifted his head as he folded the Paan into a triangle, which was now looking alike the midsized head of a green rattlesnake sans its venomous teeth. He smiled back at us, his white stubble from his unsaved cheek glistening under the bright light - "I was a huge fan of Amit jee (Amitabh Bachchan)". "And who wasn't" - was my response, Amitabh was the one man Bollywood industry those days". "Do you remember any stanza from this song you just sang" - the man asked while giving finishing touches to the Paans. I sang back, as I was glad to see my wife standing back smiling. I could sense now she was far better off than her depressing, melancholy mood moments ago. It lifted my spirits up to oblige the man to sing another stanza of the song based on his "FARMAIS" (Request) - 

"EK KANYA KUMAARI,
TERE SURAT PE MARGAYE HAI, HAI, HAI.."
(One nubile girl, 
Made me die from her looks). 

Then I told him - "Do you know that Kishore Kumar recorded this hit song while chewing a paan. The incredible natural singer he was". 

"ARRE, AAP TO MERA MAN BEHLA DIYA (You made my mood today) - the man erupted with signs of unbundled joy. He eulogized me further - "You have a good voice and good memory". I was not sure of both, unsure of the genuineness of his accolades, thinking he was needlessly flattering. Fake or otherwise, though at best a bathroom singer, the KUJI (minor) artist in me took his words as compliments. I felt humbled as well, for my miscued extrapolation about a simple, jolly, likable person, yet vindicated Mark Twains famous quote - "Most generalizations are usually wrong". But more than anything else I could see my wife's mood now lifted as sunshine breaks the darkness, same as this stanza from another Kishore Kumar's song - 

"WOH ACHANAK Aa GAYEE
YOON NAZAR KE SAMNE,
JAISE NIKAL AYEE
GHATA SE CHAAND"... 

Transliterated... 

"She suddenly arrives
In front of my eyes;
Bolstering the mood
as if moon ventured out of cloud". 

I passed the Paan to my wife, picked up our carry out plastic bag and bid adieu to our betel shop man as I could hear loudspeakers inside the Mall yelling at us - "Attention Shopkeepers. We will be closing in 15 minutes".

Sarala Das - the epic Odia poet

Sarala Das, the epic poet from Odisha who wrote his version of Odia Mahabharata, Vilanka Ramayana and Chandi Purana was born in 15th Century during the time of the powerful Ganga Dynasty what was considered as the Golden age of Odisha. It was the time of formulation of the Odia language which took shape in its modern form and script, becoming robust, achieving maturity and plasticity. Odia became a unique, rare blend of Sanskrit, Prakrit, Pali and Dravidian languages, akin to the choicest blends of the Johny Walker brand Scotch. Today is his death Anniversary, as per Hindu lunar calendar the legendary Odia poet passed away on "Magha Shukla Saptami".

From 11th to 15th century AD, the Gajapati (Lord of Elephants) Kings of Odisha built embarkments on rivers, created impressive architectural structures like the Sun Temple of Konark (Black Pagoda), defended aggression from enemies and built great civilization. At one point of time the Kalinga empire extended from the Ganges in North to Godavari in the south under King Kapilendra Dev.

But in the age sans contraceptives, the mighty King maintained multiple Queens and concubines who kept on delivering broods of legitimate and illegitimate progenies, laying seeds for future fratricidal conflicts. His descendants involved themselves in internecine wars, managing to sow the seeds of demise of the great Kalinga empire.

History assigns Sarala Das's presence to the time of the mighty Kapilendra Dev in 15th century. The exact year and date of birth of Sarala Das is not known. But what is known that he was born in Jhankada, a place in Jagatsinghpur district near Cuttack in CHASAA (farmer) caste. He fought in Kapilendra Dev's army at a time when it was normal for the peasants to take up arms for their King as and when required. During peace time they were back to their usual farming business. They were known as Khandayats or the "Conquerers of Sword" whose descendants form a sizable population in the state of Odisha.

Little is known about Sarala Das's education, but it is likely that he was either illiterate or received minimal education. But poetry effused out of his mouth like a bubbling stream during monsoon which went on bursting knowing no bounds as he churned out Odia Mahabharata, Ramayana and Chandipatha which caught the attention of the commoners who were mostly illiterates and couldn't comprehend our Sansktised epics and scriptures. The power of eloquence and lucidity seen in his poem is attributed to blessings he received from the famous local diety popularly known as "Jhankada Basini (residing) Maa Saralaa from which he got his name.

Odisha is amongst the least casteists states in India along with Bengal and Assam where the attitude towards the caste is basically spiritual. That's why was easier for Sarala Das, also known as Shudramuni from the farming class to be accepted as a non-Brahmin seer. Sri Jagannath, the presiding deity of the state was worshipped by the hill tribes who as per legend are the descendants of Chief Viswabasu who brought the Lord to Puri.

Out of his 3 major works, his Sarala Mahabharat was the work of a genius which surpasses the rest. There are couple of instances where he has added his own angle to the epic, a slightly different version of Vyasa's Sanskrit form of Mahabharat. Duryodhan for some reason had imprisoned all his maternal uncles as well as his maternal grandfather. In the prison he fed them with very little food. The prisoners assured of death plotted their revenge. All of them sacrificed their food and fed it to Sakuni, their most cunning and scheming brother to keep him alive and let themselves starve to death. The wily Sakuni not only survived, but managed to counsel his nephew Duryodhan against the Pandavas with the aim of ending the Kuru Dynasty, the goal he eventually achieved.

Towards the end of the epic of the 18 day Mahabharat war, sensing his impending defeat, Duryodhan instructed his only son Laxmansen to flee in order to save his linage. The reluctant son obeyed his father but was killed while trying to escape. Unaware of his son's death Duryodhan was trying to cross a river of blood, mud and dead warriors when he saw the corpse of a well built handsome boy floating with his head down. He turned it over to find it was the body of his only son. The poignant description of this scene by Sarala Das of a helpless father brings out sympathy for Duryodhan from the readers and listeners of Sarala Mahabharat, who otherwise is regarded as a villain in the epic.

During my last trip to Odisha I asked a few college going students if they ever heard of the great Odia poet Sarala Das. Most of them said they never heard the name. Couple of them said they have never heard of her, thinking Sarala Das was a female. It prompted me to write a blog to highlight one more forgotten literary hero of Odisha. It's time the young generation gets familiar with its history before it fades away from the memory forever.

The Taylor Swift Sensation

Taylor Swift, the popular American pop singer reminds me of the old Hindi Song - 

"HAME TO LOOT LIYA, 
MILKE HUSNO BALON NE, 
GORE GORE GAALON NE
KAALE KAALE BALON NE".. 

Roughly transliterated ... 

"We have been looted by a group of beauties,
White cheeked and dark haired hotties"... 

With her talent and looks, she is creating sensation, especially amongst the youth all over the world in general, and counterparts in USA in particular. Currently she has a gargantuan number of  followers on twitter (95.1 million) and Instagram (281 millions). Her records are blockbusters topping the charts. I can't remember anyone capturing the imagination of teenagers in recent times the way she has. Boys swoon and go crazy over her. Girls emulate and desire to be her. Fans flock in hoards from neighboring nations when she has his concerts concerts outside of North America. 

Yes, we are talking about the latest music sensation Taylor Swift. She is not the first one to generate such a craze. We had Madonna, the ultimate Diva followed by  Justin Bieber and Brittney Spears. Alas, celebrity status often comes with a price. Too much fame can make one infamous. Though as far as I am aware, she hasn't attracted much controversies yet, but his predecessors, especially Brittney Spears and Justin Bieber did. 

A few actions caused by Justin wasn't  exactly worth idolizing for the younger generation. Success had apparently gone to his young man's head when as a 19 years of age he did nuisances, lacking maturity to handle those. He was caught throwing eggs at his neighbor's home in LA. He also pleaded guilty to misdemeanor charges of careless driving and resisting arrest seven months after his arrest in Miami Beach following what police initially called an illegal street drag race. At that time cops stopped his Lamborghini in Miami and charged him with possession of drugs and DUI (driving Under Influence). He caught in some incident involving girls inside a Limousine. Brittney Spears tantrums are legendary and beyond the scope of this blog.

I am now reminded of a stanza from Kishore Kumar's song : 

DAULAT AUR JAWANI 
EK DIN KHO JAATI HAI;
SACH KAHTA HUN SARI DUNIYA 
DUSHMAN BAN JAATI HAI.

Roughly transliterated... 

(Wealth and youth,
one day one is bound to lose them;
Truly speaking, the whole world turns your enemy,

as you lose your fame).  

Nothing sounds more prophetic. Sooner or later a new music star will eclipse her. Another celebrity will surpass her as far followers on twitter and Instagram go. Nothing lasts forever, never has. World has seen Michael Jacksons, Madonnas, Britney Spears and now Taylor Swift. We will see many more....

Bodyshoppers are pimps and we Prostitutes

It's not an understatement that the IT Body Shopping Companies (appropriately named for recruiting contractors to work for Clients) are Pimps and those who work or once worked for them are prostitutes on a regular payroll. Any below par performance, leading to dissatisfaction and dysfunction on the client's side is unacceptable, as Client's complete satisfaction is the ultimate goal. For older IT Pros like me, be on guard, because more sought after younger pros with better skills are lurking around.

Take my example. In the 1990s my demand was at its peak. I was young and fresh in the market. Pimps like vultures were ready for my young body. As my skills fitted perfectly matching to the Client's desire, I was sent abroad to satisfy the needs of a British client. My India based pimp paid me in Pound Sterling for my services rendered, though the bugger pocketed the biggerer chunk of the pie. However the harlot me loved the British money and company until I got bored in few months.

But on a positive note, post returning from England with my service rendered and having the pleasure and experience of satisfying my British client, my market value increased manifold. Their American counterparts, common people separated by a common language, were eagerly waiting on the other side of Atlantic to embrace me. I was also excited to service them for a few dollars more.

Finally one of the biggest and an US based professional pimps of the time, Mastech (now iGate) hired me. They lured me with offers of money, benefits and dangled the carrot of Green card - Permanent Residency in US with path towards citizenship, in front of me in exchange for my service.

During my long stint of service, as I kept getting older, I was trained to upgrade my skills to enhance the client's satisfaction. We were told to learn new Client Server technologies as our clients got bored with my same old repetitive skills. I finally got tired of tirelessly serving several multinational clients British, American and Japanese. Old age was  catching up. Though I had the option of becoming a pimp based upon my experience, I opted to settle down in my profession.

During my multiple client servicing days, I was instructed to be dressed and groomed properly, wear perfumes while meeting clients. At this old age, I don't have to be too much fussy about grooming myself, but as I see much younger ones in my profession with better client servicing skills, I get jealous.

It's high time, as they say in Odia "BRUDHHA BESHYA TAPASWINI" - the old Harlot turns into a mendicant. It's probably high time for me to fading into oblivion in a sagely manner. 

REC saga from 1979-80

 During the fag end of my just concluded trip to India, I encountered a gentleman, a senior from my Alma Mater, who passed out of REC (now NIT) Rourkela in 1983 at a marriage ceremony. Excited by meeting a senior from my college where I spent some of my best time in my formative years, I initiated a chat with him as we ate together sitting side by side. He narrated this following interesting episode from his college days. 

Ragging was rampant in those days when students in the first year Boys Hostel were beaten mercilessly, forced to pee on burning coil of a heater used for cooking and asked to crawl on metallic road filled with pebbles. One fine evening the students from the hostel - 5 where the 3rd year Engineering students used to reside went to the first year students hostel, severely ragging them, resulting in some of the freshers getting serious injuries. The timeframe was year 1979-80. 

The authorities acted swiftly as four teaching staffs visited Hostel - 5 during late evening hours to apprehend the culprits and punish them. Sun had already set on the red, dusty sky of Rourkela, painting the hostels dark as students were studying in dimmed light. No sooner the investigating teachers arrived at the doorsteps of Hostel - 5, than the 3rd year boarders switched off the lights and did "Maa-Behen" (accusing the teachers of having illicit relationship with their mothers and sisters) directed at the teachers. Not satisfied and not done yet, they went a step further. 

One of the staffs present at the hostel that evening had a daughter who was a student in REC at that time (there were very few girls studying Engineering those days, constituting barely half a dozen in the entire Engineer stream). A few students took it to another level by using profanity laced expletives directed at the daughter of the professor at the doorsteps of the hostel. The fair complexioned teacher was red faced, fuming with anger and embarrassment as the boys went on and on with their barrage of lurid and lascivious descriptions from top to bottom of their female college-mate in front of her dad, treating her no more than just a sex object. It was simply over the top for a father to go through this ordeal in public facing hundreds, ironically by the students of a premier Engineering College of India. 

The poor dad along with the rest of three staffs who accompanied him couldn't take it any longer and returned back to the campus. The teachers in unison straight went to the Principal's quarter and pressed charges against 5 guys who they could identify from their voices. The verdict among the teaching community was unanimous - the perpetrators of this sick and heinous act need to severely punished. They can't simply seat idle when the daughter of one of their colleagues was treated in public in such blatantly salacious manner. 

The authorities acted swiftly. 5 students were staring at immediate rustication from college for 1 year. The verdict to that effect was reached by the authorities. But the matter didn't end there. The game just began. The fathers of 4 out of 5 of those students were rich and influential. One of them who was quite highly placed in government immediately arrived at the hostel and sat on the Superintendent's chair waiting for the later to arrive. As the Superintendent arrived the boastful fathers of one of the accused culprits refused to stand up from the chair he was occupying and started to blast left and right the Superintendent who was still standing - "How dare you accuse my son of such misdemeanor ! What proof you have that my son committed this act. It was dark. No one has seen my son doing it and there is no evidence or witness to prove. I will make you suffer if my son's little finger is touched". The poor Superintendent was standing quietly with a drooping face, taking the brunt of the verbal volley from an outsider who was rebuking the Superintendent, staring at him, sitting on his own chair. That was utter humiliation for a staff member. 

The matter didn't end there. Another boy, one of the four rusticated, used his influence to summon the Principal to the residence of a very high ranking official in Bhubaneswar. As the Principal was standing with folded, clasped hands on the lawn, the Government Official told the Principal's flat on his face - "You cannot touch these 4 out of the 5 students facing rustication. What you do to the other one I don't care". (Out of the 5 of the accused culprits, only one was a commoner, a Medicine store owner's son. The other 4 were children of "Who's Who"of Odisha at that time. The verbal dressing of the Principal by the high ranking official in Bhubaneswar was corroborated by his driver who was present at the time and belonged to the same village as the person who narrated this episode to me). 

Long story short, the Principal retured back to Rourkela after being sized up in the capital city of Odisha. The very next day he promptly dismissed the decision taken by the previous Disciplinary Committee who rusticated all 5 accused. He formed a new Committee consisting of his acolytes. The new, rubber stamp Committee acquitted the 4 children of big shots. The other one left, the poor son of the medicine store owner was made the fall guy and was rusticated for one year. 

45 years down the road, the fall guy who lost one year due to rustication, eventually earned his degree, got a job in NTPC and retired. Lot of water has flown under the bridge of river Brahmani. The Principal at helm during this incident passed away not too long ago, hailed as a hero by many. One of the kids who was acquitted, son of an influential person from Cuttack, now lives in East Coast of America. He was recently accused of swindling money by one of his classmates. Incidentally few years ago, I was in communication with the same person. When I discovered that he was a REC pass out I asked him the standard question one Rengcolian (as a REC student used to called) asks another when they meet - "Which year have you passed from REC" ? He kind of avoided by changing the topics. Now I could connect the dots. After all, it's a small world. He probably wanted not to talk about REC days at it was a dark chapter in his life. You can't escape from truth. Sooner or later it comes out to bite you.

Zvi Zamir and the Munich massacre

 Not many would be knowing about Zvi Zamir who died at the ripe old age of 98 last month on January 2. He was the head of Mossad, the Israeli Secret Service at the time of the tragic incident of the Munich Olympics of 1972 when 11 Israeli athletes were killed in the Olympics village by a Palestinian terror group called Black September.

The Israeli Athletes were sleeping peacefully early in the morning on that fateful day in their rooms when a group of terrorists belonging to the supporting the cause of Palestine state sneaked inside the Olympics village. There was complete lax of security, not even a barbed wire or any visible security personnel around. When the terrorists armed with guns in their bag packs were struggling to jump over the wall around 4 AM, a bunch of drunk American athletes loitering around helped the terrorists jump the wall, mistaking them as fellow athletes.

In few minutes 11 Israeli athletes were taken as hostage by the terrorists who demanded the release of 234 Palestinians slending time in Israeli jails. By 5.30 AM they dumped the first Israeli body on the outside pavement, as another Israeli, Andre Spitzer who earlier joyfully spoke to his wife about how he was enjoying the Olympics milieu was gunned down by the Palestinians as he sat with his hands tied.

By this time Golda Meir who was then the Prime Minister of Israel (she was also known the Iron lady a title which she shared along with India Gandhi at the time) was already made aware of the evolving situation in the middle of night in Israel. She refused to budge to the demand of the Black September terrorist group stating her countries policy of not negotiating with terror groups.

A botched up operation to rescue the athletes attempted by German commandos ended in fiasco, killing as non of the Israeli athletes survived. Zvi Zamir, the Mossad Chief called the German operation unbelievable as the rescue attempt was badly planned and executed - no bulletproof vests, no helmets, no night vision goggles. The operation went wrong all along as the helicopter exploded, the hostages were machine gunned, lying in a pool of blood.

Munich Olympics incident changed everything. Israeli reaction was swift. The iron lady Golda Meir confabulated with Zvi Zamir to take out all the terrorists involved in the Munich massacre one by one in a spectacular manner to send out a message that the enemies of Israel won't be spared. Zamir headed the "Operation Wrath of God". Like actual wrath of God the response by Israeli Secret Service Mossad was terrible and brutal - shooting in Rome, bombing in Paris and followed by another one Cyprus took out a bunch of Black September terrorists involved in the cold blooded killing in Munich.

It took several years to take out all the terrorists of Black September involved, but the mission was finally accomplished. The Munich incident took place in 1972. More than fifty years later as Zvi Zamir is dead at the age of 98, Israeli - Palestinian conflict continues. Hostages are still taken as history repeats itself.