Departure with memories - India trip May 2024

On the very next day of my arrival in Bhubaneswar the weather suddenly turned cooler and more salubrious after bouts of summer thunderstorms locally known as "Kalabaisakhi". It suddenly felt like Bhubaneswar from my childhood days. Thanks to the weather and unseasonal rains my job as the "Karta" (one who is doing the rituals) became less punishing. The day after my mom's rituals were over, it started getting hotter after a 10 day breather. Last couple of days have been quite hot.

This morning I went over to the balcony to take a peek at the outside world and enjoy a cool breeze blowing the dust around, looking nostalgically at the "Tagara", "Mandara" (hibiscus) and other trees planted by my  mother who had a green thumb. 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 in our locality and sell them off to the larger market segment. The senior citizen living in our lane can hardly do anything to stop them. 

I saw a man leaning over our fence, then  pulling down a branch surreptitiously to steal the low hanging flowers. I shouted at him from top at top of my voice - "Aren't you ashamed of stealing our flowers ? Don't you have the minimum courtesy of asking us before you pluck them ?" Rather than see them fade and fall off, I don't mind sharing our flowers for non-commercial purpose, but don't want them to be blatantly stolen without due permission. The man pulled away and moved on to the next house without any remorse, exposing his black betel stained teeth like the snarl of a rabid mongrel.

During my short stay in this trip I made sure to meet several senior citizens I know, like and care about. Regardless of our wish, we aren't sure if they would be present when we visit next time . This is the harsh reality of life I learnt the hard way, as when I was here last January that was the last time I saw my mom alive. Now she isn't there anymore. Also a stark warning to my friends who live abroad - if you got elderly parents and relatives in India, you need to be always on alert with a contingency plan in place for any eventuality. For you never know, as tragedy choses to strike at the most inopportune moment.

I was impressed by my experience in Swargadwar, Puri, the most preferred cremation ground for Odias. The process is very structured and streamlined with least hassles to face. You need the following to proceed with cremation:

1. Present your Adhar card if you are the one doing "Kriya Karma".
2. Present the Adhar card of the deceased.
3. Medical report if any from the hospital to certify the death.

You can also book the services through www.swargadwara.com, a start up website created by my entrepreneur friend Plaban Mohapatra.

I booked the Khatta Mitha Convention Center on Tanka Pani Road near Ravi Talkies for my mother's "Shradhanjali" on the 12th day of Shraddha. It is location friendly and professionally run providing excellent food and facilities at a very reasonable price.

But don't expect similar professionalism from the Tent Houses and never completely rely on them. Trust but Verify should be the motto. Keep tab of their work and ensure that they do their job right without leaving you in dire straight at 11th hour. As far as the rituals go, there is no standardized, documented set of rules and process to be followed for the "Sudha Kriya" (death ritual). If you aren't too conservative, want least hassle, the option of "Arya Samaj" is always there. It eliminates the lengthy set of procedures which is part of the normal "Kriya Karma" rituals where you are prone to the whims and fancies of the Purohit (Priest). Fortunately, my Purohit and Barber were pretty understanding, cooperative and very punctual. I religiously followed priest's instructions, conveniently ignoring all sorts of unsolicited advices and suggestions thrown at me dime a dozen.

Many of us who have been living abroad for more than quarter of a century, are far from being familiar with the nuances of milieu. So it is advisable to go through a local contact, lest you are taken for a ride. Unless it is absolutely necessary, never disclose that you are a NRO (Non Resident Odia). Many harbor this view that NRIs, especially those from USA plant money producing trees in their backyard. Every morning they harvest sacks fulls of dollars. Then they lie on pillows full of $100 notes (bills) with pretty girls hanging sweet grapes on their mouth. This is far from truth as reality could be different.

I go back to USA with tons of memories and loads of emptiness in my heart. Everything in and around this house  - from the whirring sound of the wall mounted AC to the smell of mangoes, from the musical sound of breeze passing through the flora around our house to the house kitties looking for her carries her legacy.
 
For the first time in my life my mother won't be there to hug and see me off. It so happened it was I who came down here to bid her adieu. Let me yet again repeat this stanza from the famous Mukesh song in movie "MERA NAAM JOKER",

"CHAHE KAHI BHI TUM RAHO,
CHAHENGE TUM KO UMR BHAR
TUM KO NA BHOOL PAENGE"..

Roughly transliterated...

"Wherever you are going to live,
I will long for you all my life,
Shall Never be able to forget you"....

End of the rituals - India trip May 2024

It was some cosmic coincidence that the "Ekadasha Shraddha" or the 11th day Ritual of my mom coincided with the "Mother's Day" as per the Gregorian Calendar. This was my first ever Mother's Day without my mother. I celebrated the occasion by giving my heart to her soul, religiously doing the 4 hour ritual with she in my mind, her photo adorned with flowers smiling at me. There is no words left in my vocabulary repertoire to describe the void she has left in my life. In the process of doing my "Kriya Karma", I got familiar with many aspects of the ritual. Learnt the trick of Sabhya (civilized) and Asabhya (uncivilized) mode of changing the Paita (sacred thread worn by Brahmins) from left to right and right to the left respectively.

The 11th Day Shraddha was arguably the most gruesome day of the "Kriya Karma" with one long procedure during the day, followed by a walk in the evening to the "PINDA KUNDA" (The dumpyard of the offerings to the soul) not far from where I live. The last and final ritual of the day was during night at a nearby dark place just outside our home. Finally, the long day ended at late night. I was glad that I could contribute in repaying a fraction of my debt to my mom, how meager it may be, fully aware that still I will carry the burden of her debt in this life and next.

The morning of the 11 the day, the day after I shaved off my head to become a skinhead, part of the "Dasah", the 10th Day Ritual, I took a lump of Shampoo on my palm in shower and before applying it on my head, I suddenly realized that I got no hair on my head to shampoo. It still feels weird to be skin headed as I have forgotten the last time I shaved off my head.

Human reflex actions could be embarrassing. I am now reminded of this incident not long ago at an European Airport. A Virgin Atlantic flight was about to take off and the names of passengers not boarded yet were called. An Air hostess swung by, shouting on top of her voice - "ANY VIRGIN HERE", obviously looking for some missing Virgin Airline passengers. Couple of girls raised their hands. Everyone close by started looking at them, some with chuckles and half baked smiles. The shy girls retreated to their privacy by dropping their heads over their smartphones to hide their embarrassment, still peeping through corner of their eyes. Non of them got up to board the flight. We humans are slaves of inadvertent reflex actions.

However skillful you may be, you can never be 100% accurate, especially in the art of inviting. We invited with 99.99% accuracy, but still missed couple of folks we wanted to invite. It was purely unintentional and inadvertent. So we had to profusely apologize to them. You may do your job with accuracy, but it's that .01% error is going to getcha.

The 12th Day Rituals were conducted during the day, followed by an evening event "Shradhanjali" in my mom's memory attended by around 250 people. After several days of gruelling rituals it was a fitting finale to the departed soul of my mom. When I left the venue looking at her picture, unknown to me few drops of tears fogged my eyeglass.

Goodbye mommy. The day you left I dreamt of you walking on green pasture. During the rituals I sincerely prayed for you to have a blessed next life, born in a place like New Zealand, the land of meadows, for you always loved nature. To steal this stanza from the famous Mukesh song in movie "MERA NAAM JOKER",

"CHAHE KAHI BHI TUM RAHO,
CHAHENGE TUM KO UMR BHAR
TUM KO NA BHOOL PAENGE"..

Roughly transliterated...

"Wherever you are going to live,
I will long for you all my life,
Will Never forget you"....

10th Day of Karma - India trip May 2024

How time flies ! The "Dasah" or the 10th day, the longest day of rituals arrived in blink of an eye. We have this Odia proverb - "DAIBA DAUDI, MANISHA GAI, JENIKI TANAI SENIKI JAI" - "God is rope and man the cow. It goes the way it is pulled". It simply means, man proposes, God disposes. Life for me these days seems to be on auto pilot, cruising its way without me in control. Since I got the news of my mother's demise in the wee hours of May 2, I am reminded of Kishore Kumar's song - "YEH KYA HUA, KAISE HUA, KYOON HUA...YEH CHHODO YE NA SOCHO" - "O What happened, how it happened, why it happened...leave it at that, don't think much about it."  Yet I am in conflict with myself, like another Kishore Kumar song - "LEHRON KI TARAH YAADEIN. DIL SE TAKRAARI HAI, TOOFAN UTHATI HAI" - "Waves of Memories like waves, collides with the heart, raising a storm". Time will fly, days become week becomes month, months become year, but memories will last forever. 

When I took a shower this afternoon after a session of "Kriya Karma" (rituals), I found the water soothingly lukewarm, heated by solar energy. We don't have any solar panels or anything fancy like that. The overhead tank water was warmed by pure and natural sunlight. Felt so cool to take bath in this environmentaly friendly environment. No electricity or natural gas was needed to bring water to a lukewarm temperature. No boiler or geyser was operated, water only warmed by pure, unadulterated sunlight. But mention of this earth friendly incidentafter taking shower in lukewarm water only elicited lukewarm response from most. 

Ever since I arrived the weather has suddenly turned salubrious by local with intermittent showers. Felt like Bhubaneswa of yesteryear from my childhood days. It seems for my mother's good Karma even the weather has decided to cooperate since I have started doing her "Kriya" (rituals). All went on smoothly without any hassle. Today we had "Dasah", the 10th Day of Shraddha, the longest of the various rituals done every day in open space in 100 degree heat and humidity. All is well that ends well. The unseasonal rains kept confined to the night without impacting the day time rituals hel in the open. Late into the night the storm started to roll in with thunder sounding like music to my ears as the harbinger of some cooler weather, however temporary it might be. Suddenly the whizzing wind started picking up speed similar to roaring engine of a car on highway when you press the gas (accelerator) pedal. 

Most love sunshine, but I love rain - watching it coming down the sky and feeling the freshness it brings, the pristine flavor of it. The soul searching music of plattering raindrops is panacea to a longing heart, relief to an an aching heart. I stepped into our balcony. The streetlights were still on as the power hadn't gone yet (it's normal in most parts of India to have a power outage during inclement weather). The sky looked dark and heavy, loaded with emotion to the brink, ready to burst anytime. Huge and thick droplets of water started plattering the parapet. The raising wind made its leaves of our Jackfruit tree whisper like women gossiping about some secret while the Jackfruits hanging like the protruding tummies of a Sumo Wrestler looking on and enjoying every bit of it. The strangs of green mangoes on the nearby tree swung like pendulum, headbutting each other like rams in fight, some of them thumping the ground. 

The slicing rays of rain falling through the streetlight looked like rays of fireworks emitting from sparkler on a Diwali night. It continued to rain crazily for couple of hours, accompanied by natural fireworks of thunder and lightening symbolizing some marriage ceremony taking place in heaven. I found my match in an old Bull in our locality - for he puts his bullshit on our street, I load my share of the bullshit on Facebook. The poor old Bovine shared his space with couple of pariah dogs taking shelter under the mango tree protruding out above the wall near our gate. The animals shared the natural canopy, respecting each other's space with mutual trust and respect, occasionally shrugging off the excess water from their bodies and changing positions looking for drier spot. No wonder Crisis, calamities and casualties are the world's greatest levellers. A long 11th Day Ritual or "Ekadasah Shraddha" awaits me tomorrow.

9th Day Karma - India trip May 2024

The "Na Karma" or 9th Day Rituals started on time at 9 O'Clock in the morning, thanks to the commendable punctuality of both the Purohit (Priest) and Barika (Barber). The 9th day Rituals were mostly a repeat of the 7th day Rituals, with few takeaways here and there. It was less hassle considering a lot of essential set up was done on the 7th day itself. Akin to building a stadium, once it is built and the first game is successfully staged, we have have a template set which makes it easier going forward. 

In the meantime I have learnt how to wear a "DHOTI", a traditional white loincloth made up of cotton tied around the waist all by myself. It is most suitable for the sultry Indian summer. The traditional Indian attires of Dhoti for men and Saree for women are easy to wear and remove quickly when desired, compared to the Kurta/Salwaar Pyjama and Western attires. If worn properly worn one runs the risk of those coming off at the most inopportune moment. The inadvertent wardrobe malfunction can cause embarrassment in public. 

Exactly same happened to my friend during his marriage. When he, as the groom, arrived at bride's place, few of his over excited buddies part of the "BARAATI" (The groom's companions) pulled the groome from the car to dance with them, hell bent on impressing  the girls from the bride's side watching curiously the groom's arrival from sideline. The reluctant groom twisted his torso for a few steps when some one in the melee stepped over his "Dhoti's Kachha" (the fag end of the loincloth tucked behind). In the commotion that followed the entire Dhoti slipped out of the groom's waist without anyone noticing it. 

Oblivious of the fact that one piece of the attire gone missing, the groom stepped out of his car in his underwear with only the Kurta on top to save his shame. Unfortunately he is a Brahmin who was getting married in broad daylight and pretty visible to the audience. When the groome noticed the girls giggling at him covering their mouth using one hand, he knew something was amiss. No sooner he discovered his semi naked state, than embarrassed, he ran into the safety and privacy of his car as someone went out to fetch another Dhoti. Glad I didn't have to go through all that. 

There were lot of "JANDA" (Black 🐜 ants) crawling on the Puja (worship) venue where the 9th day "Kriya" was held in open. I had hard time shooing them away, trying my best not to let them enter into my Dhoti and being the cause of a scene for the onlookers at the nearby temple gaping at me and having the fun of watching me dancing on an elevated podium, with ants inside my pant. A video of the scene enacted would have got an instant million plus view on YouTube. I tried to be creative by putting some "MISRI" (Crystalline form of sugar) on a plate at one corner of the podium. The trick worked. All the black ants got diverted to the corner to sweeten their mouth without bothering me. The ritual continued without any further hindrance. 

"Preta Purohit" (the Priest who performs death rituals) is different from the normal one who conducts ritual of marriage and thread wearing ceremony. Unlike those who perform auspicious Rituals and available dime a dozen, the ones doing death rituals are limited and are hard to find. The priests who indulge in the auspicious occasions go idle during the off season for marriages and thread wearing ceremonies, especially from July to November when they have no work. But the pundits doing death rituals are sought after throughout the year as people die all the time. Death doesn't has a time off period, can hunt you down at the most unexpected, inopportune moment.

7th Day Karma and the Day After - India trip May 2024

The unseasonal summer rains in Odisha brought back memories from few summers ago. One evening after a bout of fresh 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 my wife. No sooner they saw my wife than their heads turned in unison by 90 degree towards her, like they hadn't seen a girl before. All of sudden their pillion stumbled a pothole filled with ankle deep water. Distracted, one of them fell on the muddy puddle, while the other two got busy extricating their buddy from the mess. We had a hearty laugh at the fallen Romeo's expense. Kalabaisakhi rains has its share of fun and joy.   

A long day awaited me for the "Saata Karma" or the 7th Day "Kriya" (rituals). Sitting in open near fire in 110 degree heat plus humidity didn't seem very appealing. Fortunately the "Purohit" (priest) and "Barika" (Barber) needed for the occasion arrived on dot by 8 O'clock in morning. The long Puja (worship) session started at a podium near the Sukhmeswar Temple, a stone's throw distance from our house. Too much conditioned to the Air Conditioning I was apprehensive about the weather. But luckily the weather got lot milder for this time of the year. The cool southerly wind from Bay of Bengal meandering through the swaying tall and bushy "Krushnachuda" (Gol Mohar), Palm, Coconut, Mango, Jackfruit, Neem trees felt much more refreshing, beating any blast from the AC in an enclosed room any day. 

During the 4 hour long "Kriya Karma" session, in between the breaks I took the opportunity to chit chat with the Priest and the Barber. The Priest was from Banapur, a small town near Chilika and the Barber was from local Dhauli, southern suburb of Bhubaneswar. He reiterated the recent fad of every one in Odisha hell bent on being a home owner in BHONSARA (Bhubaneswar). Both are confident that regardless of the hype created by BJP,  BJD will come back to power in the ongoing  election. Naveen Patnaik, who may not be liked by the armchair social media warriors, is simply loved by masses who take pain to go to the polling booth. "Tell us about any alternative" - both Priest and the Barber continued further, "BJP in Odisha is inept and corrupt, filled with discarded elements from BJD and Congress, who are hated by the general public. They are going to be the Albatross on BJP's neck for a long time".

The Barber asked me - "AMERICA RE LOKE KANA BHATA KHANTI" (Do they eat rice in America) ? "They certainly do" - I replied. Not so much in quantity or so frequently unlike us. 

By noon the ordeal was over. My first urine in 4 hours of sitting in "Kriya Karma" resembled thick mustard oil, although I gulped down a big bottle of water. The heat and humidity was truly energy sapping, especially to those accustomed to the cooler, climate control environment. Walking barefoot for more than couple of hundred feet from the venue to my house was quite bit of a challenge on a midsummer day. But my mother in my mind was enough motivation for me to carry on. 

Apart from the Purohit (Priest) and Barika (Barber), the "Mahaprasad Abadha" (the food offering from Sri Ananta Basudev) delivery guys of Old Town area was punctual, arriving on time. Unlike these guys, not registered professionals but were dutifully thorough and punctual, the "Tent House" we hired, who was supposed to be a pro whom we hired to put a tent on top of the home did a sloppy job. Following our classic IST (Indian Stretchable Time) they arrived late. After delivering, they left without arranging the chairs and tables in order at the right place. It was getting late and dark, the Electrical equipments still not installed. With guests starting to arrive for the "Mahaprasad Sevan", we panicked. Those working on the Electrical installation were reluctant to help in setting up the dining area. True to a Gandhian, I pushed a few shiny, color papers bearing face of our "Father of Nation" Mahatma Gandhi into the hands of the available workers to push my agenda of getting the job on time. Suddenly they got pumped up, switching into an action mode and finished their job in no time. Money is world's greatest motivator. 

While dealing with most folks here, you are expected to be a mind reader to know the exact amount you need to pay. The guy may be expecting Rs.500, and you are ready to dish out Rs.1000, but he won't tell you know his mind. You are expected to be Clairvoyant and go deep inside his mind to figure it out. They are akin to women, who will never tell it straight, but rather tell it slant. You need to take hint at their gesture to know their wishes. Same here as far Public dealing goes, an art which gets matured with experience. Unfortunately we don't live here long enough to accentuate it. The old Adage - "Be Roman in Rome" still holds good.

The Day of KALABAISAKHI - India trip May 2024

There is a concept called "Puskara" - a more complicated part of several in series of the post death rituals. It is calculated by the direction given by "Panji" based on our Hindu Lunar Calendar. In case, some one passes away during that "Pushkara" phase, then additional complicated midnight Puja is done to pacify the departed soul. Otherwise, the spirit is termed as malicious to its family members.

Fortunately per our priest, my mother passed away on an auspicious day untouched by the "Pushkara" scenario - a blessed day to leave  for heavenly abode. As she left during a non - Pushkara phase, I don't have to go through the gruesome midnight ritual. Like a good soul, my mother never troubled anyone, in life or death.

The afternoon brought some respite from the stifling heat in the form of cool breeze wafting from distance. I smelled some thunderstorm close by. It turned out to be true, as soon a bout of KALABAISAKHI (summer time thunderstorm) rumbled in from the South side of the city. The sky turned from gray like my sombre mood and turned dark, as the wind picked up speed,  the 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. It was a pleasant feeling spending some 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. Standing on the balcony I was looking at the nearby plants and trees showering. Squalls of thick, silvery streaks of rain lashed for few minutes, slicing through the thick, humid air. The rain kept on pounding, bringing down multiple trees in our neighborhood. The nimbus cloud bearing dark sky gets alive with the spectacle of flashes of white lightening as if zillions of flashlights are switched simultaneously in the sky, a la the zigzag lights on a circus stage.

The streets were filled with few broken twigs and leaves from the wind. The power went out but it didn't feel so bad as the rains brought down the temperature considerably. The ground was strewn with leaves and tree branches in a haphazard pattern, not to mention mangoes, some of them half split, covered the near of the entrance of our house. It was mother nature's turn to do an equable act, to bring relief from sweltering summer heat, at least temporarily. It felt cool, though still sticky due to the high level of humidity. I watched the rains wiping off dust from the foliage a la mopping off dust from wooden floor, as rainwater rolled down 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 muggy air made my overgrown unkempt salt and pepper beard get sprinkled with sweat topping, making it feel itchy due to sal. I am looking like the Iraqi Dictator Saddam Hussain when he was caught after days of hiding. 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 are enjoying 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 on nascent poodles formed on the pothole filled roads to quench his thirst as his eyes were scouring for a drier spot to rest, being curiosity watched by a Bull close by shrugging off the excess water from its body. The flora and fauna around were trying to make best out of the unseaonal rains. The much welcomed showers lifted my mood a little bit, the optimistic side of me reminding that there it is always darkest before dawn.

The Beginning days of the unplanned trip to India - May 2024.

Election campaign in full swing, the media here in India - print, electronic and social are full of news about politics and the coverage of campaign trails. Also there are some odd but interesting news items to amuse you. An eye catching news on the vernacular paper "Sambada" was - "EKA TARAFA PREMARU JHIA RA PUSRUSHA BABDHU KU BIFALA PREMIKA KA CHHURA MADA (One sided affair of a frustrated lover of a girl led him to murder her boyfriend).

One positive side of this emergency trip to India is spending time with my sisters. We are together at home in the same house like good old days in our childhood. During late afternoon there was a power cut as electricity went poof for a short time, yet long enough to make me feel like a fish out of water. I lied down supine on hot bed getting barbecued. Sprinkle some salt and pepper over me I am a great grill. Another couple of hours I could have become a SUKHUA or dried fish, an Odia delicacy.

I stepped out of the room, still groggy and wobbly having woke up from the jet lagged sleep when our maid cautioned me not to step into the floor she just mopped. Thanking her for saving my somnambulist torso from crashing on the slippery floor, I tip toed carefully trudging into the balcony to get some fresh air. A street vendor was yelling DAHI BARA DAHI BARA (Dahi Vada), a big tin container tied to the back of his bicycle with rubber tubes. 

It reminded me of an episode from our childhood, when we used to defy our parents to buy DAHI BARA from such street vendors against our parent's wishes. Once we found couple of drowned cockroaches who had taken a Buttermilk burial. We were squarely reprimanded not to buy anything from such vendors. That was more than 40 years ago. Duscussing this we siblings had a hearty laugh at our expense, badly missing one person, our mother.

Our Hindu rituals of mourning death and salvation of soul are very detail oriented, running over a dozen days on special rituals assigned to specific dates. Unfortunately the process is neither structured nor quite
standardized or streamlined. 100 people give you 10,000 opinion, many unsolicited ones regarding the methodologies involved in these rituals out which you need to chose a few conducive to your resourcefulness and ability. I had never done these rituals before, so taking responsibility as the head of the household is no joke. Nor accustomed to this, it is quite a challenge.

On the positive side, social occasions due to these rituals gives an opportunity to meet and mingle with friends and relatives, some long lost relationships lying dormant for a long time to resurface again. Success may breed jealousy and adversaries, but sorrows and bereavement can be great leveller. No wonder it is said that during flood a goat and a tiger peacefully travel on the same boat. Ball is set in motion with long, hectic days ahead. I don't mind doing those at all. Anything necessary in honor of my mother to see her happy in the nether world. You got do which you got to do.

Goodbye my angel mother

When you get physically hurt, you may not feel the pain the immediately. The worst is invariably reserved for after. Same with any kind of mental agony. The real pain is felt the next day and the day after. The vacuum of my mother's absence still haunts me, the lacunae in my heart will remains forever. 

Bereavement can a great leveller. Sensing my sombre mood the person sitting next to me in the Virgini Atlantic flight from Heathrow to Delhi left me an entire stretch of 3 seats to sleep by stepping away to another seat in a flight with a good number of empty seats. After a long time, I could sleep in a supine pose, but could hardly get any. 

Tragedy often happens without warning. I have traveled long way in a short time. From leading a regular, smooth sailing family - work life, suddenly I had to fly 10,000 miles over 40,000 feet across 10 time zones, from a comfortable 80 degrees (25°C) to 110 degrees (42°C) in couple of days, heavy headed because of lack of sleep due stress and family bereavement. I was feeling like a confused, walking zombie when I stepped out of the Bhubaneswar Airport. And my journey didn't end there. It was just the beginning. In less than 48 hours my world seems to have turned upside down.

It was far from a normal arrival at home. For the first time in my life I wasn't welcomed with the usual cheerfulness, rather cries and sobbings. I missed my mom's smile, standing at the doorstep, embracing me saying "TU JHADI JAICHU, KALA PADI JAICHU (How much have you thinned, looking dull). There would be hardly any visible sign of my weight loss and I am expected to look dull after a long, gruelling travel across the globe. This time I could feel the void left by her. I may be the apple of your eyes, you are my star in the heaven. 

Even in her death my mother was looking fair and lovely, for she has a very fair skin color and envy of many for her fair complexion, something much cherished. She was lying cold and quite, at peace with herself. When I saw her my teary eyes burst like a dam. She was attired in a Red Saree, Sindoor (vermillion) and covered in marigold flowers during the visitations. Many ladies in our locality came and touched her feet, for it is believed that touching feet of a woman who passed away before her husband's is auspicious. 

The summer sun was blazingly hot, pouring fire at noon. But fortunately it didn't feel so bad as it was breezy. Always wished my next trip to Puri to spend time with family in some luxury resort. Never thought myvisit to the temple township will be to cremate my mother. As Tom Hanks famously said - "Life is like a box of chocolates. You do not know what you are going to get".

SWARGADWAR (Gateway to Heaven) of Puri is a well known cremation ground. It is believed that if one get cremated there, the person gets a straight ticket to heaven. The venue was quite busy with several pyres burning, one body arriving after another. The process has been streamlined these days. Swirling smoke was spiraling up in the air, slowly thinning, melting away into the gusty sea breeze. It reminded me that eventually all your money, power and fame one day will go up in smoke and it will be just the ashes which will remain as residue. 

I, being the only son had to follow the long list of rituals needed at the cremation ground. I was very bad at it. But when I repeated a Sanskrit phrase after him before lighting the funeralpyre, the priest complimenting me saying - "You have a good menory". The first step was to take a dip in the sticky, salty sea water of the Bay of Bengal, followed by lighting my mother's funeral pyre with MUKHAGNI (fire to the mouth to ignite pyre). In minutes her body was consigned to flames, leaving only her memory etched inside me forever. The sight and the vastness of the sea reminded me how transactional is our life. A burst of sea breeze bore the testimony of life gone with the wind. I heard of the term SMASHANA BAIRAGYA (the bereavement detachment). In last 48 hours, I realized it having traversed a long way.

Happy birthday Madhusudan Das - 2024

 If he wasn't born in Odisha exactly 176 years ago, in all probability we would be reading and speaking in Bengali today. He is our UTKALA GOURABA (The Pride of Odisha) Madhusudan Das, who along with the intelligent, witty, nationalist Fakir Mohan Senapati and the "Das duo" of Gopabandhu Das and Nilakantha Das saved Odia and Odisha from being completely swallowed by Bengali and Bengal. The undivided state of Bengal at that time extended from the present day Bangladesh to Bihar in the North and Odisha to its South.

Madhusudan Das, also popularly known as Madhu Babu and Madhu Barister (Lawyer) belonged to a well to do family of Cuttack. He was the first Odia to get a BA (Bachelor in Arts) degree, second to receive a degree in Law and probably the first Odia to visit England. The dynamic duo of Madhusudan and Fakir Mohan fought tooth and nail against powerful Bengali lobby which was deadly against the formation of an independent state of Odisha with Odia as its official language. 

Dominating the power corridors of the two major cities of Cuttack and Puri (Bhubaneswar was a conglomerate of villages then) a powerful section of the Bengali elites succintly proclaimed - "ODIA EKTAA SWATANTRA BHASA NAYE" (Odia is not a language on its own), instantly pooh-poohed the idea of a separate state for the Odias. They were still well ensconced with this vague, ill conceived notion of Odia being a race without any language and identity of their own, hence not entitled to a have separate state. Soon a move was made to introduce Bengali syllabus into the school curriculum in Odisha ahead of Odia, the language of the natives.

When Madhu Barister proposed a new state of Odisha carved out of the Greater Bengal at the National Congress Conference held in Murshidabad, the Bengali dominated top brass present at the venue promptly vetoed against it. Disgusted, Madhu babu left Congress and started a front UTKALA SAMMILANI (Odisha Conference) to promote the goal towards a separate statehood for Odias.

He was instrumental in the creation of Odisha, a dream realized two years after his death at the ripe age of 87, a rare longevity those days. In his mission, Madhu Babu was ably assisted by couple of intellectuals from the younger generation - UTKALAMANI (The Jewel of Odisha) Gopabandhu Das and Pandit Nilakantha Das, both liberal, educated Brahmins with a progressive mindset from Suando and Sriramachandapur, the adjoining Sasan Brahmin villages of Puri.

Madhu Babu was the more educated and the dilligent one of the trio who used to address the public in a mode equivalent to today's Power point presentations - sharp and articulate, but lacking a storyteller's ability to arouse passion in the audience. Though a patriot and focused on his mission, being seen as an elitist from a ZAMINDARI (Feudal lord) background and not being a prolific public speaker he could barely connect with the commoners, unable to arouse interest and enthusiasm among the masses whose support he needed most.

That hiatus was bridged by the dynamic "Das duo" of Utkalamani Gopabandhu and Pandit Nilakanta who were young, charismatic with epic sense of humor, who could connect better with the commoners with their amazing oratory skills & convincing capability. With a background closer to the milieu they could feel the pulse of the masses and the masses could feel their voices. The duo successfully carried Madhu Babu's message to them.

Together they complemented each other, forming a formidable proposition and propelling their cause towards their common goal of a unique, separate state of Odisha, now appealing to the public from far flung places like Barhampur, Sambalpur who were now motivated enough to join the movement. Finally his dream was realized two years after his death in 1934 at the age of 87, as Madhu Babu died a happy man, foreseeing the formation of an independent Odisha which saw its birth on April 1, 1936 less than two year after his death. 

Nilakantha Das in his autobiography has given a touching, vivid description of the final hours leading to the death of Utkal Gouraba Madhusudan Das. Couple of days before the Grand Old man's death he queried Braja Sundar Das, an eminent person of Cuttack who was taking care of him - "NILAKANTHA KAHIN" (Where is Nilakantha) ? Braja Babu took a horse driven carriage to manoeuvre fast inside the city of Cuttack (the city wasn't congested yet) and traced Nilakantha Das out of the house of one gentleman named Chandra Sekhar Mishra.

Nilakantha Das rushed to Madhu Babu's house and was saddened by his plight. The Grand Old Man was in his death bed, in a very painful state, unable to have bowel movement in spite of having the urge to do so. But being a man of courage and conviction, he gathered enough strength and uttered - "After my death I am going to pass on the baton to Nilakantha. He is going to be the savior of Odisha. All of you should cooperate with him". (Gopabandhu Das, the other charismatic of the Das duo died 7 years back in 1928).

"Don't worry. It won't be necessary. You are going to recover soon" - responsed all present inside the room in unison. "No. It is not going to happen. I am a dying man", said Madhu babu, as he could sense his imminent death. He covered his head with blanket and went to sleep. The next day Madhu babu said - "I am so glad Paralakhemundi (part of Gajapati district now) and Jeypur (Koraput) are now part of Odisha" before passing away moments later. To Nilakantha, it was akin to another shining star above the sky of Odisha grounded forever.

A message for the present generation Odias back home who take pride in preferring Hindi over Odia. Rremember - Gangadhar Meher, another Jewel of Odisha famously said -

"UTCHA HEBA PAI JADI KARA ASHA, UCHHA KARA AGE NIJA MATRUBHASA".

Roughly transliterated...

If you wish to rise high where you belong,

Then raise your own mother tongue. 

Nothing wrong in learning ten different languages, but not at the cost of our own mother tongue. Madhu Babu who might be considered as an interloper by some was way ahead of his time. Happy 176th Birthday to Madhu Babu, the pride of Odisha.

NB : Though an Odia Nationalist who fought against dominance by Bengal, Madhu babu harbored no ill will towards Bengalis. He had adopted two Bengali girls, Sailabala Das and Sudhansubala Hazra. 

Sailabala was an educationist who had trained from England and in whose name the famous Shailabala Women's College of Cuttack was founded. She was a Bengali, and her parents had left her in the care of Madhusudan Das and his wife Soudamini Devi at Calcutta. 

Sudhansubala Hazra was also a Bengali and she was the first female lawyer of British India. Madhu babu was the house teacher of Ashutosh Mukherjee the former Vice-Chancellor of Calcutta University and Janakinath Bose, the father of our NETAJI (The Leader) Subash Chandra Bose at Ravenshaw College, Cuttack.

Jhopadpatti Zindabad

Other day I remembered a Hindi song from my childhood where the lead actor dances to the tune of this song :

"JHOPADPATTI ZINDABAD,
MEHNAT WALLE ZINDABAD,
DAULAT WALLE MURDABAD".

meaning...

"Hail to our slums,
Hail to our hardworkers.
Hell to the rich folks."

I have no qualms about praising those who work hard. But there is hardly anything to be proud about living in slums. Also, nothing wrong in getting rich, as long as the wealth is acquired by healthy, honest means. This movie from 1980s depicts an era when it was fashionable to glamorize poverty back home in India as we were stuck in our vainglorious eulogization of socialism.  Politicians, media and many in Indian movie industry survived by selling poverty. When China and other South -East nations were chugging ahead with double digit growth and removing poverty in the process, we got stuck glorifying it, gloating in the reverie of socialism, demonizing the rich. A left leaning Bollywood industry shamelessly promoted the fashion of remaining poor.

Indira Gandhi's slogan "GARIBI HATAO" (remove poverty) gave her a big victory in 1971, but nothing tangible happened in that front until 20 years later in 1991  when the first to liberalize the economy set in to mitigate the imminent national bankruptcy. We could have achieved this much earlier, though thus far we have come a long way from the days of "Jhopadpatti Zindabad". Indira sans any vision for her nation held on to socialism and the Soviet model of centralized planned economy, as India's GDP grew by the classic Hindu rate of growth of 2 to 3%. Her son Rajiv Gandhi, a well travelled man with an Italian wife was expected to possess a progressive mindset. With a historic mandate under his belt which his mother would have dreamt of, he clung to his Mama's failed idea of socialism. Indian electorates had high hopes from him, but he squandered the mandate by dragging down the economy further into an abyss.

It wasn't until the Congress party liberated from the Gandhi family led by P.V. Narasimha Rao liberated the economy, freeing it from the bondage of the ever pervasive License - Permit Raj, an economy still in tatters and in shackles, breeding poverty & inefficiency. Currently Indian economy is galloping ahead with a 8% plus GDP growth. India now cynosure of all eyes, viewed globally as an emerging market. Consumerism has set its footsteps in India. As Deng Xiaoping, one of the architects of Chinese growth famously said, it's fun to get rich". He wasn't far from the truth. We Indians aren't just got rich, are now enjoying getting richer. Ironically it is BJP who is taking all credit for this growth. Yet it was the Congress party under Dr. Manmohan Singh as the Finance Minister and then as Prime Minister who played an important role by jump starting the process of liberalization and then sustaining its growth.

Socialism instead of sharing prosperity, shared poverty. Rich became poorer, so also poor became poorer. During my formative years in India we were constantly fed with utopia of socialism, though the ground reality was stark different. A common sight during our school days would be the huge pictures and billboards across Bhubaneswar of the "Hammer and Sickle" - iconic symbol of Communist Party of India (Marxist) extolling to join meetings addressed by Comrade Shivaji Patnaik (a Leftist MP) in then Parade Field of Bhubaneswar (now IG Park). Soviet Union and Cuba were  paradises on earth where every one had Bread to eat, Vodka to drink and Havana Cigar to smoke. America was the land Capitalist pigs. A staunch Communist whom I came across foresaw in his dreams Capitalism crumbling like a pack of cards. The Russian model of centralized planning would wipe out poverty from the face of the earth, he forecasted. The Soviet Union crumbled and our "Mausa" (Uncle) had no answer why close to 50 years since our independence poverty stubbornly persisted in India !

He wasn't alone. Many from that generation shared his socialist reverie. But I, a born skeptic, was one of the few who was far from being convinced or brainwashed. Somehow I was distrustful of these propaganda. Since childhood I used to listen religiously to BBC and the Voice of America and was impressed by the quality of their news compared to the drab broadcasts from our government owned All India Radio. Every evening I would drag the 3 feet long antenna of our "MURPHY" brand Radio and slowly scroll my thumb over the circular tuner carefully adjusting the bar slowly to my left and right, 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 to these foreign stations. Gradually I started trusting their news more than those from our All India Radio. (No wonder Rajiv Gandhi who was in Bengal when he heard the news of his mother being shot tuned into BBC to confirm it). 

In one such socialist summer in 1979, legendary Odia singer Akshay Mohanty who just back from America was quoted in the popular vernacular newspaper SAMAJA that even cats and dogs were better off in America. He also composed a song based on his American experience,

AMERICA RE PREMA HUE BEECH ROAD UPARE,
AAU CUTTACK RE PREMA HUE RASTHA PACHHARE".

(In America love happens in middle of the road, 
in Cuttack love happens behind Rickshaw) 
and so on...

India has come a long way since 1979, now a $4 trillion economy chugging ahead in full speed. Visiting America is no big deal to get publicized in local newspapers. But those were the days of Socialism when getting rich was a poor choice. Living in a socialist India where anything foreign was cursed as "Haraam" (forbidden). In order to quench our curiosity we sneaked away to watch Hollywood movies during noon shows in SHRIYA talkies of Bhubaneswar. Later in my teens we prefered NISHAMANI, a movie hall in Cuttack which showed varieties of Hollywood movies, enough for me to get a crush on Brooke Shields. I used to read over and over the letters written to my father by his friends and students from USA on glossy paper, far cry from the "Utkala Lipi" paper I was accustomed to. I made sure to tear off the American stamps from top of the letters to show off to my school friends. 

Some of our guests from England and America would land up at our home in summer with Foreign brand Chocolates in semi-melting state due to local heat and humidity. I would wrap around my lips on them as soon as I get a chance,  rolling my tongue over and over again on the wrapper till the last trace of its melting residue was left. As we did not have a refrigerator (still a luxury then), my mother would carefully cover the chocolates with wet cloth and keep in an over head compartment above a bowl of water. This preferential treatment to Western chocolates was her creative way of keeping those cherished stuff cool and safe from ants. I would keep the chocolate wrappers as souvenirs to show it to my jealous friends. They would gape at it with eyes wide open, frantically trying to prevent their saliva drooling over lips, wiping it off using tongue and taking a couple of gulps to get it inside. Now all "Phoein" brands are available across India, thanks for Mr. Rao's opening of India's economy.

One of the most fascinating experiences was us siblings glued to the first hand narration of American life by someone visiting India in the summer of 1980, followed by a photographic session using a Polaroid camera. We would wait till mid morning until we had enough sunlight. Then our guest would take our pictures in front of our flat and deliver them to us almost instantly in front of the numerous prying eyes from the surrounding buildings peeing thorough iron railings. A few vegetable and fish vendors on bicycles passing by would stop to take a peek, their legs and baggage tilted to one side of the bicycle, head tilted towards us with mouth wide open.

It was an exhilarating experience for someone whose experience in photography until then was snaps taken at social functions or family portraits taken in a studio at RAJ MAHAL CHOWK (the best one in the city at that time). I always wondered if Soviet Union was such a paradise, why I never saw anyone from Moscow with similar stuff and getting similar attention. Now I still wonder what communism has ever achieved except producing international pariahs and poverty stricken nations like North Korea. The myth of socialism was debunked beyond redemption, limited to four walls of the left leaning academics.

In this context, hats off to the duo of PVN Rao and Dr. Manmohan Singh for reforming India's economy by freeing it from the clutch of socialism and poverty. Other leaders who followed the duo had no other option but to follow the trend of liberalization which is irreversible. It has produced a new breed of entrepreneurs generating wealth and employment, boosting consumer confidence, putting money in public's pocket to fuel more consumerism. Stagnantion leads to less spending and more unsold inventory, which is a businessman's worst nightmare. No wonder our ancient Sanskrit scholars aptly named money as CHANCHALAA (The moving one), which should circulate around, never stay static. If the Congressmen duo didn't liberalize Indian economy in 1991, we still would be dancing to the tune of "Jhopadpatti Zindabad", stuck forever building world class Bullock carts in the era of Bullet Trains.

Tyger Tyger Burning Bright

"Tyger Tyger Burning bright;

In the Forests of the Night..." 

Those are the immortal lines of the well known English poet William Blake. 

Tiger and its cousin domestic cat have 86% of their traits in common. They share their similar canine teeth, same way of stretching, crouching posture while they stalk, followed by their galloping style of chasing their pray. Their jaws are similar and powerful. A tiger can drag a full grown Buffalo easily for more than 100 yard. The paws of both animals are strong, incisive enough to rip off the skin of an animal in seconds. 

The other day I saw a cat in my backyard catching a squirrel with its jaws and peeling off its skin in an effortless manner. A tiger's powerful claw can tear apart the thick skin of a Buffalo like we humans tear apart the skin of a ripe jackfruit using our bare hands. Both tiger and cat can climb trees, thanks to their claws powerful enough to give them a firm grip on the tree trunks and push their weights upward. No wonder Shivaji killed his burly adversary Afzal Khan using his famous pair of "BAGHNAKH" (Tiger Claws), ripping apart his enemy's stomach who tried to embrace him with the intention of killing the Maratha warrior. 

Similarities apart, there are few notable differences between a tiger and a domestic cat. Apart from not eating fish and not meowing like a common feline, unlike cats, tigers love to take a dip in water and known to be excellent swimmers. The Royal Bengal Tiger loves to swim through the myriad distributaries and rivulets crisscrossing the Sundarban Delta of Bengal. The house cat hates water and get flustered under shower. If you have seen a cat in rain, you can figure out how uncomfortable it gets. 

Lion may be the King of the jungle, but Tiger commands respect. The tiger is a passive, shy animal but can be at its ferocious best when cornered. Hence we have the term "Cornered Tiger", not cornered lion, or a cornered panther. Similarly we have "Caged Tiger", not "Caged Lion" to denote someone with a potential yet to be unleashed. Though lion is the King of Jungle, it doesn't have the potential of a Tiger. 

Not to forget, we have this phrase "Tigress in Bed" for a reason. Not Lion or Elephant in bed.

Hitler's birthday

 Today, April 20, is Adolph Hitler's 135rd Birthday. Love him or hate him, you cannot deny his place in history. No doubt he was a monster who caused death to millions. His role in the Jewish Holocaust was ghastly. He too was solely responsible for World War II - which was no doubt was Hitler's War, something he desired, something he could have avoided. Hindu God Sri Krishna famously said to a recalcitrant Duryodhan in the epic MAHABHARAT teleseries by B.R. Chopra shown on TV during our childhood days - "SHANTI KA KOI BIKALP NAHI HAI (There is no alternative to peace). But like Duryodhan, Hitler didn't choose peace as an option and went for an all out war.

Yet there is always something to learn from history and we cannot deny the place of German's Fuehrer in it. The other day I saw one of Hitler's speeches on the History channel. He was a powerful orator and popular demagogue, from the way he was driving his German audience crazy and berserk, responding hysterically to his histrionics and forming a set of blind Nazi Bhakts (devotees)

Unfortunately that's the go of the world. When one speaks sensible stuff a few listen, but one can drive people crazy by talking illogical and outrightly insane stuff. Hitler and demagogues like him (some very much exist in today's society) are known to be able to cast enchanting spells on humans who are inherently gullible and prone to be influenced by those who can promise to turn their aspirations and inferiority complex into reality by creating an illusion of progress and successfully picking up a minority community as the bete noire whipping boys.

The British, co-towed by France sowed the seeds of the Second World War by humiliating the Germans with their absurd terms in the "Treaty of Versailles" at the end of World War I. America who until then kept aloof from global events, warned about the consequences of humiliating a proud German race, but the arrogant, cunning and conniving British had their way.

In the World War I which ended little more than a century ago, a diminutive German soldier who was poked fun at his funny moustache and short height by his strapping 6 feeter military mates sleeping inside his camp, had this strange urge to go outside. He duly followed his instinct and moments later a bomb wiped out the all the German soldiers sleeping inside where he was sleeping moments ago. The rest is history - as this tiny man was no other than Adolf Hitler who survived that day to rewrite history by adding an important chapter to it.

World War II was Hitler's war. He started it and was on a roll with his blitzkrieg pulverizing his opponents in mainland Europe as he attacked one nation after another. Eventually he got carried away, attacking all, going for a multi front war and lost it. Had he not made the cardinal miscalculation of attacking Russia and America didn't interfere in World War II because of Japanese mistake of awaking a sleeping giant, today in all probability we would be speaking German and forced to buy their product.

It also reminds me the role destiny plays altering the courses of history. In 1556 during the 2nd battle of Panipat, Bairam Khan's hapless Mogul army were about to be slaughtered by the rampaging elephants and undefeated Army of the Hindu King Hemu when a stray arrow hit him in the eye, rendering him unconscious and causing his army to flee. Hemu was captured and beheaded.  India's history could have been different with Hemu as the next Hindu King after Prithviraj Chauhan (in fact Hemu ruled Delhi for only 40 days before the fateful 2nd battle of Panipat ended his short tenure on Delhi throne).

Around 1750, Robert Clive, a frustrated Clerk in the British East India Company who pretty much failed in his life just recovered from a bout of Malaria in hot and muggy Madras faraway from his home of salubrious English weather. Dejected, he tried to commit suicide by pressing his gun to his head and clicked the trigger only to be surprised that he failed again. After this incident he never looked back, had a meteoric rise,went on to establish the British empire in India.

History has its own turning points determining the destiny of the mankind and the time to follow. America was most benefited by the two world wars -catapulting it into Superpower status. Not only the War helped US economy boom at that time and recover from the Great Recession, it also benefited by the arrival of Jewish immigrants from Europe who played a constructive role shaping the nation. One of them was Albert Einstein and the grandfather of Facebook's founder Mark Zuckerberg.

After Russia and Britain, Hitler's next target towards his desire for world conquest was US, though destiny had it's way. It would have been a tough call for the German  Fuehrer given America's technological and military prowess. But the man was devilish and capable enough for all kinds of misadventures. 

Yet Hitler carved his niche as the Second Anti-Christ famously foreseen by the French Clairvoyant Nostradamus. The Seer also supposedly predicted the arrival of 3rd Anti-Christ and the 3rd World War. Not sure if that will happen in these turbulent times.

But one thing we have learnt from Hitler and his dream of Third Reich is that fanaticism leads to fascism and fascism leads to total destruction - as Hitler led Germany towards Gotterdammerung. Ww wish the man was never born this day 135 years ago.

Memories of Elections in India

Election campaign in India is getting hotter and hotter in lock and step with its rising temperature plaguing its weather. The battle of ballots in a multi party Parliamentary system will be held under the umbrella of scorching Subcontinent heat starting from tomorrow, April 19 and held in multiple phases extending over three months until the declaration of results in early June. It is going be a long, tiring journey for many - from the candidates to the government officials working hard, toiling under an unforgiving burning sun, striving to successfully stage the longest electoral exercise.

In India an entire family's vote mostly goes towards the same political party, unlike in America where it is quite common for spouses to support different parties. Example of Republican husband and a Democrat wife are plenty. The couples live in peaceful coexistence after casting their separate ballots. But when it comes to voting in India often the head of the household decides the vote on behalf of the entire family. My mother who is apathetic to politics would always vote for whomever my father tells her to do so, she caring least about the candidate's profile. The sole exception was in 1984 when she cast her sympathy vote for Congress party on the aftermath of Indira Gandhi's tragic assassination. My father never voted for Congress, nor I. I have voted twice in India, in 1989 to Janata Dal inspired by V.P. Singh who seemed like a messiah but later belied my hope and in 1995 for the same party again as the legendary Biju Patnaik was contesting from my home constituency Bhubaneswar (there was no Biju Janata Dal yet). 

Do you remember your first ever election in India ? For me it was the Lok Sabha election held in March 1977 when Indira Gandhi suddenly called off Emergency she earlier imposed and announced fresh election only to be drowned by the Janata Tsunami. The popular, punchy anti Congress and Indira campaign slogan of the time was - "SINGHASAN KHALI KARO, KI JANATA A RAHI HAI" (Vacate the throne, because the Public is on its way) caught everybody's imagination. As a 8 year old I retain faint memories of it, though still remember the fillowing headline on Newspaper "Times of India" (used to be delivered in evening fetched earlier by the flight from Delhi) "JP WAVE UNABATED". Lok Nayak Jayaprakash Narayan, fondly called as JP, was creating waves across North India which wiped away the Congress from the entire cow belt. I remember my Uncle and his friend with hippie hair and check Shirts clinging to the radio at our home to get the latest election results from BBC whom the public depended for authentic news those days as they didn't trust the government owned AIR (All India radio). 

Late in the night came the news of Indira Gandhi and her son and designated heir Sanjay's defeat. Indira was defeated by Raj Narain, a political buffoon of the time and her son Sanjay Gandhi a local goon. I remember fireworks going up lighting the sky and celebrations near SOOCHANA BHAWAN (Information center) in Bhubaneswar where the election results were displayed for public consumption. Delhi didn't sleep that night and Delhites went on a frenzy of celebration. Next day the picture of folks in bell bottom pants and long sideburns dancing on streets of our capital flashed on Newspapers. But Janata wave stayed north of Vindya, never could percolate southwards. In spite of the excesses of emergency, South India stayed solidly behind Indira and Congress and its ally AIADMK swept the South ending with a decent total of 140 plus. 

Lot of speculations, debates will go in a nation of 1.4 billion people and nearly 1 billion voters until June 4, the day the results will be declared. The current Prime Minister Modi led BJP is expected to get a comfortable majority for a 3rd term, though there can be many a slip between the cup and the lip. So tighten your seat belt for a long roller coaster fun filled ride while following the battle of ballots in India. Game on folks.

Happy birthday Bhubaneswar - 2024

 A new capital city for the state of Odisha was founded on 13th April in the year 1948. I grew up with the city ever since I migrated to it in the year 1976 on a mid monsoon rainy August day, and saw the city grew leaps and bound like a hydra headed monter. As a 7 year old then I was perplexed by the larger than life city little knowing that it would leave an indelible mark in my psyche for the rest of my life, for coming from Bhadrakh, a nondescript city, the 3 storeyed BJB Flats seemed like Empire State Building. So much water has flown through river Daya since. I left the city for good for more than a quarter of century now, the city has never left me.

The Bhubaneswar of those days was better known for its salubrious weather. Summers were warm but breezy, the winters mild. The cool wafts of Southerly wind used to gently caress the whole city in the evening (now the gentle caress has been replaced by slapping hot lava like winds meandering through concrete jungle). What used to be a sleepy township of salaried people has developed into a city of the nouveau riche, an extended village of DALAALs (middlemen) and sundry parasites milking on the riches of Odisha.

Those days in the 1970s and 80s on the Lewis Road leading to Puri close to BJB Flats where my father was housed in a government quarter, a handful of Lambretta and Vespa scooters would be plying, an odd Ambassador or Fiat would pass by. This is unimaginable on a road which is extremely busy these days with chaotic traffic. Modern Urban planning originally present was absent and at its primitive stage when socialism was the fashion and any constructive, free market oriented development was seen as a luxury. A stable (government) job came with its benefits of free housing and other perks. Bhubaneswar being the capital of Odisha was no different.

The ubiquitous spring cum summer breeze of Bhubaneswar would come blowing in from the Bay of Bengal in mid afternoon. The sun was hot, but air was cool, but is not so common or cool these days. The arteries of the roads were not yet clogged, so no bypass was needed. On the popular Puja (festive) days, it was perfectly safe for us to bicycle all the way from BJB flats to Saheed Nagar amidst funnel shaped loudspeakers from Pendals blaring out the contemporary hits. One of them was "MEIN HOON DON" (I am don) from the Amitabh's hit movie Don. Another popular number by the virtuoso Odia singer cum song writer Akshay Mohanty, aptlt depicting the New Capital city. The song goes like this...

"AAGE THILA BAGHA BHALU
BHARA E JANGALA,
TU DEKHLO SUKUTA BOU
GHAIN GHAIN BULE BINCHNA NALA.
BAH BAH RE CAPITOL"

Roughly transliterated

'A jungle filled with Tigers and Bears,
Now see, O SUKUTA's mother.
The hand fan rotates faster
hail to Our New Capital Bhubaneswar."

Not sure about tigers and bears but when we moved to the newly built BJB Flats in 1976, howling of jackals were quite common coming out of some of the today's poshest neighborhoods of the city. I was warned by my parents not to venture into those areas after twilight, lest being attacked by an wild animal or bitten by venomous snakes, for Cobras and Russell's vipers (locally known as BODA SAPA) roamed rampant. A boy of my age, part of our cricket team died of venomous snake bite in 1979 near BJB College. Now the snakes no more dare to come out due to the encroaching human habitat. These days one has to be careful of wild traffic, or bitten by stray wild dogs whose numbers have grown leaps and bound in the city, causing vehicular accidents and making the streets unsafe for pedestrians.

SUKUTA which in colloquial Odia means "the lanky lad" is referred here as the typical slow witted, down to earth Odia guy from a village or small city, lost in the din and bustle of Bhubaneswar, a city most part of the year needs AC these days. BINCHANA (hand fans) are now restricted only to the villages. The song goes on further " -

MATHAA RU ODHANA TEKI
DEKHE LO TIKIYE,
NUA JAJADHANI KHALI
HUKU HUKU DIYE,
DEKH KETE BADA BADA SARKARI GHARA

"O mother of SUKUTA,
lift your head cover and get outta.
Our new capital totally rocks,
Look at those huge govt bungalows".

Bhubaneswar housed its lummox sized salaried employees in a string of Government Quarters in its Units of settlement, there were 9 Units. Unlike now, there were not a whole lot of fancy, private houses those days. The unique numbers of each quarter was enough for the Post office to deliver letters on time. The city those days was far from today's concrete jungle. BELA (Stone Apple), JAMUN (Indian Black berry) and KRUSHNA CHUDA (Marygold bearing crimson red flowers in spring) trees adorned its street as far as eyes can see.

An interesting feature about the Government quarters was most of them had at least one Jack fruit, Mango, Papaya, SAJNA (Drumstic) or BARAKOLI (small sweet & sour berries) tree or some combinations of those. The trunks of most of which were surrounded by mounds of termite molehills which occasionally become free quarters for snakes. While playing in the yards my friends who like me lived in Government quart were soundly advised to stay away from those, lest get bitten by vipers.

The city originally planned for 50,000 people, now a million plus population has come a long way. A la cricket has taken the limelight away from other sports, no other plants survive close to a Banyan tree, Bhubaneswar had slowly pushed other cities of Odisha into oblivion. The other two major cities of Odisha, Cuttack and Rourkela are no where close to Bhubaneswar in terms of facilities and infrastructure.

So much so that, many I know from Sambalpur, Barhampur or Balasore region for whom leaving their native areas was once unthinkable, now have sold off their huge ancestral properties to buy a non descript flat on the outskirts of Bhubaneswar. For many NROs (Non Resident Odias) buying a property in Bhubaneswar has become a status symbol. Many get a surprise that I neither own a plot or a Flat (appartment) in the city, making me a perfect PENA (nincompoop), DHAEEN (Literally means a person with respiratory ailments gasping for breath, As a local slang it means a worthless guy, an abject failure in life). I consider myself as one such Pena and Dhaeen.

BAH BAH RE CAPITOL (Hail the capital), BAH BAH RE Akshaya Mohanty for being ages ahead in correctly capturing the ethos and pathos of the city. Way to go Bhubaneswar, the city who lives in my heart. Happy 76th Birthday to my city, my first love 💘 Bhubaneswar who no one ever forgets.

GUDAKHU - The Chewing tobacco

 Not sure if the millennial generation of Odisha is aware of "GUDAKHU" - a paste like chewing tobacco used mostly in its Coastal area. It is identified by a popular brand named "AKBAR KHAN KADAA "(strong) Gudakhu which has a typical bright reddish-orange tinge with an overbearing scent. No idea if that brand still exists.

The users of the product rub it on their teeth and their subsequent spit leaves a stubborn stain which can resist world's most efficient industrial cleaning bleach. Many who are addicted to it can't take their morning dump without rubbing it on their teeth. Though GUDAKHU helps inducing bowel movement, it creates a dependency leading to addiction, not to mention the gluey paste being a leading cause of oral cancer.

The depth of dependency it creates can be measured from the anxiety of a gentleman from Odisha, a GUDAKHU addict who was visiting his son in the United States on a visitor's Visa. Though he well wrapped it, his stock of the red paste tobacco inside his luggage was a matter of concern at the US immigration because of its strong smell which won't elude the drug sniffing dogs at Airport. He frankly proclaimed - if the Customs Authorities find and confiscate my GUDAKHU, I will catch the next flight back home. Luckily for him, nothing of that sort happened and he managed to get his 6 month stock of GUDAKHU inside US, though his daughter-in-law wasn't amused as she struggled to keep their bathroom sink clean.

Not everyone who tried to surreptitiously sneak in GUDAKHU inside United States were so lucky. Another elderly gentleman attempted to bring in this sticky stuff. No sooner he pulled out the luggages from the conveyor belt than a sniffing dog started circling around his bag, barking loudly. Next thing the couple found themselves surrounded by burly US DEA (Drug Enforcement Administration) agents who threw a volley of questions to them. Terribly fatigued after a long tiring flight, this was the rough start, the last thing the Odia couple wanted while coming to visit their progeny in America. The lady who couldn't speak a single word in English nervously watched her visibly shaken husband trying his best to explain to the Officers that they weren't carrying any kind of contraband.

The Agents ordered them to open the bag in open sight, which the gigantic doggy of the size of a calf was still busy scratching, its barking getting louder and louder. With fidgety hands our gentleman from Odisha opened his bag as the old lady rested on a nearby chair, shocked and gaping at the ongoing commotion around her. The big dog growled, rubbing its nose against one particular corner of the suitcase excited by the ubiquitous smell of GUDAKHU, frantically scratching on its surface before burying its snout inside the luggage, as the tag it depicting name and address of the senior citizen's son printed in bold, helplessly hanging outside.

Following the directive of the detective doggie, one of the Officers plucked a box from the inside wrapped in Odia daily "The Samaja" with the face of our Chief Minister Naveen Patnaik smiling at him. The box was opened as the area was filled with an overpowering, moist stench of GUDAKHU hanging still in the air. The face of the Odia couple turned red akin to red stuff the Officer was holding, sniffing it with a squeezed nose, wrinkles forming on it due its horrendous smell. Finally the Agent threw away the GUDAKHU box as the yelping doggie didn't sniff the suitcase anymore. Our Odia visitors were let go with a warning as the DEA agent duo took away the canine who got busy inspecting other luggages. The couple finally breathed a sigh of relief after this close call.

It is rumored this legendary tobacco paste is smoothed by GODARAs (Filaria infected thick legged folks, some with super sized balls - a common site in our coastal Odisha) who march past on layers of the Gudakhu paste with their uncovered, pus filled legs. They alternate that with rhythmically scratching their private parts in public, giving the GUDAKHU paste a hand until it is fined into perfection. It is said that this brings the best taste and flavor out of it.

Can't remember any proverbs going with GUDAKHU, but there is certainly one on the GODARI (female with filaria stricken leg) -"GODARI LO TO GODAKU CHAHAN", transliterated it means, "O' the lady with filaria. Look at your infected legs". It simply means - Look at yourself before you point fingers to others.

Don't know if this Red Paste is used by the new generation back home, because it doesn't sound cool to chew GUDAKHU for a modern Odia youth to impress his girlfriend, exposing his stained teeth to his beloved as his symbol of love. The act of proclaiming to his beloved his dependency of the orange paste to his bowel movement hardly sounds very romantic. That's good news - for like any tobacco product GUDAKHU causes cancer, a notorious disease with a history of consuming many consumers of the famous Akbar Khan brand.

Our complex about fair complexion

 A controversy erupted in Kerala after a renowned classical dancer Kalamandalam Sathyabhama made derogatory remarks against a male dancer. Without taking his name, she said - "His complexion was like a crow, and he looked ugly to perform the art". She conveniently forgot that art has nothing to do with the skin color.

Among all civilisations the Hindu India is the arguably the most racist. Long ago our scriptures, epics and myths assigned virtues with the fair skin and vices to dark skin. The Devtas (Gods) are all fair and handsome while the Demons are black and hideous. Fairness of the skin is also associated with the cultured Aryans as against the "MLECHHA" (uncouth) Dravidians. 

Pakistan, a nation partitioned from India has inherited similar traits and are culturally hopeless when it comes to skin colour. In 1960s when Bangladesh was East Pakistan, Yahya Khan, the military dictator launched a specific mission for the Punjabi soldiers to alter Bangladeshi genes through thorough rape of all women to produce white skin progenies. The dark skinned Muslim migrants from UP and Bihar are still kept separate as Mohajirs in Pakistan.

Once a Pakistani player Sarfraz Ahmed was heard hurling a racial slur at his South African counterpart Andile Phehlukwayo during a Cricket match - "ABEY KAALE, TERI AMMI AAJ KAHAAN BAITHEEN HAIN ?" - transliteated "Hey Blackie, where's your mother sitting today ?" Apparently Pakistanis separated from us only 75 years ago by religion aren't tradition wise much different.

No question, we are a fair skin craze 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.

Fair enough. No doubt we got a complex about complexion. Can't blame the marriage broker, 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. An article in the magazine "India Today" 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".

The obsession about white skin isn't limited to prostitutes of Delhi. It  extends to the top echelons of the glitterati of India's capital. When Sanjay Gandhi, the son of Indian Prime Minister Indira Gandhi married Maneka, daughter of a Sikh military man, many whined that her family of not having the same stature as the Gandhi family. At the same time they had no qualms of accepting Sonia Maino as wife of Indira's other son Rajiv though she was the daughter of a middle class man in Italy, simply because she was a white foreigner. The stigma of 200 years of slavery to British still exists till date.

Shakespeare wrote "What's is a name ? You call Rose by another name, it still smells the same". Similarly we can very well say "What's in a Complexion"? A part of Martin Luther King's I have a dream speech was "A person should not be judged by the color of his skin but the content of his character". He was so correct.

The cheer girls performing at IPL cricket matches are conspicuously Caucasians. Yet in a country where most are dark or brown skinned, the craze for white skin cheer girls is nothing to cheer about. Do we lack good looking able dancers who are not necessarily white skinned ? This cheer leading concept have been straight taken out of the page books of American NFL (National Football League) where the cheerleaders include many African Americans and Hispanics, who are either dark or brown skinned. So why not take a step further in IPL and make it more inclusive ? 

During my Engineering College days in REC (now NIT) Rourkela we had couple of students from Ethiopia and Kenya. Many passed innuendos to them - "ABBE KALLU - Hey Black guy". In due course they came to know what "KALLU" meant. One of them retaliated - "You guys call us black but you are a just a shade fairer". He hit the Bull's Eye. Nothing can be more hypocritical, especially when some of us accuse Westerners being racists while we ourselves are world champion racists.

The other day I watched a South Indian movie where the leading female role is played by Kajal Aggarwal, a North Indian import, who hardly knew any acting, but happened to be fair skinned, supplementing her huge assets. Wonder what happened to the talented South Indian Indian movie industry, which has gone so bankrupt that they have to import B graders from North India simply due the the skin color of the actresses.

Gone are the days of Vaijayantimala, Hema Malini, Rekha, Sridevi, Jayaprada who were hardly fair complexioned, had not only excellent looks, were endowed with great acting skills, extending their reach from South to Bollywood. Now it seems the trend has been reversed. Nothing but the craze for fail skin would ascribe to it. And the craze doesn't wane. Those contributing to the immense backlash of Ms. Sathyabhama have made their point. May their tribe flourish.

April Fool's Day 2024

 March this year ended with the scary news of the collapse of the ship wrecked Baltimore Bridge and the persistent scare of an impending recession. But being an eternal optimist I can see light at end of the tunnel as nothing lasts forever, not even the bad things which happens to us. The first quarter of the year has just ended and the next month starts with April Fool's day, the first day of a new week, a new month and a new quarter. Time to gather some Foolish anecdotes while stepping into the All Fool's day.

April 1 is named FOOL'S DAY, after Steve April. He was born on 1st April of year 1579. He started 105 businesses in his lifetime, but none ever succeeded, losing all his father's assets. So everyone started calling him father of the fools.

At 19, he married a 61-year-old woman who divorced him after a month because of his foolishness. He used to carefully read all kinds of fake stories like we are doing now on social media. So we are no less fools than him.

Every year, 1st of April comes with its share of April Fool jokes. Even when we keep washing our hands to keep Covid and other diseases away, we shouldn't wash off our sense of humor. A few year's back April Fool joke from Google was - "Equator found to be slipping. Australia at risk of becoming a Northern Hemisphere country by 2055". Many actually believed it.

Not a whole lot are aware of the fact that Equator is an imaginary line. Once India's ex-President Giani Zail Singh was flying above the Equator. His secretary humored him - "Sir, can you see the equator below" ?  Zail Singh responded "Yes. I can see it and a car is slowly running on it". What he actually saw, was a lice walking on his long strand of hair, which just happened to fall right in front of his eyes.

MIT, Massachusetts which has produced hordes of innovators and Nobel winning Laureates is known for sheer wit and sense of mischief from its bright and creative students. In 1998, on All Fools' Day, MIT's homepage was rebuilt to announce that the Walt Disney Company had bought the famed institute for $6.9 billion. In same year in Pittsburgh where I was living, 1st of April came with a freak snow storm - fooling all on April Fool's day.

One thing I can't fathom - Why the Utkal Dibas (Odisha day) coincides with the April Fool's day ? It would not have hurt our forefathers to chose 31st March or 2nd April instead. We have been living in a Fool's paradise ever since, fooled time and again by those ruling us.

Never let a fool kiss you, or a kiss fool you - said Joey Adams, American Comedian (1911-99). Happy Fool's Day.

Story of a trusted Aide turned rogue

 Forgive me for this long piece. It's related to my own experience, a life lesson I learnt the hard way. Thanks in advance for going through it. I promise to keep you engrossed till end and you won't get bored.

Aurangzeb, the last effective Mughal Emperor never trusted anyone, not even his trusted aides. He famously said he trusts no one but Allah. That was during the Medieval era. In the 1980s, Ronald Reagan, a modern age American President went a step further and added a disclaimer - "Trust, but Verify".

In this context this incident happened exactly 2 years back. Here is some backdrop to it. Me and my two sisters, all residing in United States, trusted a guy who helped our parents living alone in India for 20 long years. It won't be an exaggeration to say that he was more like a family member. Let's call him Mr. X. My father is an amicable, talkative person with a great sense of humor. A glib talker, he  possessed exemplary people skills. He can mingle with anybody big or small, rich or poor, men or women with equal aplomb, would easily develope a bond with them in no time. A jovial companion, popular in his surrounding milieu, everyone adores my dad and no one hates him. Those who know my father from close quarters, many who could be reading this blog can vouch for it.

Mr. X whom my dad trusted immensely, dwelt in a small, dingy rented house, a furlong away from our residence in Bhubaneswar. He drove an Auto Rickshaw for a living, mostly plying school kids and getting his "BHADA" (ride money) from passengers, taking them on long drives to Puri, Konark, Cuttack on weekends and other school holidays. Soon he got closer to my father by helping doing odd jobs for him, like bringing groceries, taking care of menial household works and running errands. Being empty nesters, it came handy for my parents to have a handyman in Mr. X staying close by - some one who could take care of their needs and headaches.

My parents were impressed by Mr. X's ultra dedication and hardwork. Money was never a problem. They helped him dispose off the Auto Rickshaw and purchase a jumbo sized van so that he could fetch more children and carry more people to distant destinations, enhancing his paltry income. Not to mention my siblings and I would pay him hefty sums of money and expensive gifts whenever we traveled to India. In meantime, as my parents got older as Bhubaneswar was getting more and more crowded. We needed assistance during our India trips to figure out the various locations in a rapidly changing city alienated from us by living abroad for years. Mr. X readily filled in the void.

In the year 2007 my father had a heart related procedure at Kalinga Hospital. Mr. X stayed close to dad and I, giving us company throughout our hospital stay. One night I had to spend outside the ICU where my father was recuperating. Mr. X gave me comfort by bringing a comforter. Though unnecessary for a hot, sultry night, it was necessary to prevent the hounding mosquitos 🦟 baying for my blood. It was a long day followed by a long night, but I could barely sleep. Trying to doze off a bit, I was suddenly awakened by a screaming woman in the middle of night standing next to a dead body in the corridor. Already sweating, I couldn't sleep any further. Mr. X poured me a cup of tea from a 

thermoflask to sooth my nerves in that torrid time.

Soon Mr. X became a part of our family. We promised to help his daughter get married. But barely in her teens, she eloped with her boyfriend. He unhappy and became depressed, disapproving his daughter's marriage. My parents consoled him to let it go and focus on his only son's future. But the boy too got distracted, went astray and never focused in his studies. Mr. X managed to construct a decent house in the city with help of my father's finance. The man took good care of my parents during the horrendous Covid days when neither I, nor my sisters could travel to India for 3 long years. Thanks to God, Covid spared them. Life was good.

Or so we thought. As usual, my father put a lot of faith on Mr. X. But my mother noticed that their most trusted aide was hustling more money than necessary, plus occasionally showing abrasive behavior and signs of high handedness. She raised a red flag, confiding to me that Mr X was poking his nose into our household's financial matters and property related papers. My mom strongly suspected that Mrs. X (his wife) was prodding him to grab our house, staging a couple detat of sort.

Initially I didn't take my mother seriously. My parents were getting older and slower. As senior citizens they needed additional help. I hired a female nurse from a reputed local organization in Bhubaneswar. This decision didn't seem to go well with Mr.X. Trying to assuage his bruised ego I told him - "BHAINA (Brother). APANA (I never addressed him as TUME) BAHUT SAHAJYA KARUCHANTI (You are helping us a lot). Yet time has come for my parents to avail professional help. I told this to Mr. X on a video call to gauge his mood. From his body language it was pretty clear that my explaination failed to address his insecurity. I went ahead and hired a nurse.

No sooner the nurse came to our house, than my father suddenly fell ill due to urinary track infection. He was hospitalized for couple of days. Mr. X took care of my dad in the hospital and the lady nurse took over once he returned back home. That evening a visibly tired Mr. X removed his shirt and told the newly hired girl to give him a massage. The girl was shocked. She refused to oblige and rang me up. It was early morning in America. Still drowsy I gave the girl a patient hearing and turned furious at the audacity of Mr. X, a middle aged man's imbecility of asking a 20 year old girl for a body massage. Without minsing words I told the nurse in no uncertain terms - "You are hired by me to take care of my parents, not to cater to requests of body massages or any such weird requests. If he presses you any further to press his back, then put him on line over phone. I will talk to him".

Mr. X who apparently overheard this conversation got mad at me. He grabbed both mobile phones of my parents, locked the door from outside and left our home in a hurry. After a few minutes I called my dad. To my surprise, Mr. X picked up the phone. From the surrounding din and bustle and incessant honking of vehicles I figured out that he was somewhere outside in a crowded place. I was very blunt - "What are you doing outside carrying both phones of my parent ? What happens if some emergency comes up and my parents are incommunicado ! Please go to our house immediately and give them back their phones. Then go to your home and take some rest. Let the nurse do her work which she is being paid to do".

Later on I came to know that an angry and agitated Mr.X went to our home and shouted at top of his voice for everyone including our neighbors and tenants to hear - "What these folks know sitting there in America ? I control this house, "MU CHAHILE GOTE DINA RE E GHARA TALA PAKEI DEBI (If I wish I can close down this house in a day). That was the last straw. I told my parents loud and clear -"Come what may, from tomorrow Mr. X shouldn't show up at our doorsteps". Though I was sick of Mr. X, my sick father was sad to see him go. But my mother was furious on Mr. X after hearing about his "massage request" episode and him taking "PUNGA" (picking a fight) with her only son whom she loves more than anyone on earth. 

Exactly two years later down the road, touchwood, things are much better with the support system we placed for our parents. But two years ago we were in a quandary as this incident happened so fast, so soon. It took just 2 days for a relationship of 20 years to come crashing down. Was it a classic case of familiarity breeds contempt ? Was it our goodness taken for granted ? Was it greed which overcame Mr. X, perpetuated by Mrs. X. May be a mix of all above.

Trust apart, I learnt a few lessons in life the hard way. The foremost of it being - no one is indispensable. Now I know why Aurangzeb ruled India for 50 years, the longest ever by any Mughal Emperor. Because he trusted nobody. I won't go that far as Aurangzeb, but would adhere to Reagan's policy of "Trust but Verify". No wonder Chanakya, the great Indian statesman, regarded as one of the finest brains in politics and administration once said more than 2,000 years ago - "Don't trust anyone, even your closest friend. KADACHIT KUPITAM MITRAM SABYA GUDHAM PRAKASAYET (never know an angry friend can disclose all your secrets)". I would substitute "secret" with "trust".