Happy New Year 2026

 Year 2025 paves way to the year 2026 - a New Year we perpetually wish to be better than the previous one. The passing away year wasn't unique like a leap year, but important to us in many ways.

While stepping into the New Year of 2026, thousands of Nostadamus, Baba Vanga and Malika predictions from our ubiquitous Whatsapp University are circulating on social media. Yet we don't know for sure what lies ahead of us and what's in store for us next year in an age of unpredictability. No one predicted Covid Pandemic 6 years ago as we stepped into 2020, something which came with cataclysmic events associated with it.

As the old man 2025 bends his spine, bows forward extending his hand to open the door to welcome the New Year, it is now time for some retrospection. The passing year 2026 will be forever be remembered for several reasons. The Coronavirus pandemic which was a scourge for past several years is now passe. Economic uncertainties and wars at hotspots of the world still continue. 

A mixed year for India in Cricket, a game which is arguably a religion in India, but in America Cricket is known as an insect emitting a shrill sound. The game of Cricket is a great unifying factor in India, a nation of 1.4 billion. The English say "God save the Queen", the Americans say "God Bless America". I say 'God bless Cricket". Arguably our national passion, the game of Cricket, unites every Indian from Kashmir to Kanyakumari, Bengal to Baroda. When India plays Cricket, especially against Pakistan, we feels ourselves as an Indian rather than a Punjabi, Tamil, Marathi or Odia.

A la getting rid off old cloths for the new ones and the soul moving from one body to another as famously extolled by our Hindu God Sri Krishna in BHAGWAT GITA, our Hindu Scriptue, year 2026 will be reborn yet again at midnight tonight as the soul of 2025 passes away. The year dawns with the cherubic smile of a newborn, as another number is added to its age in the form of New Year. But hardly anything else ever changes with the arrival of the New Year. For me the mundane life trudges ahead as the same shit, different day - with different color and texture. Hardly anything worthwhile difference occurs, the status quo is maintained more or less.

The antonym of "Happy New Year" is "Unhappy Old Year". Year 2025 was pretty close to that for me due to various reasons. I lost a few close friends and relatives who passed away to a different realm. This year came and went with a mixed bag of good, bad and ugly, with additional baggage of  memories gently rolling into next year. Made new friends, revived old ones and lost a few near and dear ones once and for all. I may sound nihilist, yet the year comes with this stark reminder to me - life goes downhill from here, tasks become uphill and years are numbered before we go over the hill. 

I do not make any New Year's resolution as can't keep them. Resolutions like promises are made to be broken. I simply roll over to the year ahead of me. We may forget history but we repeat it year after year, similar to this starting stanza of Kishore Kumar's song :

EK RUUT AYE, EK RUUT JAYE PHIR,
MOUSAM BADLENA, BADLE NASEEB.

"One season comes and another goes,
Seasons don't change, fate does". 

To me, almost all New Year wishes expressed over the years have been too pleasant to be forgettable. The Homo Sapien species which is inherently cynical has this instinct to remember the unpleasant ones and I am no exception. I remember this one from 1st January, 1982. On the first New Year after his marriage to princess Diana, when the nosey British Paparazzi got a scent that her marriage with Prince Charles wasn't going too well, he wished them - "Have a Nasty New Year".

But I don't have to be nasty and negative. So let me repeat the forgettable wish, as I do not forget to do at the end of every year - HAVE A WONDERFUL NEW YEAR 2026 ahead and stay blessed.

RIP Ameen Sayani

 

We just passed is the birthdays of Ameen Sayani and the legendary singer Mohammed Rafi, both inseperable from Bollywood Cinema 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, the singer whose soft and sweet voice was unmatched in the world of music, though in the 1970s and until he died Kishore Kumar at the height of his popularity dominated the show.

Come December, come waves of memory recollection from the airwaves the 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 played every Wednesday night which ranked songs based on their popularity chart struck a chord in me. At end of the year in the month of December 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 was 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). But Ameen Sayani's mellifluous, sweet loquacious voice and unique style of narration which would arguably be the best marketing brand that company ever had remained unchanged.

Kishore Kumar & Lata Mangeshkar (often their duets) dominated CIBACA Geetmala those days, though other singers like 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), who was a natural singer pure in Raaga.

Kishore Kumar and Radio Ceylon have a history together. Internal Emergency was declared in June 1975 by the then Prime Minister Indira Gandhi. Her all powerful son Sanjay Gandhi wanted Kishore Kumar to sing in a Congress rally. Kishore Kumar, an extremely popular singer at that time refused to sing for Sanjay Gandhi and was promptly banned from government controlled All India Radio and TV. Folks used to tune to Radio Ceylon to hear Kishore da's songs until the ban on him lifted.

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 Reagan. Vegetables like Cauliflower, Cabbage, Tomato, Turnip etc used to be very seasonal and unlike these days it wasn't available round the year. Eaten during the short span of winter months the Cauliflower would be very 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, Lata and Ameen Sayani, but they still live in our hearts. Those were the days and nights...

Merry Christmas 2025

 Holiday season and Christmas reminds me of my childhood days when back home in my home state of Odisha in India, Chistmas was popularly known as BADA DINA (The Big Day). I always wondered why we call it a big day, as the day being close to the Northern Solstice is one of the shortest in the Northern Hemisphere which includes India. I felt it should have been christened as BADA RATI (long night).

Eventually I found why. Christmas used to be a fun filled time for the British when they ruled India for couple of centuries. SAHIBs (Lords) and MEMSAHIBs (Ladies) as they were addressed obsequiously by the natives geared up several days before the occasion in preparation to celebrate Merry Christmas. The Englishmen threw lavish parties, wined, dined and danced late into the night making it a BADA RATI (Big night) of bacchanalian jamboree.

Unlike us Indians who celebrate 13 festivals in 12 months, the British focused on one day of the year. They reserved December 25 of the year, the birthday of Lord Jesus, for their annual grand gala time. The locals described the Christmas day as a big day, a BADA DINA for their BILAYATI (English) rulers. Many Odias still use the lingo to describe the Christmas 🎄 day. It is also called BADAA DIN in Hindi, meaning the same.

Unlike West where it is cold at this time of year, Christmas comes at a cool time in Odisha. The time is close to New Year when schools and colleges are closed for the holidays. The weather is salubrious, the ubiquitous scorching heat is absent, though it can get occasionally chilly when cold wave from north accompanied by gusty winds brings the sweaters and mufflers out. On balmy days it was time to play the game of Badminton🏸 in night. Women gave finishing touches to knitting woolen garments for their near and dear ones (Not sure if any one knits woolen garments these days in the era of ready -made clothings). 

Fresh winter vegetables are cheap and plentiful during this time of the year. New Year Day was celebrated on the New Year, i.e, 1st of January, rather than on its eve. It was time to get warm and fuzzy. I used to wait for the Boxing Day Cricket test match invariably held at the MCG, Melbourne, Australia on December 26, a day after the Christmas. Before the days of live telecast, I used to catch those Boxing Day Cricket by tuning in to Radio Australia while clutching on to blanket to escape from the morning chill. Post live telecast days it was funny and titillating for the teenager in me to watch scantily clad tall women turning over in Aussie stadiums, sunbathing in the summer of the Southern Hemisphere.

Back in those days a Christian family used to present us a nice home made fruit cake during the holiday season of Christmas at a time when good quality cake was a luxury in Odisha. Those available in a handful of stores tasted more like sugar laced bread than the real stuff. We used to wait eagerly for the once in a year luxury to savor a bite of the soft, brownish looking pound cake.

One person in our house who was not so excited was my deeply inquisitive grandmother. She always had this feeling there could be GORU MANSA (beef) stuffed inside the cake, especially the dark colored KISMIS (Raisins) which looked suspicious to her. A conservative Brahmin widow from a Sasan village near Puri, she got this perception that Christians and Muslims were perennial beef eaters - so whatever they imbibe contained beef.

She warned me of my PAITA (sacred thread worn by Brahmins) going MARAA (loss of sanctity) upon eating that cake  for which I need to do penance by taking bath in cow dung laced water sprinkled with a liberal dosage of GANGAJAL (water from river Ganga), followed by multiple trips to the Puri Jagannath temple near my village for self cleansing. Going through this ordeal for just eating a piece of cake hardly sounded exciting.

Fortunately I could religiously have my cake and eat it too without going through these reclamation rituals. Now I live in a land which happens to be the largest producer and consumer of Bovine meat and flooded with varieties of Cakes. But childhood memories are forever etched in our memory and die hard. The curious cat in me always takes a peek at the ingredients of all food items I purchase by doing an additional scan to ensure that beef isn't printed on the label.

Avoiding the stigma of eating beef is no piece of cake. But till date I haven't encountered a single cake that has beef as an ingredient. So the beef of the story is this Holiday season you can have your cake and eat it too. Enjoy the festivities and the Cakes and Drink responsibly. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.

The man who saw Infinity

The other day I saw the movie "THE MAN WHO KNEW INFINITY". It is based on life story of an Indian Mathematical genius - Srinivas Ramanujan, played by Dev Patel and the role of his mentor Professor Hardy played by non other than the connoisseur British actor Jeremy Irons.

Ramanujan, an extraordinarily brilliant mind, rather a Math genius was born in an orthodox Brahmin family in the South Indian state of Tamil Nadu. A child prodigy, he vindicated that geniuses are born, rarely made - solving complex mathematical problems which were unsolved for eons using his fingertips without any help. 

His early days were spent in abject poverty with little support or formal education. But he exceled in the subject of Mathematics and his work didn't go unnoticed for long. The man didn't live long either - for he died at an young age of 32 from Tuberculosis, a scourge those days. Can't fathom what he could have done if he lived a full life. His letters to Professor Hardy in Cambridge made the later wonder about the papers either as the works of a genuis or stolen by some fraud. 

The West is known for nurturing talents. Professor Hardy didn't want to see a genius continue as a clerk in Madras Port. The British realized Ramanujan's potential and offered him a seat at Trinity College and later in Cambridge University in UK. Soon he boarded a ship to England, a decision not supported by his conservative Iyengar family for whom travelling across the seven seas was a taboo those days, tantamount to loss of caste, ultimately one's religion.

In a way, Ramanujan stole somebody's work. It was from some supernatural power. He admitted Goddess Namagiri came to him in his dreams, providing solutions to complex theorems which was instantly crystallized in his memory. When awake, he felt Her taking over his tongue - for at tip of his tongue lied solutions to complex numbers which he solved like simple equations, uttering the uniqueness about those numbers. It was something which was humanly impossible and can only be attributed to the hand of God - Goddess Namagiri in his case. Long before Diego Maradona mesmerized the English soccer team using his famous "Hand of God", Ramanujan impressed the English with his "Hand of Goddess".

He continued to amaze the Cambride Academics by solving the theory of Partitions and found the prime number closest to Infinity, for which he was billed as "The man who saw Infinity". Soon he was conferred with the coveted FRS (Fellow of Royal Society) - the youngest person to get it as Ramanujan was barely 30 years old at that time.

But fairy tales don't last long. Taking regular bath in the cold water of River Thames in London to fulfill his Brahmin rituals took its toll. He often fell sick and eventually contracted Tuberculosis - a dreaded, incurable disease of the time. A stickler to Brahmin traditions he refused to take modern medicine, aggravating his illness further. He was consumed by the dreaded consumption at the age of 32 - with the solace of breathing his last after coming back home to India.

Prof Hardy upon receiving the news of Ramanujan's imminent dying stage rushed to the hospital and casualy told the later the cab number which brought him to his friend who was about to breathe his last. He thought it to be a mundane number. But Ramanujan, then on his death bed told him, "Wait a minute. What's the number again" ? The professor responded - 1729. Impromptu came the answer from the genius, "This is not an ordinary number. It's the smallest number which can be expressed as sum of 2 cubes in two different ways". 1729 = 10^3+9^3 = 12^3 +1^3. He didn't leave long after this incident.

We should be glad that he left India for England where his work was recognized and recorded for posterity. Otherwise, the man who was working as a Clerk in Madras Port before his voyage to London would have retired as a Head Clerk, lost in the labyrinth of Indian Babudom, incognito, unrecognized. He would have faced the fate of the proverbial "BANA MALLI" (the fragrance of the Jasmine Flower of the Forest stays inside there, forever unknown to the outsiders) - No body would ever have known him, no movie ever made on his name as the man who knew infinity. My tribute to the man on his 138th Birthday. He was born this day December 22 in the year 1887.

Christmas party years ago

We had several Christmas parties recently. Every holiday season the Christmas parties remind me of one such party long time back in the 1990s when I was a new arrival in America. It was my first Christmas party in USA. Alcohol, especially the locally popular Kentucky Bourbon Whiskey and Jack Daniel were flowing like river Mahanadi in spate during monsoon or a flooded Chattahoochee river after heavy showers. New, shy and a bit unsure about myself to fit into the milieu I was sipping some Vodka, standing alone at a corner of the big banquet hall.

Sensing my loneliness three mountain sized coworkers, as big and burly as the local Appalachian mountain approached me with the intention of making me comfortable. They said Vodka is not sipped, rather tossed in at one go and gave me some demo by inviting me to join them to imbibe shots in unison. I got carried away by their attention and joined them liberally tossing down a few shots of Vodka repeating 1-2-3 go, 1-2-3 go several times.

My action had its consequences. I could feel the fiery stuff going down my esophagus, clearing away any doubts I had about Biology when last time I studied the subject during High School. It turned out to be a foolish decision on my part. Nothing happened to the big guys as they melted away inside the hall enjoying the party. Minutes passed by without anything happening to me while I munched some chicken nuggets and chunks of cheese on toothpicks.

As absolute power can corrupt absolutely, Absolute Vodka can intoxicate absolutely. Alcohol shrugged off my jaded nerves. Moments later suddenly my legs started getting wobbly and head swirling like whirlpool. The sound of this song played by the DJ suddenly started wavering and dancing with the light.

"Where'd ya come from Cotton eye Joe
I have been married long time ago.
Where'd come and where'd ya go,
Where'd come and where'd ya go."

The flickering lights started floating around me amidst the tap dancing Cowboy hat wearing men and red dressed women. All of a sudden they started looking blurred to my elated, intoxicated eyelids. The sound of the music got louder and louder, as I stumbled couple of times. But I was in my sense and sensible enough to know where I was heading to. So I thought it judicious not to hang around anymore and make an ass out of myself. Rather it would be wise for me to head back to my apartment sooner than later.

On my return drive I rolled down the windows to let in the frigid Midwest air to keep me alert and awake. Luckily I encountered no cops. A DUI or Driving Under Influence of alcohol could have hampered my on going Green Card, i.e. the Permanent Resident status in US which was under process during that time (An advice to my friends not to drink and drive, especially if your Green Card processing is still on. A DUI at that juncture certainly won't help you).

No sooner I reached home than I crashed on bed, my shoes half hanging from my feet. It was 10 AM the next day when I woke up with a heavy head and parched throat, feeling my urine has dried up. Drank a full bottle of water to see my urine resembling mustard oiI. I spent the entire next day nursing my hangover. That experience was enough of a lesson for me to never get drunk and go overboard with alcohol. So far I have religiously adhered to it. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. Enjoy the season responsibly.

Advanced degree holders for home guard

Recently a news from my home state back home Odisha came to my attention. Around 8000 candidates with various advanced degrees rounded up to compete for 187 police home guard positions in Sambalpur !

The news didn't surprise me at all. These days  many advanced degrees hardly mean anything. Also the position of a Home Guard in police not only guarantees a stable job until one turns 60, it comes with the scope of some additional incomes.

I knew a guy in Bhubaneswar who barely graduated, but to the envy many landed up a job as Home Guard, Police thanks to his maternal Uncle, a Senior IPS Officer who retired as DG. His friends and neighbors would give him a vicarious, jealousy filled look as he would jump into the back of a police jeep which would pick him up from the street in front of his house. Our home guard friend would be back home at evening with a satisfying grin on his face.

Once he narrated me that while doing his rounds around the famous Saivite Lingaraj temple, he saw a Cobra coiled nearby raising its hood at him. Shouting "ASHTIKA ASHTIKA, GARUDA GARUDA", a chant supposed to save one from the wrath of snakes, he fled from the scene. I asked him jokingly - "If you are afraid of snakes, what will you do if someone attacks the temple". He calmly replied - "BHAINA (Bro), I will flee like I did".

When I asked him about the extra income part, he replied - "As team players we divide our "Upuri", the manna dew from from heaven in form of cash among ourselves. Though not a whole lot, it takes care of my "CHA, PANI" (tea and water) part. Now I can afford cigarettes in place of Bidi. But I manage to extort some free stuff from local street food vendors". He especially enjoyed the much cherished Odia snack of "BARA & GHUGUNI" combo which though tasty, produces tons of gas. Corruption and policing go hand in glove.

Not long ago, I saw the news of a Police official in Odisha amassing a fortune disproportionate to his known source of income. A classic case of when the fence starts eating the crop, or the RAKHYAK (the keeper) turns into a the BHAKHYAK (eater).
Reminds me of this stanza from the Kishore Kumar's song "Chingaree Koi Bhadke'

MAZDHAR ME NAYA DOLE TO MAAJHI PAAR LAGAE;
MAAJHI JO NAO DUBOYE USE KAUN BACHAYE"..

Transliterated,

"If the boat capsizes in mid river, 
the boatman rescues all;
If the boatman himself capsizes,
who saves him after all ?".

This is not the first instance of Police personnels going rogue, indulging in corruption and other forms of crime and certainly on the last one. Bollywood movies bear a testimony of that. No wonder, except perhaps the sub-Saharan Africa no where the police is as corrupt as in India. Hence the job of police, in the form of home guard or other is one of the most sough after.  

In this context a scene from the Bollywood movie "BHAG MILKHA BHAAG" rings a bell. A policeman stops the legendary runner Milkha Singh while the later is carrying couple of cans of GHEE (Clarified butter) and wanted him to part them. Milkha did not succumb to the policeman's extortion. He did some push ups and finished both the bottles of Ghee to the amusement of a cheering crowd.

No sooner we gained our independence from the British than the ugly head of Corruption started raising its head. First it was  sporadic in nature, far from the epidemic proportion we encounter now. It hadn't yet spread its tentacles to all the segments of the society with one exception - the Police. 

This is vindicated by related episodes narrated to me by my grandfather and father. Call it the legacy of the Raj or whatever, the police were probably the first to jump into the bandwagon of corruption. One of my father's close friends, a principled man who was in the police force in the 1960s shifted to teaching profession as he could not digest the fact his fellow custodians of law were taking law into their hands. My dad says one of his childhood memories is Khaki Knickers and cone shaped topee (hats) clad Constables of Police extorting coconuts, fine quality rice, chickens, ghee from the hapless villagers.

Constable is considered as the lowest rank of Police back home. Not sure if the same goes with their counterparts in England. On the aftermath of crimes in UK, often a Constable talks to the media. In India rarely that privilege goes to anybody below the rank of an IPS (Indian Police Service) officer which was incidentally called Imperial Police Service before for a long time. In Odisha, the Constable is locally addressed as a KANESTBALA, often in a derogatory sense. He is always close to the commoners and being ridiculed for his disproportionate figure of thin arms and limbs with protruding belly. With his physique, forget about catching a thief, he can't even catch a mouse. 

Police is a hated and often ridiculed figure in India. A gentleman who once retired as DSP (Deputy Superintendent of Police) got into a squabble with a peon (a person at the lowest hierarchy in a job) in front of our house. The DSP  boasting of himself said "You know who am I ? I am a retired DSP ?" The Peon retorted back with his ready wit - "You might have retired as a DSP,  but you must have started your career as a KANESTBALA (constable)". So the Peon had the last laugh at the expense of our retired DSP.

Though butt of jokes, the Constable is envied for his job, which can bring UPURI (extra income) while he can still rub clarified butter on his moustache (NISA RE GHIA MARI) and work uninterrupted until he reaches the age of 60. No wonder there goes this popular saying in Odisha

MACHHA KHAIBA ILISI
CHAKIRI KARIBA POLICI"

"Hilsa is the fish you should cherish;
The job you should do is Police".

Good luck and best wishes to the applicants for the home guard positions. Once through, time to celebrate with some Pakhala and Ilisi Machha Bhaja.
 

27th marriage Anniversary

 They say beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder. I say a "BIG YES" to that as I have a fascination for svelte, tall, dusky girls akin to the Bollywood actress Tabu rather than the moon faced, petite girls as they say in Odia the ଡଉଲ ଡାଉଲ "Daul Dowl" types. My teenage crush was the tall American actress Brooke Shields. It is said that if a Brahmin who has his BRATA GHARA (Thread ceremony) done,  but dies unmarried turns into a BRAHMA RAKHYASA (The Champion Ghost). I made a promise to myself that I would rather die single and become a BRAHMA RAKHYASA than marry a girl who is less than 5 feet 5 inches tall. So no wonder the moment I saw her as a stunning 5 feet 7, I simply fell for her.

It just seems like yesterday our long journey began when I tied the marital knot with my wife Tanujaa this day exactly 27 years back. Remembering the day more than a quarter of century ago, it was a whole different era. The earth has revolved around the sun 27 times since, the world has evolved much more.

During that time the economy of the sole Superpower America was booming under President Clinton. On December 11, 1998 the term social media was strictly fantasy. 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 a decade later in year 2008. The same year America had its first Black President in Barack Obama. Anybody predicting a Black President of USA a decade from 1998 would have been laughed off as a dreamer. 

Donald Trump of "Trump Tower and Casino" fame was still a New York based Casanova groping pretty girls. Predicting such a reckless vagabond as a twice elected President of the world's most powerful nation would make someone suspected of smoking something. Japan was still ahead of China in terms of GDP, giving America run for money whereas China and India were just emerging economies, global supplier of cheap goods. 

Whatsapp then sounded more like "What's Up", a way to greet rather than a mode of message sharing. Twitting is that ignorable sound from the window made by a little birdie in Spring or on those dog days of summer, rather than a celebrity's message to the world or Donald Trump's tool to massage his gargantuan ego. Apple was the fruit which famously kept Doctors away, connecting it to a phone was a Science fiction writer's fantasy.

Cell phone then resembled a foot long Subway sandwich, using it to take a picture was an innovator's challenge. Many flaunted this new gadget during our marriage ceremony as their newly acquired status symbol, extending its footlong antenna for public view to show off their new toy. You still had to pay for incoming calls in India on mobiles. In US the cell phones had their own share of restrictions, with calls made after 9 PM and weekends were free. Browsing Internet was still called surfing and visiting websites on cell phones was a distant pipe dream.

The name Modi was associated with the iconic Tata man Russy bearing the same last name and his daily breakfast of 12 egg omelet, not Narendra and his expandable 56 inch chest. Imagining the nondescript man, just another politician from Gujarat as India's future third term Prime Minister would be an outright hallucination demanding some urgent psychiatric treatment. Naveen Patnaik was regarded a tyro, a political novice misfit to Odisha milieu for his inability to speak Odia, expected to get trampled over soon by his more seasoned rivals and move back to his comfort zone in Delhi.

US Green Cards taking 3 years to get after the initiatial paperwork submission was considered too long. Cars were still playing audio cassettes and electric cars were toys. The ubiquitous Blockbuster store (now extinct) in every strip mall was renting VHS tapes of movie "Titanic" like hot cakes. Calls to India from the United States costing a dollar a minute excluding a plethora of hidden charges was considered a superb deal. Whirring of the Dial Up 56 kb MODEM was the ubiquitous familiar sound before getting connected to the world wide web (www). And much more...

27 years down the road, the world has seen many transformational changes, shrinking further into a global village with Google and latest AI having answer to everything, creating a new breed of SUBZANTAWALLAs (Know Alls). Not everything stood the test of time in the fast changing, more than quarter of a century.

Yet thousands of nautical miles away, nothing much has changed in our relationship as we are still knotted together, as time flies, life trudges on, reminding us of reaching yet another milestone in form of another Marriage Anniversary. 

The unreliable Middle class

 Laloo Yadav, the veteran politician from the Indian state of Bihar, known for his earthy remarks once said - "AGAR GARIB KA DIL KISI PE A GAYA, TO APNI JAAN TAQ LAGA DETE HAIN", if the heart of a poor person gets fixated on something, he puts his life into it. Being a grassroot politician from one of the poorest of poor states in India, he had a point about describing the poor.

But he wasn't the first who noticed this trait in those who belong to the deprived section in India. Years ago before Laloo was born, Mahatma Gandhi, India's Father of Nation figured this out. A smart strategist, Gandhiji realized the importance of assimilation of the underprivileged mass and class in India's Freedom movement against the British occupation. So, he started calling the poor and downtrodden folks from the lower strata of the society as "HARIJAN" (Children of God). He knew very well that most from the upper class were in the pocket of British, the middle class couldn't be trusted as they are selfish and change their allegiance at drop of a hat, their color more often than chameleon, but the poor class, if motivated can come to the front and take the blow from the LATHI (stick) of British police on their chest. Those from Upper and the Middle class, all creatures of comfort would rarely do that.

Talking about the fickle and unreliable Middle class, it reminds me of a scene from 1974 Amitabh and Rajesh Khanna Bollywood starrer "NAMAK HARAAM". As the movie progresses, Amitabh is advised by his rich father not to trust his friend Rajesh Khanna, because the later was from the middle class. The rich dad played by veteran actor Om Shiv Puri warns his son - "Your friend is not doubt a good guy, but belongs to the middle class. Folks from that class, though vouch on their ideology and principles, are also ambitious and hence could turn treacherous. They perennially look for an opportunity to move up, hence they can easily drop their pretense of ideology to do anything to climb up the social ladder. Keep in mind my dear son, most ambitious folks come from this middle class who can be dangerous and should never be trusted."

Very apt and prophetic statement. People from the Upper class born with silver spoon in mouth mostly have a smooth sailing and stay closer to the establishment. The barely ambitious lower class may look forward to their next meal, but can give their life for the cause they believe in. The middle class always has this feeling, "I would love to be there at top one day but I am not there yet, may be one day in this life". If I miss this chance to get it through treachery, I may not get a 2nd chance in life.

They day dream about reaching the status of those "haves". Competition is cut throat and jealousy is the highest amongst middle class. Some of them are capable of doing anything and everything, by hook or crook for the sake of upward mobility, to grab money, power and social recognition. The burgeoning middle class in last few decades just strives hard to do that, a desire to get rich overnight at any cost. They are the ones who are pretty much responsible most corruption and scams we see these days, as many corrupt Netas (leaders) and Babus (Bureaucrats) happen to be from this class. The tall ambition of the middle class told to the tall actor Amitabh by his father played by Om Siv Puri years ago still thrives.

In a more recent Hollywood movie "INSIDE MAN" the actor Clive Owens takes a bank into hostage. He blackmails the Bank owner using a letter he finds from a safe deposit box given to the Bank owner by Nazi authorities years ago during World War II in recognition to his service to the Nazis. The kidnapper keeps that note as his insurance, a safety net in case the banker turns revengeful in future.

The dejected Bank owner narrates his story to the actress Jodi Foster who was trying to mediate a deal - "During the Nazi occupation of France, my rich Jewish friend trusted me with his family's money and jewelry. I was young and ambitious, betrayed my Jewish friend to the Nazis who took him away to the concentration camp from where he never returned". The middle class man soon became rich by establishing his banking empire with his betrayeal blood money and his Nazi connection.

Chanakya, ancient India's legendary teacher, strategist and advisor to Chandragupta of the Maurya Dynasty famously said - "Never trust an ambitious person who can easily betray you to achieve goal". He wasn't far from truth. We live in an era where thoughts fly in twinkle of an eye, but the basis human nature hasn't changed since Chanakya lived around 300 BC.

Socrates - the maverick Brazilian Soccer player

The legend of Brazilian soccer, Socrates died this day, this month 14 years ago. He was unique of his kind, a rare multifaceted, contradictory and controversial talent. Apart from being a brilliant swift dribbler of the ball and a threat to Brazil's opponents, he was also a qualified Doctor, yet a smoker who loved to get soaked in alcohol, a rarity amongst sportsmen. Socrates was a maverick man, a player of caliber who happened to have captained a highly talented Brazilian World Cup squad in 1982 and a key player in 1986 - a team who should have won both the Cups but couldn't.

If you followed soccer in the 1980s, Socrates was that slim, bearded, wearing yellow jersey with Bandana and curly haired captain of the 1982 and 1986 Brazilian squad which was probably the best soccer team which never won the World Cup. Though eclipsed by the likes of his better known compatriots Pele, Zico, Romario, Ronaldo, Ronaldinho, Neymar et all from a nation who produces soccer players of class dime a dozen, this midfielder carved his niche with his swift, devastating counter attacks. A gifted midfielder Socrates could be of dangerous proposition to any opponent with his unpredictable moves catching the opponents unguarded.

I remember him being the captain of 1982 Brazillian World Cup Soccer Team when as a 13 year old I started following international football seriously. The team was managed by the legendary chain smoking Tele Santana who believed that attack is the best method of defense. The star studded Brazilian team with the likes of Zico, Socrates, Falcao, Eder, Junior breezed into the quarters. The legendary Pele boasted "Playing like this we are going to win the Cup". And everyone thought so, similar to Indian cricket team was expected by most to win last 50 overs Cricket World Cup held in India as it won all the matches until it lost the final to Australia.

The Quarterfinals of the 1982 World Cup was in a league format with Argentina (with a promising 21 year old Maradona in their side), Brazil and Italy clubbed together in a group of death, with one team to qualify for the semifinals. In the all important match Brazil, the overwhelming favorite Samba team needed just a draw against a struggling Italy to qualify for semifinals. 

But Paolo Rossi who had a lack luster tournament until then crashed the Brazilian dream with a hat trick as Italy narrowly won the match 3-2. Italy eventually went on to win the Cup. Clearly the marauding Brazilians let their defense down while focusing too much on blitzkrieg and paid the price. Believing too much on attack, the Brazilians left loopholes in their defense for Rossi to capitalize.

In the 1986 version of the Cup in Mexico city, famously known as "Maradona's hand of God" World Cup, Brazil was every one's favorite dream team. In the match against Poland, Socrates scored a philosophical goal, when he took the penalty shot looking aloof, pointing his fingers in one direction, putting the ball inside the net on the other side. He confused the goalkeeper with his guile, as the goalkeeper moved in the direction of Socrates's finger as the later netted the ball into the goal.

But in the crucial Quarterfinals against France, Socrates tried repeating the same, but it turned out to be a mistake repeated. This time the French goalie read him right, blocking the ball. It cost the Brazilians the match and the Cup. A world cup win, which would've been a fitting finale to a genius's marvelous career remained elusive.
Socrates continued to practice medicine after he retired from the game, a genius who was a world class soccer player as well as a medico, who later dabbled in politics. He wrote blogs and was often seen on TV panels to discuss soccer and politics.

He was 57 when he died of complication due to his long stint with alcoholism, on December 5, 2011. A tragic fallacy of human weakness - a doctor who succumbed to something he must have advised others not to do, whose ill effects he must been well aware of. RIP, the maverick genius.

Bhopal gas tragedy 1984

 Exactly 41 years ago, the killer waves of MIC (Methyl Iso-Cyanate), a highly toxic gas engulfed the skies of sleepy township of Bhopal in the state of Madhya Pradesh in India. Many who were peacefully sleeping, would never wake up again, only to breath their last in the form of the poisonous air. A leakage in the local Union Carbide plant killed thousands and maimed many when the Knight of Death visited that night.

This incident popularly known as the "Bhopal Gas Tragedy" had its consequences. The value of Union Carbide Chief in India, Warren Anderson from USA was so valuable that he was helped by the then Madhya Pradesh Chief Minister Arjun Singh who flew him out of the city on his way out of country. He couldn't have done this without the tacit approval of his all powerful boss in Delhi, Rajeev Gandhi who barely a month ago was made the Prime Minister of India on the aftermath of his mother's assassination. (Per Congress party culture, its regional leaders can't even go to toilet without the permission of their High Command, aka the Gandhi family at the helm of affairs. It is inconceivable that American CEO Warren Anderson was let go without the knowledge of Prime Minister Rajeev Gandhi).

We go an extra mile to transport an American who does felony in our own homeland miles away to his safety, but whine and protest vehemently when our diplomat is treated shabbily for breaking the law on American soil (ironically this incident happened in the month of December little more than a decade ago in the year 2013). We, the champion practitioners of hypocrisy and double standards, never lose opportunity to accuse Americans of the same.

More than 40 years down the road the justice has been both delayed and denied. Anderson the Union Carbide Chief, died of natural causes in his resident in Long Island, New York not so long ago. He refused to meet any Indian reporter and hardly took ownership of the disaster nor offered any tangible benefits towards the families of dead and the injured. Those who survived the Bhopal gas tragedy had to go through a lifetime ordeal, many of whom became maim for rest of their lives were given compensation thrown at them in peanuts - a tardy too little, too late. 

Have we learned anything from history about industrial safety and bringing rich and mighty felons to justice ? Your guess is as good as mine.

Our Day of tryst with Lord Jagannath

 This Thanksgiving Day reminds me visiting my sisters in Chicago ago. The windy city was considered considerably colder compared to Georgia where I live. We made a trip to the local Jagannath temple of the local Odia society where my sisters are actively involved.

It was the day of our tryst with CHAKADOLA (Round Eyeballs) - one of myriad lovable ways of addressing Lord Jagannath by us Odias. Our Lord was well ensconced inside a small house by the large hearted Odias who are a section of the devoted devotees from the Sri Jagannath Society Of Greater Chicago temple. The icy chilled abode soon warmed up, as the heating cranked up inside the building, followed by the high decibel cranking of hand held GHANTA (lummox cylindrical brass plates hit with stick) and GINI (runt, ear shaped pair of brass, more shoothing to the eardrums).

As the puja juggernaut trudged ahead, the sound transported me back down the memory lanes on a Time Machine, when on the night of DASHAHARA (Dussera) festivals, chariot carrying our village diety would roll on the narrow, dusty track in between the lines of thatched roofs. It would make intermittent stops in front of houses, as the designated priest would climb the stairs made from MANKADAA PATHARA (black poked sedimentary rock) leading to the main door.

He would swivel his GINI (another conical device made from brass) on his left arm and swirl few drops of water around the BHOGA, the sacred offering of PITHA (rice and lentil based cakes) from the household, uttering OM HING KLING NAIBEDYAM SAMARPAYAMI (O' lord, I offer thee these pious offerings).

Soon the priest will walk down, followed by urchins from the household joining the melee, chasing the chariot. Most of them who invariably wore loose fit outfits, frantically lift their short pants which frequently slip off as they chase the chariot amidst the haze of dust lifting up under lantern lights.

The incessant cacophony from the GHANTA continued, as the chariot juggernauts ahead. I queried a fellow village youth, what a particular tune of DHAIN DHAIN DHAIN... DHAIN DHAIN DHAIN means. He told me it rhymes with,

AHE CHAKA DOLA
TAMA BOPA KALE KHAITHILA KI
BAIGANA SANTULA

Transliterated to English...

O Lord Jagannath
In your father's generation,
Did you ever ate soup of boiled Eggplant ?
Now I could mentally tune in to the local context,

AHE CHAKA AKHIA
TAMA BOPA KALE KHAITHILA KI
CHICAGO PIZZA

O Lord Jagannath.
In your father's generation
Did ya ever had Chicago Pizza sessions.

Now back to the temple an interesting episode awaited us. It depicted how we humans are basically elements of contradiction. It would be hypocrite not to admit that we have some semblance of hypocrisy embedded within us.

On that particular day in November, it felt very cold inside the temple as the heating system inside was not working. The Head Priest was already aware of this, but did not inform the Utility guys. The reason being quite silly but not unusual, he felt that he was not properly approached by the members of the temple committee. The man, a 4 feet personna loaded with 4 tons of inflated ego, felt it was punctured as the tyres of a bicycle on a rocky road.

I was patiently listening to the conversation between the priest and other members of the core temple management committee. Finally I concluded that it was nothing but priest's BIG ego which put a spanner in the wheels. In the meantime I noticed a few lines in Sanskrit scribbled on the temple wall AHAM BHAV ATMA KE LIYE KHARAB HAI.. meaning "Ego is bad for the soul". Earlier the same evening the Priest also mentioned the same during his 30 minutes long PRAVACHAN (sermon).

When it was time to leave, I asked the priest "PANDITJEE (Respected priest), can you please explain those lines written in Sanskrit on the wall to me ?" He duly obliged. I thanked him, did my NAMASTE (Indian tradition of greet and good bye).

As I started walking towards the exit door, I heard the Priest's voice from behind - "Dash Jee, I have a feeling you knew the meaning of those lines but still asked me". He shied and continued " I agree, we don't always practise what we preach. That's why we are mere humans needing guidance from God".

I chuckled back when a burst of howling chilly Chicago wind at my face gusting through the semi-open door reminded me to run towards the warm comforts of my car. Late that night I heard that to every one's delight the priest did a volte-face and agreed to call the maintenance folks to fix the heating, the first thing next morning.

Anniversary of Mumbai's 26/11

 Whenever I travel to India, I am forced to take a break in Delhi or Mumbai for few hours before catching the connecting flight to my hometown Bhubaneswar. On my return journey if I have time, I take time to spend some time in those cities. Never ever I fail to take the opportunity to talk to the cabbies and commoners to gauge the pulse and the mood of our nation.

In Mumbai the outsiders are often branded as GUJJU (Gujuratis), GULTI (Telugus), MALLU (Malayalis) and so on depending on their states of origin. Not sure what they call Odias behind their back - probably folks from the state of Odisha are insignificant, not numerous or influential enough to earn a specific tag. The South Indians as a whole are packaged as "YENDU GENDU WALLE", poked fun of their accent, often put under the same bucket as Behenc**d (sister slammer) Madrasis as they are called in Delhi.

The worst in Mumbai is reserved for the Biharis (any one from the cow belt is considered as a Bihari including those from UP) who are regarded as betel chewing, foul mouthed, smelly, dirty ones living in squalors. They are accused of having a criminal bent of mind compared to the cultured, broadminded and brave heart Marathis. The Bihari cab drivers reciprocate by accusing the Marathis of being arrogant, snobbish and intolerant to outsiders. Folks lose no opportunity to backbite each other community, often in a deregatory way. So much about the much boasted cosmopolitan fabric of Mumbai where reality is every community speaks ill of each other behind their back.

But a notable difference was little more than a decade and half ago when I was travelling through Mumbai barely a week after the 26th of November, 2008. The patriotic fervor was high on aftermath of the infamous 26/11 incident when terrorists from Pakistan caused multiple deaths and injuries inside the city. My brother-in-law, my wife's cousin Saurav Mishra was one of such victims who took a bullet at Leopold Cafe when he was sipping coffee with his friends. Luckily he  survived as bullet hit his shoulder.

On that day I didn't come across any community specific character assassination by anyone in an apparent show of unity which overrode the all pervading parochial feelings.
It is said that crisis can be the best leveller - a tiger and a goat are known to live in peaceful coexistence and collaboration when cornered inside a boat during flood. No wonder Cricket and Pakistan, especially when both juxtaposed together brings the best Indian out of us which is divided along caste, communal, linguistic, regional lines.

It also didn't go unnoticed to me the lack security in the Mumbai Airport inside and out barely a week after this heinous crime. You would expect a Fort Knox at the Airport and it was far from it. Have we learnt any lessons from this attack ? Are we better off more than a dozen years after this incident. Your guess is as good as mine. Yet as mentioned earlier by my friend Ambika Prasad Mahapatra aptly reminds of this fateful day.

A Blood thirsty nation
A dozen rotten souls
An incompetent State
A few brave hearts
Hundreds of innocent victims
Thousands of devastated families
Millions of vulnerable commoners.
And the line - "We salute the Mumbai spirit"..

Death Anniversary of JFK

 On this day, on a fine bright, sunny, late Fall November morning in the year 1963, at strapping 6 feet 1, a young, handsome and charismatic American President John F. Kennedy touched down at the Dallas Love - Field Airport accompanied by his elegant wife, Jacqueline 'Jackie' Kennedy just before noon. Jackie was pretty in pink from head to toe, including a fetching pink pillbox hat shining on her head. The American President popularly addressed as JFK, dashing as always, was outifitted in a grey suit and blue tie. They made a stunning couple.

Tragedy is known to strike at the most inopportune time. The Presidential motorcade passed through Elm Street near Dealy Plaza in Dallas with JFK and the First Lady perched upon a Convertible Limo, smiling and waving to the crowd gathered on his right. Suddenly at 12.30 PM local time, three fatal shots, fired by an assassin Lee Harvey Oswald hit him in succession as he slumped into his wife's lap. Jackie held him muttering forlornly repeatedly: 'They have killed my husband'. This happened exactly 62 years ago.

JFK's Assassination is a major event in the history of last century. Though Americans make fun of the British for their obsession with their Royal family the Kennedys are treated no less than Royalties in USA. Conspiracy theories galore the untimely death of their Camelot President who once told the British Prime Minister - "I get a headache if I don't have sex every day". Multiple women who had affair with JFK found him irresistible. To many he looked like a Greek God.

Lee Harvey Oswald who killed JFK was shot dead only 48 hours later by Jack Ruby, a Dallas nightclub owner who had terminal cancer. He died soon after killing Lee Harvey Oswald, eliminating any thread which could lead to the identity of the real killer. In the movie JFK, Oliver Stone says that President Kennedy was shot from close, the back of his skull was blown away. But later after autopsy it was found to be intact, leading to myriad conspiracy theories.

I have visited the room in Dallas, Texas, now an exhibit for visitors, from which Oswald supposedly fired his shots. From the window one can see the spot where the President was shot at. Firing from a bolt action Rifle from that range and hitting a target on a moving vehicle one has to be a damn lucky shooter. 

Never mind the conspiracy theories, nobody has captured the public imagination of Americans as the Kennedys. Couple of JFK's speeches "Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country " and "We should not negotiate out of fear nor we should fear to negotiate" still resonates with many, raising goosebumps. A truly inspirational and charismatic figure during a trip to NASA he told the scientists to send a man to moon by the end of 60s decade. The idea which sounded crazy at that moment came true in 1969, just before the end of that decade as he envisioned. An inspiring leader, sadly JFK never lived to see the day of moon landing.

The legacy of the Kennedys has never died. Many still remember JFK and his charismatic younger brother Robert (Bobby) Kennedy who was assassinated on June 5, 1968 just after winning the California Primaries for the Democratic Party in the corridor of Ambassador hotel in Los Angeles. The youngest of the brothers, Edward (Teddy) Kennedy lived much longer, being a Senator from the state of Massachusetts for long time. He was controversial too, linked to the death of a young girl in an accident whom he supposedly impregnated. It is said that the Joseph Kennedy, the father of the Kennedy Brothers who was an Ambassador to England had the reputation of a notorious womanizer and it is said his son's inherited his traits. Yet the Kennedys were patriots. Teddy Kennedy is still remembered for his famous speech at the Democratic Convention of 1980 - " The work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives, and the dream shall never die". The American dream lives forever.

RIP Nirakara Satapathy

 It seemed to be another regular day yesterday as Nirakara Satapathy, my friend from REC (now NIT) Rourkela, a Mining Engineer working in a high level position for the Public Sector Coal India Limited and posted in Talcher, Odisha came back from his office to his residencial quarters in a sleepy, quite neighborhood around 8 O'clock from his regular day at work. He ate his dinner around 9.30 PM (unlike in USA where folks are done with dinner by 7 PM, in India its quite normal to have dinner late after 9 PM).

An hour later about 10.30 PM he lied on bed, catching up with office work on his laptop. Then he had a sudden chest pain and  collapsed. His wife immediately called his friends and colleagues who took him to the hospital where he was declared brought dead.
This incident came as a bolt from the blue for everyone. Nirakara's wife is inconsolable. His only child, his daughter who was in Rajasthan rushed back to Odisha upon receiving the news. From what I heard his last rites were completed in his native Katatpur in Puri district.

Nirakara Satapathy, a gentleman with a tall and lanky physique, was a genuinely loving and caring person. Heavily engaged in social service, he used to attend and organize numerous blood donation camps for the sick and needy during our Engineering college days. He spent a whole lot of time caring after patients in Ispat General Hospital, popularly known as IGH in Rourkela.

Fond of food, he left his mark during as Mess Secretary (the guy in charge of meals) in our Hostel in REC. He was conspicuously different from others as he took a lot of care and made every effort to ensure that the tastiest food was prepared and served ending up in a reasonable mess bill which formed the bulk of expenses during our students days when a highly subsidized tutution fee cost us no more than Rs.150 (About $15) a semester, something unthinkable these days.

Nirakara was simple, soft spoken and well behaved. One fine evening during our final year of Engineering in Hostel - 5, Nirakara who was looking for a volunteer to donate blood put a handwritten note in our mess notice board, which is normally located at the entrance of the dining hall where in order to get the boarders attention. The notice read something like this, "A man in IGH is running after the life of his wife. Please sacrifice by donating your blood and so on.." - Nirakara Satapathy. When I saw the note, I pulled out a pen and put a line under his signature "M.A. in English, Oxford University". A lion hearted guy, rather than getting angry he laughed and said - "This wit and humor carries Sambeet Dash's signature (Nirakara never took himself seriously and was good at laughing at himself, a rare quality. It needs to be noted that our friend Nirakara was pretty good in English. Remember, in our time the cream of Odisha used to clear the REC JEE or the Joint Entrance Examination. He just wrote it in haste). Those were the days !

After a long hiatus, we hooked up with each other on Facebook in the year 2012. Later on I found that he is the "SADU" (brother-in-law) of my talented, artist friend Surajit Dash. It's a small world. Politically Nirakara and I aligned a lot with similar points of view. Like me, he was disillusioned with both Congress Party and BJP, putting his weight behind the Aam Aadmi Party (AAP), again to get frustrated with Kejriwal's tantrums and idiosyncrasies. But unlike me he was very spiritual in nature, his idols being Ramakrushna Paramhans and Swami Bibekanand.

Nirakara Satpathy's untimely demise is a wake up call for all of us. Now that we are at peak of our middle age it's time to wake up and smell the coffee. It's a tell tale reminder about maintaining healthy habits, moderation on splurging, regular exercise and check up is the key before it becomes too late.

As I finish writing my obituary, I am tersly reminded of this Hindi song, an ode to the nicest of human beings whose repertoire of affection towards our family was never empty.

ZINDAGI SAU BARAS KI SAHI,
ZINDAGI KA BHAROSA NAHI;
CHAAND CHHOOP JAE KAB KYA PATA,
CHANDNI KA BHAROSA NAHI.

Transliterated..

Life is for living hundred years,
But destiny is unreliable forever;
Never know when moon can go into hiding,
For Moonlight is not worth relying.

May God give strength to his family to overcome the grief in this torrid times. Be happy in heaven my friend. Om 🕉 Shanti.

Day After Sachin's retirement

Legendary Indian cricketer Sachin Tendulkar retired on this day exactly a decade ago. Post retirement he commented - "I made tea, had a lovely breakfast with my wife." Here is what the little birdie told me about the activities as the day progressed.

He had switched off his mobile to take a break from the congratulatory messages pouring in much heavier than rain in Mumbai at the peak of monsoon season. After a light lunch followed by a brief nap he switches his mobile on to call an old friend Rahul Dravid to get some clarification about the post retirement benefits - the LIC, Postal Saving certificates and the SBI Fixed deposits.

Next day morning some one told the master blaster that he has not done justice to his huge fan base from the nondescript state of Odisha on the east coast. "Odisha ?" he chuckles. "Ah, the evergreen Barabati Stadium where I played many matches. Now I remember".

The maestro was reminded that the day is CHHADAKHAAI, i.e., the day after KARTIK PURNIMA (the full moon day) when the Odias make trip to the local fish market. They do it to break the logjam of their long absence from their favorite non-vegetarian food. This hiatus can be an entire month for those more devoted ones or its 5 day substitute called PANCHUKA - the abstinence from non-veg food intake for the most at the fag end of it. (Non vegetarian food in India simply means food which isn't vegetarian, which can include but not limited to meat, fish, eggs, shrimp, crabs).

Our Sachin Babu suddenly thought of doing something to connect to his huge fan base from that state. The little master grabs a small white bag and dusts off the Scootie to make a trip to the local fish market. As he wasn't aware of the sky rocketing inflation he spent a good 5 minutes bargaining for the piece of ROHU (a popular fish in Odisa) he liked.

After making the payments and collecting the change he was last heard rushing towards the vegetable market, taking dictations from his wife with his head tilted left to support the mobile between his left shoulder and ear. Post retirement the master blaster has a new boss in his house...

Bihar Election results 2025

Bihar's election results have came out. As expected JDU - BJP Alliance came to power. What wasn't expected was the clean sweep made by the alliance, winning no less than 80% of total seats which came as surprise to almost all psephologists and political pundits on media, social or otherwise.

Though this margin of victory is surprising, it's not entirely impossible in India's classic multi party system. A well known political consultant Prashant Kishore who formed his own party and contested Bihar election could pull about 5% of votes, not significant enough to win a single seat, but enough to cause damages to other parties, e.g. RJD-Congress alliance which pulled some 25-30% votes, enough to pull large crowds and road shows. But unfortunately did didn't necessarily translates to vote on the ground.

Indian electoral process is complex. A lot of factors like caste, communal, regional, local come into play during the election process, especially in the caste and communal ridden cowbelt, with their respective majority and minority community vote banks. I noticed this during my short stint in North India in early 1990s when my boss Mr. Sharma jee shamelessly favored me when he came to know that I am a Brahmin. It's another matter he was quite shocked when he came to know that I was a goat and chicken eating Brahmin.

But one major factor the political pundits/consultants ignored is the power of woman voters, the largest, unrecognized minority vote bank. BJP which has mastered the art of winning elections figured this out and it looks like a whole bunch of them fell for the  announcement of Rs.10,000 towards women where as RJD-Congress had hardly anything to offer other than running on an anti - Modi/Nitish platform. A negative campaign against your opponent isn't always enough to take you across finish line. You need to provide a better, tangible alternative. Rich, poor or middle class, a farmer or pauper, it always feels good to see some extra money deposited into your bank accounts, whether it is form of doles or remuneration.

Secondly, a politician named Owaisi from MIM, an Islamic party based in Hyderabad filed candidates several seats in Bihar. Seen as BJP's Trojan Horse, this guy, a self proclaimed protagonist of rights for Muslims in India snatched away some crucial votes from the Muslim community who normally vote against BJP en block. My 2 cents, even a 2% vote swing can make a huge difference. MIM exactly did that by winning only 5 seats, but in that process it took away 2% Muslim votes, cutting into RJD-Congress vote bank and handing JDU-BJP a massive victory. It is rumored that BJP keeps Owaisi's accounts overseas well stacked as a token appreciation for him helping the Hindu nationalist party in the Muslim populated constituencies.

A third factor, a la 14 years of misrule by JB Patnaik led Congress in Odisha set the foundation stone for BJD rule for 24 years, similarly because of long 15 year rule of Laloo, BJP-JDU alliance is still winning. Also let's not forget that compared to the rampant Goondaism, extortion, kidnapping Raj in Bihar during Laloo's regime, Nitish Kumar has provided a cleaner administration compared to those dark days of Bihar to which no one wants to go back. BJP's money and strategy combined with Nitish Kumar's "Susashan Babu" (Good administrator gentleman) image worked like magic for the alliance and no wonder they made a clean sweep.

Just because someone's grandmother was a great politician, there is no guarantee that the grandson or granddaughter would excel in politics. It certainly doesn't work that way. Congress party which ended up with only 6 seats in a state it ruled for years should look for someone else outside the family as game changer. It's time for the Party to wake up and smell the coffee. Otherwise, their brand of being losers is going to continue for a while !

Happy birthday Jawaharlal Nehru

I remember this classic Bengali movie "AKALER SANDHANE" (In Search of Famine) made by the legendary film maker Mrinal Sen. It aptly depicts the milieu during the famous Bengal famine in the early 1940s which coincided with the 2nd World War. I still vividly remember this scene. As War planes criss crossed the blue Bengal sky, a famished woman ran across a parched paddy field which should be normally lush green with rice plants, shouting at top of her voice "DEKH, UDOJAHAJ, UDOJAHAJ" (See, Airplane, Airplane).

The scene was quite symbolic, aptly metaphorical. When the British and Germans were flying airplanes we were clapping and chasing those objects like mirage, ecstatic at the mere sight of them. This depicted our backyard stage when we got our independence in the year 1947 and Jawaharlal Nehru became India's first Prime minister at a time when British left India in penury. These days, those who are critical of Nehru should not forget that when he took over as its first Prime Minister, India wasn't a Nuclear power with world's 4th largest GDP, rather a basket case of hunger, poverty and illiteracy, same among the bracket of sub-Sahara African nations.

Nehru led India for 17 long years. There were many interesting anecdotes ascribed to him. Once during his visit to London a leaflet for the occasion was released by the Indian High Commission proclaiming - "BANDIT Nehru in town, inadvertently replacing P by B, so Pandit Nehru became Bandit Nehru). And the rumor was that he had a thing for Lord Mountbatten's wife Edwina. On another occasion immediately after arriving in London he went alone to meet Lady Mountbatten at midnight at her residence when her husband was out of town. The nosey British press followed the scent and the next day a picture of Lady Mountbatten bidding Good Bye to Nehru in front of her house was flashed on front on British Newspapers - "Lady Mountbatten's midnight visitor". Nehru was single and widower for a long time.

Nehru wasn't perfect as a man and a leader (neither the leaders of those now critical of him. In fact many of his current critics and their kids took full advantage of institutions created by him). Whatever flaws he might had, credit should be given where credit is due. He had civilized views, a modern approach towards education, hated the superstitions and stereotype dogmas plaguing the society. India whom the British left in financial doldrums needed a socialist boost to its economy as ouside investment would not have been popular in India at a time India just got its independence after being plundered and ruled by invaders for thousands years (post war Britain preferred Labor Party, got rid of their war hero Churchill for the same). 

Nehru built modern infrastructures like Steel Plants, Ports and Dams across India. He envisioned Engineering Institutes like IITs and NITs whose students made their share of contributions to nation. Many who have passed out of these elite institutes of India and their kids are working in MNCs are champion hypocrites who have turned virulent critics of Nehru. They should know that what and where their children are today is due to the vision of this man whom now they so much love to hate.

Nehru's current detractors should remember that India was not a $3.9 trillion economy in 1947. The idols of current right wing haters of Nehru, a la RSS, Hindu Mahasabha et all who had a history of siding with British were neither visionaries nor indulged in any nation building activities when India got its independence. An open free market economy at that juncture arguably could have taken us in the path of some Latin American Banana Republics plauged with 1000% inflation. (However we should have jettisoned socialism a la the Chinese in 1970s but Nehru wasn't there at that time and his insecure daughter Indira lacked vision to liberalize when many Asian nations did).

Though visionary, Nehru was an idealist, not pragmastic. His appeasement foreign policy towards China badly backfired as the untrustworthy Middle Kingdom backstabbed by attacking India in 1962. He couldn't recover from the shock, fell ill and died in May, 1964.

But the man left his mark. Today we might still be clapping and running in fields with joy when a Boeing wheezes pass overhead, convinced that it's non other than Ravan's PUSHPAK BIMAN. But thanks to Pandit Nehru's initiatives we were saved from getting adrift from the development narrative. On Jawaharlal Nehru's 136th birthday today we need to give credit to the man for his vision and positive contributions to India.

The famous Bodyline Series

 It is worth remembering Harold Larwood on his birthday today, his tryst with the famous or rather infamous Bodyline Series of 1932-33, more than 90 years ago. The English fast bowler of the day, bowling at an estimated blistering speed of 90-100 mph, which was considered very high speed those days totally decimated his Australian opponents. Today happens to be his 121st birthday.

But more importantly he was accused of bowling bouncers on leg side targeting the body of the batsmen, especially directed to containat the Australian star batsman Sir Donald Bradman, a perennial thorn on the English side. For the first time in the history of cricket, a new term was coined named "BODYLINE".

Larwood created havoc in the Australian dressing room when he managed to break the skull of one of their batsmen and injuring several others. He was widely blamed for his unsportsmanlike conduct but had no regret, ascribing his action to following the orders of his wily skipper Douglas Jardine, the protagonist of this idea of Bodyline bowling well within the rules of cricket. The captain defended his tactics, proclaiming that he was too well within the rules laid out in cricket those days - a gentleman's game where aggression was an alien notion.

Needless to say England won the series Down Under. But more importantly, it managed to put a spanner into the wheels of Bradman's juggernaut. The famous Australian who till then scored runs at an average of 100 plus, could manage only a 56 for average in that series, quite unlikely of him.

Many from our generation might remember the TV serial based on the same series, aptly named as BODYLINE and shown on DOORDARSHAN, the only TV channel available in India in the year 1987. This controversial strategy adopted by the English captain Jardine was very unpopular, though well within the rules of the game. It was probably the first blotch in the gentleman's game, which until that point was lily white like the flannels worn by the cricketers.

The English team also had an Indian batsman (India was a British colony at that time) named Nawab of Pataudi Senior, an useful cricketer who incidentally scored a century in that series. I starkly remember a scene where Ashok Banthia playing Nawab Pataudi gets emotional in front of his captain Jardine, "Now Sun must be setting in my motherland India" to which his captain responded with pride - "Sun never sets over the British Empire". It was true during that time. Alas, gone are those days of British glory. Ironically it was the same English who initiated Bodyline bowling to curb Bradman, after being battered by the battery of West Indian and Australian fast bowlers introduced the rule to restrict the number of bouncers per over.

Jardine didn't live very long and died of cancer in 1955. Larwood lived much longer, dying in 1995. Jardine came to India, did some Tiger hunting and posed himself in pictures taken before a fallen tigers, a fad of the time for high and mighty in India. Don  Bradman lived much longer and missed the 100 batting average by a whisker - which he could have easily got but for his meager by his standards average of 56 in that famous BODYLINE series. Almost 100 years since, Cricket has come a long way from its origin England to India to its current epicenter India.

Festival of PRATHAMASTAMI

 Today is PRATHAMASTAMI, a festival very unique to Odisha where the first born child in the family is celebrated being well fed and pampered with new clothing. As the name suggests this celebratory event is held on "ASHTAMI" or the 8th day of the Lunar Month of MARGASHIRA, immediately following the better known festival of KARTIK PURNIMA. On this day, he or she, the eldest child of family goes through a PUJA, or mini worship ritual at home, where especially the women folks of the family pray for long life and prosperity of the kid. 

PRATHAMASTAMI this year comes pretty close to the 18th month Anniversary of my mother's death as per the Tithi (occasion) based on Hindu lunar Calendar where a month is approximately 28 1/2 days, the time taken by Moon to revolve around planet Earth. This is slightly different from the commonly used Solar or Gregorian Calendar across the world where a month consists of 30 days based on the time taken by earth to revolve around the sun. 

Being the eldest child of my parents, it was the day I would wait in eagerness to receive the rock star treatment, my day of celebratory status while it lasted. During my childhood, my mother, for whom I was the Apple of her eyes, would wash me, make me wear a new pair of clothes early in the morning. She wanted to finish the sundry rites early to make sure that her son doesn't stay hungry for a long period of time, as I had to remain in empty stomach until the Puja is performed. The rites would be followed by me breaking fast imbibing the PRASAD (offering to God) consisting of various fruits and sugary edibles.

A few years ago when I was in India during PRATHAMASTAMI, my mother became my alarm, waking me up early in the morning, reminding me of the occasion, prodding me to take a bath while limping across the house due to arthritis to make sure every thing is ready to for the Puja. Post rituals she would be in kitchen preparing a sumptuous lunch of NADIA KHECHADI (Ghee laced yellow rice with freshly grated coconut sprinkled on it), NADIA BARA (coconut cutlet), Puri style DALMA, again with coconut toppings or Sweet Daal, all of which tasted heavenly. During evening it is time for her to make a plethora of PITHA (rice based cakes) - varying from the thinner CHAKULI to the baked variety of slightly larger than Golf ball size "ENDURI PITHA", which no doubt healthy and tasty, but BIRI or lentil component in it produces a lot of gas. My favorite was the rice based MANDAA PITHA stuffed with grated coconut laced with a heavy dose of sweet jaggery. 

These love laced heavenly delicacies have passed on to heaven along with her, like her they exist no more, passed along with her and her generation. Last year there was no PRATHAMASTAMI for me or my son, as per Hindu rituals, no religion festival should be celebrated within the first year of any death in the family. With moisten eyes I still remember my mother never failing every year to call me from India to remind me of the occasion of PRATHAMASTAMI, checking on to ensure that I and his "NAATI" (grandson) wear brand new clothes for the occasion. 

Mummy, I will never be able to pay back your unmatched selfless love you have showered me throughout your entire life. Your love is priceless, purer than the purest spring water sourced from a pristine glacier, the pristine, crispy breeze on a mountain top, purer than 24 carat gold. I will never be able to pay back my debt in this life or next. In conflict with myself, I couldn't but murmur this Kishore Kumar number - 

"LEHRON KI TARAH YAADEIN.
DIL SE TAKRAARI HAI,
TOOFAN UTHATI HAI,
LEHRON KI TARAH YAADEN" - 

"Waves of Memories like waves,
Collides with the heart,
Raising a storm,
Like waves, those memories".  

Time will fly, days will become week, weeks becomes month, months become year, but your memory will last forever, this life or next.