Day I in Bhubaneswar - India trip January 2026

First night after the arrival from traveling across the globe can be painful. A stubborn jet lag can be a real pain in the butt. My body clock simply refuses to relinquish the US Time Zone as I woke up at 2 A.M. in morning. Jet lag for me now seems to get too stubborn to relent as I age. It feels miserable to get up so early in morning, without being able to sleep any further. Kishore Kumar's song from Rajesh Khanna's movie AAP KI KASAM - KARWATE BADALTE RAHE SAARI RAAT HUM (turning sides on bed for whole night) never sounded more prophetic. 

We have installed net across the windows to prevent the mosquitos from getting in and an "All Out" brand repellant in the room in an effort to keep most of them away. But if you think that they are too less in number and too small in size to make an impact, try going to bed with a mosquito in the room. No more than a couple in number, they still kept bothered me as I battled them in darkness to clap them to death.

Thanks to the internet, Facebook and my addiction to blogging, I kept myself busy until the murmurung of mosquito gave way to the tom tomimg of GHANTA (brass plate) from a nearby MATH (monastery) sounded like music to me, more musical than the sporadic KAWALIs (group music) from stray dogs. No sooner the gang of musical mongrels on the Eastern end of the street finished with a seqience of wooo.. wooo..woof.. than their western side competitive cousins responded with their musical version of wooo.. wooo...woof. The Kawali sessions continued for the better part of the night with intermittent 10 - 15 minutes of break.

The long arduous wait in darkness paved way to dawn. The eastern sky grew brighter, turning crimson red as the light slowly drove away the darkness. By now the early rays of morning sun sprinkled the trees with a golden hue, giving their dust covered leaves a shining copper coating. It hasn't rained for a long time in Bhubaneswar, the sporadic winter rains are missing. Lack of precipitation and lot of constructions has converted the temple city into a dusty bowl. The chirping of birds turned louder, so also the sound of GHANTA from the nearby Monastery - sounding the beginning of morning prayer session. Wafted in a Bengali Bhakti (devotional) song through the dust laden mango, jackfruit, coconut and betel nut trees. I could grasp the following stanza - 

JASHODA JANANI DAE, 
BAL KRESHTO KHAE RE.
SONAR NUPUR BAJE,
HARI JENE JAE RE. 

Roughly transliterated... 

Mother Yashoda gives,
Kid Krishna to eat.
Golden anklet makes sounds,
Wherever God goes around. 

I went over to the balcony to take a peek at the outside world. A Bull was placidly chewing cud under a big mound of sand nearly. Couple of mongrels sleeping nearby noticed the tectonic shift in their surrounding as the giant bovine stood up suddenly, shrugging off sand from his body. The doggies shifted further off to a nearby semi-broken concrete culvert, apparently perceived by them as a more secured, safer location. 
One of the dark skinned parish dogs whom we lovingly called "Kaalu" tried to sniff his way near to a man plucking flowers leaning over the nearby fence only to be shooed away - HEY HEY JA JA (Hey, hey, go away). The doggie nonchalantly walked away. From distance approached Newspaperwalla (guy). He swung and threw the paper past our main gate with immaculate accuracy and moved on to the next house.

You must have heard about Sand mafia, Land mafia etc. Have you heard of Flower mafia ? They come at wee hours of the morning, steal flowers from the frontyard gardens and sell them off to the larger market segment. My senior citizen father can hardly do anything to stop them. A very moving morning after my first night's nap in Bhubaneswar.

A jet lag can be an irritant, a nuisance especially for those plying between India and United States. The long journey can put one's body clock out of whack, which varies from individuals who experience little or no jet lag, to those who have to make a trip to the Doctor's office for medication when their jet lag stubbornly refuses to relent. Eventually most get over it. For me it lasts for 3-5 days, now more on the later side as I get older.

Here are a few tips on how to minimize the jet lag. This is hardly scientific, rather based purely upon personal experience. Try not to sleep during the day. Keep yourself busy, sip some caffeine, especially  during late afternoon when your eyelids refuse to stay open. The more you sleep during the day, the longer it takes your body to adapt to the new clock. Also don't forget to drink plenty of water and go easy on food. Don't splurge on fried foods and alcohol when you still have a jet lag, it can cause havoc to your system. 
Last but the least, time is the best healer. Let your body clock take its own sweet time to adjust. If it's already a week since you have landed and the jet lag refuses to go, better see a doctor. More later...

Arrival at Bhubaneswar - India trip 2026

 I was welcomed at the Bhubaneswar Biju Patnaik Airport by a cool and slightly foggy morning (not as bad as Delhi) with the Sun struggling to shine through a hazy hue. There were fewer people inside and outside the Airport, lesser din and bustle, less annoying honking of vehicles and haranguing touts (in local lingo TAUTARs). Old man winter probably drove them into hibernation.

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

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

On reaching home after a long journey of 30 hours spanning over 3 continents and 10 time zones, I badly needed a shit, shave, shower and sleep in my comfort zone of home. Inside the bathroom I turned the faucet on to brush my teeth. Prrrt.. Prrrt.. it farted twice before emitting a thin stream of water which slowly got thicker. The overhead shower wasn't working. So I put water inside a bucket and started pouring mugs after mugs on my head and torso. It was fun to take shower the old fashioned way after a long time and I loved every bit of it. Be Roman in Rome. Through bathroom skylight I could hear the tweeting spree by a bird tweeting "Tweetwoo tweetwoo.. tweetwoo...", with no restrictions on characters to tweet put by its social media counterpart Tweeter.

No sooner I finished eating my typical Puri style home made lunch than I lied down on bed tired after a long journey and jet lag, starting to doze off to the sound of the slow moving overhead fan as midday felt little warmer. On the branch of the nearby mango tree I could hear the coarse cawing of a crow interrupting sweet flute tone of the Cuckoo. It was interspersed with occasional spurts of passing by bikes honking - -"keee..kicky.....", big construction trucks making loud noise, followed by wafting  voices of street vendors - E JHADU NABA JHADU (Want to buy Broom), KAREI NABA KAREI (Want Utensils), E MUDHI MUDHI (Voices selling Puffed Rice).

Back of my mind I thought of avoiding a siesta so that I can better sleep in the night. In a supine pose on bed I started reading the local vernacular Odia newspaper "SAMBADA". Soon I could feel my eyelids refusing to stay open. Didn't realize when sleep overcame me until at twilight I had the deja vu feeling my mother's hand caressing me, waking me up - "Get up my son. Don't sleep any further. Save some sleep for tonight. You have lost weight. Aren't you eating enough these days". I got up, feeling the poor newspaper lying on my side, the smiling face of Odisha's Chief Minister Mohan Majhi on the cover page torn from the middle inadvertently by my elbow when I slumped on it, thanks to my tiring journey of 30 hours. Mom is up in heaven and she is the first thing I miss at home.

A mother's caressing hands on forehead and chest felt so soothing, something I longed for days and months. A mother's love is panacea for all ills. Though she equally loves all her children, she has a special affection for me being her only son and her first child born when she was still in her teens. With passing time her feelings towards me never wavered a bit.

All mothers are alike. Time and again she would ask me - "MO PUA (my son). You must be hungry. Have you eaten anything ?" though I have been munching all the time, trying to make best out from my finite stay. A mother's love for her child is always pure like the water from the mouth of a mountain spring - perennially pristine, unequivocally soothing, unwavering and unflinching. In her voice laced with care and caution, she instructed me to sip my evening cup of hot tea before it gets cold.

My reverie was rudely interrupted when I was served black pepper afternoon tea boiled in ginger. It shugged off my jaded nerves. It trigger me being overcome with a sudden desire to rush to the bathroom. It was 6 PM in India but 7.30 AM morning in America which expained the urge for a trip to toilet. I was reminded though currently in India, I left my biological clock back in USA. More later...

Flight to Bhubaneswar - India trip January 2026

 It was cold and smoky outside Delhi Airport when I stepped outside after managing to drag my 50 lb bag from the carousel amongst the melee of passengers crowding nearby and competing to outsmanoeuvre and outsmart one another to grab their bags. I would never ever risk wearing sandals or light shoes there, lest I want to lose a toe nail or worst a finger. It is not unusual for folks to bump on each other while collecting their gargantuan luggages, occasionally running over them with their trolley, especially on the feet of an absent minded or unsuspecting bystander.

A burst of cold fog welcomed me as I stooped out of the Terminal 3 of IGI Airport rolling my luggage filled trolley to Terminal 2, about a furlong walking distance amidst scores of folks standing outside wearing placards welcoming - Charanjit Sings, Neha Grewals, Vijay Ahujas from So and So Corp. We learnt in our Middle School Chemistry that Air is a mixture of invisible colorless and odorless gases. I could literally see and smell the heavily wet and foggy Delhi air which disproved the age old law of Chemistry. It seemed like pollution stilled the Delhi air as traffic stops at a red light.

While loitering inside the Terminal 2 Airport after checking in and clearing the security before boarding my flight to Bhubaneswar, I saw Samosa displayed at Rs. 250 a piece behind glass cover at a store. It reminded me another saying in Hindi - "BOSS PE BHAROSA AUR AIRPORT ME SAMOSA, DONO MEHNGI PADTI HAI" (Trust on Boss and Samosa at Airport could be costly).

The Air India flight to Bhubaneswar which for years normally starts from from Domestic Terminal 3, was leaving from Terminal 2 this time. No sooner I checked in for my last leg of flight to Odisha's capital, than I settled down on one of several empty chairs next to the boarding area around 4 in the morning. Another 3 hours of waiting before I catch my flight to Bhubaneswar, so I tried to catch up my lost sleep. But the jet lag refused to cooperate. Eyes and ears wide open I spent looking at loitering passengers. Eyes soothed by staring at neatly dressed air hostesses sliding their wheeled bags in one hand and speaking on cell phone on another. Not long ago I could distinctly hear a guy passing by farting loudly, the sound fading away as he marched on, due to what we studied in Physics called sound's  Doppler effect.

As it neared the scheduled departure time of the Bhubaneswar bound flight, the sparcely populated area slowly started filling out. The fog outside forced the sun to take a break to rise above Delhi. A burst of wet fog engulfed me as I stepped into the bus to take me to the termac where my Air India Aircraft meant for my destination was hiding in the misty darkness. I could recognize the typical Odia crowd nearby from their looks, language and mannersism. We Odias have some great civic sense. In one of my earlier trips I saw a guy surreptitiously scratching his private part in public while waiting to board, grimacing with orgasmic pleasure moans of big sighs "Aah, Ooh" laced relief from the itch as the heat and humidity of India can cause real havoc down under. When our eyes met he pretended to adjust his belts with a "Not I" look on his face. 

The Air India flight took off from Delhi turmac slicing through the morning air escaping from the clutches of dense fog to be welcomed by golden sun rays while slicing through thin, low hanging clouds like a hot knife through butter. I looked outside the window. Up in the dust free air the orange sun on the Eastern horizon popped up, looking like the sunny side of poached egg for breakfast. Crimson color cloud on the far eastern horizon suddenly looked like hot lava flowing from a dormant volcano turning active. The world above the clouds is dream, taking you to Cloud 9. The world below it is the reality. The roaring big bird was flying high, whizzing past low lying clouds, enabling me to take a peek outside to get a Bird's eye view. The plane was flying over snow white fleece of cloud looking like a vast cotton plantation. Huge mushroom clouds looked like the snow capped castles of some distant planet in the Guardian of the Galaxy. After 30 minutes in air I could see snow clad Himalayas glittering at a distance. What a lovely view it was !

Years ago I was flying alone to Bhubaneswar on a similar flight. A guy next to me was conspicuously reading The Economics Times. I asked him for his reason for travelling to Bhubaneswar. He said he is on a short trip to Odisha where he envisions future lies in Organic farming as a potential money spinner.

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

Inside domestic flight to Bhubaneswar I have grabbed opportunity to interact with many interesting personalities. Once a man sitting next to me was a garrulous guy full of hot air. He boasted how like Hercules he carries all his company's responsibility on his shoulders and without his expertise it would collapse like a pack of cards. How indispensable he was and has visited all the 75 states of India on various company trips (never knew there were 75 states in India, even if you include the Union territories). 

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

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

Every other year I fly over Bhubaneswar, the city I moved into as a 7 year old in 1976 and never left, sadly I see more concrete and asphalt, less green foliage as the asthetic city once known for its salubrious weather slowly turning into an urban jungle. Peeked below to take a view of the city I grew up with to notice that has outgrown itself. Saw multiple skyscrapers staring at the plane from down below as vehicles looking like match boxes were snaking on the highways. I left Bhubaneswar for good for more than a quarter of a century now, but the city has never left me. Way too many skyrises see from the top have gone over the top. They are becoming a growing environmental concern - gonna to bite this city big time sooner or later.
How contrasting is the worms eye view of the sky from the ground to the bird's eye view from the top. It makes me understand the meaning of the phrase "Down To Earth". When it all seems you are on top of the world, in minutes you are back on the ground. So are the vagaries of life. How much and how high you fly you have to come down - in no time you must descent from 39000 feet to ground zero. Airplane teaches us a lesson on life than anything else. 

I was reminded of this incident when the flight landed at Bhubaneswar close to lunch time, I heard a guy from the front row shouting to his wife to keep the mutton (goat meat) curry ready for his lunch. I quizzed him "Sir, you must be hungry". "Addressing an unknown as Sir on first meet usually impresses, even flatters the person). He responded "Yes, I am. I had been with Gujjus (Gujuratis) in Bombay on a business trip till Sunday. So no luck with meat in my meal. Followed Monday and Tuesday, (vegetarian day for many Oriyas). Today I desperately want to break free with a typical Odia style home cooked mutton curry". The hungry me rolled tongue over my lips as I swallowed a few sips of saliva while remembering this incident as the flight descended on Bhubaneswar.

My day dreaming came to an abrupt end by by the voice of the stewardess "Please keep your seat belt fastened until the plane comes to a full stop". No sooner the announcement was made than I heard incessant clicks of opening up the seat belts. Surrounding me mobile went up likes the hands in a Baba Ramdev Yoga camp followed by chatters announcing arrival. More later...

In Delhi - India trip January 2026

 At Abu Dhabi Airport sitting next to me was a guy who was writing, or rather texting in Arabic script from right to left. I knew that unlike most scripts in the world which are written from left to right, Arabic is written from right to left. It felt bit unusual and odd yet interesting when I actually saw some one actually type so fast from right to left.

Today on airplane to Delhi reminded me of another eventful flight to Delhi couple of years ago. Midway through flight while taking a cat nap, I was suddenly interrupted when a Sardarjee (Sikh) senior citizen in bright brown turban and flowing white beard sitting behind tapped me, gasping heavily, talking in a very thick Punjabi accented Hindi, complaining about shortness of breath. I immediately alerted the Air Hostess. She tried to communicate with the poor man, but was having trouble as she knew only English and French, whereas our Sikh gentleman could speak neither, for he only spoke Punjabi and a very thick accented Hindi I could barely decipher.

So I became an in-flight translator and managed to figure out that the man was having breathing issues from his words "Saans" (breath), "Taqlif" (difficulties) which started from his connecting flight from Canada to Paris which still persisted. The cabin crew made an announcement looking for a doctor. In minutes walked in a lady Doctor of Indian origin who was travelling from Virginia. The issue again was the Doctor, born in Kenya and settled in USA spoke only English and some Gujarati. Glad I could translate the man's feeble Hindi to English. explaining his problem. She measured his BP. It was much higher than normal. She suspected "Sleep Apnea" and suggested putting the patient on an Oxygen mask. It certainly helped as after sometime the Sikh gentleman uttered "Wahe Guru", announcing feeling better. Glad I could help. All the cabin crews, the Sikh man and not to mention the doctor thanked me for my cooperation. Reminded me of Tom Hanks from the movie FOREST GUMP - "Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are going to get". 

The flight to Abu Dhabi to Delhi lasted little less than 3 hours, too short by international flight standard to be eventful. Felt extremely relieved, when the aircraft started to descend over New Delhi with the pilot's voice announced - "Welcome to New Delhi's Indira Gandhi International Airport. It's 3 O'clock in the morning, hazy, 5°C (close to 42° F) outside. 

During one of my earlier trips just before landing at the Delhi Airport came abruptly the voice of an exalted teen sitting close to me exclaiming to his buddy next row, "OI UTTH, BAIN**OD DILLI A GAYEE" (Get up, So and So the sister slammer, Delhi has arrived). More than the pilot, I found the teen's welcome far more enthusiast and the most appropriate way of welcoming to Delhi. As "Jai Maharastra" to Mumbai, Oh' Calcutta to Kolkata, "Jay Jagannath" to Odisha,  Behn**od fits well to Delhi. It was a grandest of grand standing welcome to Delhi, Punjabi style. It is how the self proclaimed Dilwalle Dilli wale (Big Hearted Delhites) often greet each other. Reminded of a limerick alluding to office environment -

ASMAAN MEIN CHAAND HAI,
AUR HAI KITNE TAARE,
YAHA KISI SE BHAROSA MAT KARO,
BAIN**OD HAI SAARE

Roughly transliterated.

"Moon is in the sky,
And also so many stars
Don't trust anyone here,
For everyone is a slammer of sister".

The Terminal 3 of IGI Airport is quite impressive. Restrooms (toilets) were maintained nice and clean. No strong smell of ubiquitous Phenyle and dark brown betel stains at corners of walls. Our International Airports have arrived on the scene and can now be considered truly world class. I saw a digital bill board proudly displaying Mahatma Gandhi's picture, followed by a visual of Chivas Regal Scotch. Ironically the Father of our Nation was never a fan of consumerism, nor he ever extolled us to drink Chivas Regal. Many streets in big cities in India bustling with consumerism are named as M.G. Road, after a man who preached simple living and abhorred consumerism.

Since October last year, you can fill out the immigration form online called e-arrival card. I tried unsuccessfully multiple times 72 hours before travel. It seemed the server was down. Finally I was able to fill out the form before my departure. On the drop down menu on screen when you pick your state in India, it displays "Odisha" as "Orissa". Someone please tell the website developers to change it to Odisha. Such a silly oversight is an apparent step motherly treatment of the state by the Central government. It needs to be noted that we have a "double engine Sarkar" with BJP ruling both the center and state, and if Odisha didn't send 20 MPs to Parliament last time, today BJP would most probably be sitting in the opposition. I breezed through the immigration which was a shoo in for me.

Throughout the journey I watched folks drooling over their smartphones. All heads down like Ostrich, they were busy fingering over the glaring screens of their devices. I have seen this in America, not unusual and unexpected in a nation where individualism rules the roost. But I have observed the same in Europe, Middle East, Singapore and in India. Asian culture is more social and group oriented, where people enjoy a tete-a-tete, even with strangers. I saw many, including Airline crew busy dragging bag in one hand and texting using the other, clinging to their phones and baby sitting their devices.

Last year at Delhi Airport while waiting to catch my connecting flight to Bhubaneswar, the guy next to me was watching some reel where a guy in thick Barhampur accent in full volume on speaker was yelling - "KI KEYLEE AU GAMAATA KARUCHA HEY (So much fun and jokes you are doing) caring a hoot about others sitting close to them. This time I saw many like him. Why can't he use headphones !

Growing up back in the days in India, we use to chat about anything and everything under the sun, covering topics ranging from "NANA BAHA GHARA RU, NANI BAHA GHAR PARYANTA" (From Dad's marriage to Sister's marriage). Perhaps we have gone electronic doing e-Khatti (chit chat) on social media. In the year 1979  barely a 10 year old I had accompanied my Uncle to a play at his Alma Mater Vani Bihar of Utkal University, Bhubaneswar. It was a symbolic Odia play which I could hardly understand then, but now sounds prophetic. I still remember those lines by an actor on stage. 

OTA PAKHI PARI JIBA BHAI 
NAHI NAHI HOIRE,
JIBARE MANISHA SABU
OTA PAKHI HEI JIBARE. 

Roughly transliterated, 

You all will become a Ostrich,
Uttering no no,
Humans will become Ostrich as days go.

We have become Ostriches burying our heads  inside our phones, the way an Ostrich buries its head inside sand. The same drama is now enacted in another era more than 40 years later. The nondescript person who wrote this Odia Drama (play) in 1970s was so prophetic and was certainly way ahead of his time. More later...

India trip January 2026 - Arrival at Abu Dhabi

 Travel opens up myriad frivolous chance encounter opportunities by throwing at us and delivering memorable tryst with human foibles. I am reminded of this funny incident at Heathrow Airport few years ago. A Virgin Airline flight was about to board and names of passengers not boarded yet were called as it was getting closer to the departure time. An Air hostess swung by, shouting at 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 peeing through the corner of their eyes to look at the reactions. Non of them got up to board the flight. We humans are slaves of our inadvertent reflex actions.

I was all excited and bit apprehensive upon my arrival at the Atlanta's Hartsfield - Jackson International Airport, hoping there is no flight delays or any untoward incidents. The light cloud in the distance stratosphere in the sky appeared as if an artist painted white with a broad paint brush on a blue canvas. The late afternoon sun peeking through the clouds, exiting them to spread their golden wings. My Etihad Airlines flight to Abu Dhabi, UAE was on time on a relatively cool winter evening. I thought both the Airport and flight would be sparsely populated considering schools are open post winter break. But I was wrong. We were on a packed flight. With the ever growing expatriate population in US  my observation shouldn't come as surprise.

While waiting to board the aircraft, it was interesting to watch flights taking off and landing in quick succession at Atlanta's Airport, the busiest in the world. This being the peak hour, every couple of minutes an airliner lands or takes off from the ground. Flights lined up one after another in blue sky, their tail emissions forming a string of hazy pearls extending into the horizon, as they wait for their turns to land and take off. The Air Traffic controllers must be doing an amazing job. They are in a profession where error is not an option.

Remembered my school days while travelling in our DM School bus when it stopped at Railway level crossings (those days the roads, the arteries of Bhubaneswar were not clogged yet, no bypass in the form of flyover was necessary over the Railway tracks). As a goods train passed by, we waited inside our school bus, enthusiastically counting the number of bogies. Now I don't have patience to watch flights landing and taking off every other minute, forget about counting them.

The flight to Abu Dhabi entered into calm sky as the sky turned from maroon to black as darkness descended. The night was young and short lived as only few hours layer it entered Atlantic past Greenland, the rising sun rose behind the crimson horizon looking like a gargantuan red vermillion on a Hindu woman's forehead. Due to the diurnal rotation of mother earth, while flying West to East you lose time, see reduced amount of day as night passes by too fast, too soon. Again you gain time flying the other way round, as earth is round, vindicating the fact that what goes around comes around.

A few hours of dozing off was all the sleep I got as I am a frugal sleeper in flights. The short night evaporated as I could see glowing sunlight trying to dazzle through my window seat. I slid down the windows to doze off again through intermittent "ding dong" of bell from passengers solicitating air crew and pilots making announcements to put on seat belts due to occasional turbulence.

Inside the flight fired up by couple of cocktails, watched Liam Leeson fire shots in the farcical movie "NAKED GUN".  Unforunately the movie falls short of its original funny version from 1989 bearing the same name based on Frank Debin, Police Squad. Being a long flight in order to pass time between sporadic naps I looked down to view the snow capped Mont Blanc in the Southern Alps mountain range, emitting stars under the bright morning sun. Clusters of pretty bluish white clouds overlooked the aircraft as it flew over the blue star studded Mediterranean waters. The fleece of clouds would have made Mary of Little Lamb fame proud. The top view of the spotless cloud splintering away looked from the virgin sky a la scores of white furred lambs on move on a bluish - green pasture. It seemed I was looking at a gigantic milk shakes with white cream churned on top.

The day of January 14 seemed to fly fast as I flew eastward. Morning became afternoon, afternoon turned into evening as "Suryadev" (Sun God) was in a hurry to complete His journey. It was the middle of afternoon when the airplane glided over the brown Syrian desert and drab mountains before reaching the shore of Arabian gulf, getting closer to Abu Dhabi Airport piercing through a hazy, dusky desert sky. As the slowly descending gigantic bird lowered itself flying in a low altitude, I could see several light blue Oasis amidst golden sand dunes looking like a giant sand boa taking sunbath under bright, sparkling sunlight. The gulf next to the Airport looked like faded sky blue ink on a dusty sandpaper as the ground looked gray and listless. As the aircraft descended further, the sea looked much brighter like a bubbling fountain with scores of spotless ships looking static from top, a la white rubies garnishing the blue sapphire. As the aircraft was barely few hundred feet above ground the palm trees on drab sand looked like gray black dots pores on a Native American's face on National Geographic Magazine. What looked romantic from far away, isn't so when you get closer to reality.
No wonder they say hill from looks beautiful.
Same you get closer, reality strikes back as familiary breeds contempt.
After a long flight of 14 hours from Atlanta I finally reached the Abu Dhabi Airport.

I decided to stretch my legs before catching my connecting flight to Delhi. Took some time to walk around the glittering Duty Free Shops doing window shopping. Apart from many Europeans and Asians, I saw a good number of Africans wearing long gowns roaming around. Arabians in white cotton helmets, with their female folks tagging along in black attire from top to bottom peeping through tiny slits cut below their foreheads and looking like Knights from Medieval era or  Ku Klux Klan members in black attire for a change. Covid virus won't dare penetrate their impregnable visors of these ladies in Burkha attire from tip to toe, as if a bunch of Penguins were let loose inside the airport.

Almost 3 hours flew fast as four more hours of flight time awaits me when I neared the boarding gate to catch my flight to New Delhi. No more Virgins were solicitated as an Air stewardess started calling names of the last minute passengers boarding. More later...

India trip January 2026 - leaving Georgia

 Jet, set and go. Leaving shortly on a short trip to India which is going to be a long travel spanning across seven seas, thirteen rivers spread through multiple continents. Few hours left before I leave and miles to go before I reach my final destination of Bhubaneswar, the city which grew as I grew up with it in the state of Odisha in India 🇮🇳.

This journey is going to be my 20th trip I have made so far to India from Coke Land in my almost 28 years of living in the United States, that means on an average less than every one and half years I travel to India. I am flying at a time when winter is at its peak in the United States but will be at its fag end in Odisha and spring at the doorsteps of my home back home.

Covid may be down but not completely out. I am fully equipped with the latest Covid shot and paraphernalia of masks to cover my face, in case I face this never ending menace which like that drunk uncle who you don't want to come to your family reunion, but shows up nevertheless. Not planning to do a whole lot of traveling, restricting myself only to Bhubaneswar, the city I grew up with and like one's first love is always close to heart.

A lot of times you don't have much of a choice when you embark on a long journey to India, out of work for 2-3 weeks which is considered long in the United States. However, luckily for me the weather at this time of the year is mostly salubrious in Odisha. I will be arriving a day after "MAKARA SANKRANTI", which is the harbinger of reversal in wind direction when balmy, southern wind gently pushes out the cold wave from North. Unlike the dog days of Indian summer, this time heat won't put a spanner on the wheels of my vacation.
Apart from cricket, arguably it's the weather which unites India, especially at this juncture which now is neither too hot, nor too cold except in North India.

Pre-Spring weather would be in the air of Bhubaneswar. The Mango trees all around would be sprouting their young BAULA (flowers) like little stars in the dark night sky or mini sparkling trinkets on tiny Christmas trees. The Jackfruit trees, plentiful in Odisha would be having tiny, green shoots of its fruit protruding out of its trunks and branches as prairie dogs in vast grasslands of American Midwest popping out of their holes to look around. Come summer, these runt fruits would turn gigantic, hanging like tummies of Sumo wrestlers from the tree trunks, producing aplenty as Bhubaneswar weather is most conducive for Jackfruits.

As the migratory birds fly South on their perfunctory trips during the winter, we NRIs flock homeland in the conducive winter months. People usually go out of there home on vacation. We Persons of Indian origin go home on vacation. My friends in America find it a bit odd that we visit our homes for vacation, when they travel away from home for the same. Yet there is so much fun homecoming when you are away from home.

Upon arriving in India, the initial days of jet lag and reverse cultural shock gives way to a lot of attention from friends and relatives, a la an infrequent guest is treated more cordially than a regular one. The shorter the trip, more attention you get. Even if I try not to, invariably I end up eating like a Pig whatever comes my way, shit like a Bull and end up writing a lot of bullshit blogs. Time is short and finite, engagements are many - way too many things to do, so much food to sample.

Looking forward to for this short trip to be sweet which will challenge my sweet tooth as I intend on splurging on an array of my favorite Odia sweets which includes but not limited to, CHHENA JHILLI, CHHENA PODA, PAHALA RASAGOLA, RABIDI all very typical of Odisha. The other stuff I love are Cuttack Mixture, freshly baked Naans, numerous local Street foods, temple food and much more which I don't get here in the USA, even if we get it never tastes the same. This is also the time seasonal vegetables are to be savored as they come cheap, available in plenty in the prevailing cool weather.

I have made a solemn promise to stay away from Pizza, KFC, Subway, Burger King or McDonalds. I prefer freshly fried Street side Bara costing me 3 rupee a piece to a Rs.300 Burger at a Mall. I don't have plans to visit any Mall having seen the two biggest Malls in America - the Mall of Minneapolis and King of Prussia Mall in Philadelphia. I firmly believe in be Roman in Rome, eat Indian in India. Keeping fingers crossed for a nuisance free trip. Dear Motherland, here I come.

Happy birthday Sastri jee

 The birthday of Mahatma Gandhi always overshadows that of a hardworking, honest, patriot Indian, a great leader who shares October 2 with our Bapuji as his birthday. He is no other than Lal Bahadur Shastri, who was India's Prime Minster, albeight for a very short tenure.

If Lal Bahadur Shastri did not die the fateful day on January 11, 1966, exactly 60 years ago, Rahul Gandhi would most likely be a mid level manager in some private company, only to boast about his great grand father being the first Prime Minister of India and Grandma being a Central Minister, instead of being the CEO and Scion of the Congress Party Inc. Only difference, the CEO of a company is accountable to its shareholders, whereas Rahul Gandhi is accountable to none.

Lal Bahadur Sastri was a diminutive man with a towering personality. A charismatic person whose personal integrity was beyond question. He resigned as Railway minister taking responsibility for a train crash, something inconceivable and unthinkable from politicians of current generation. During his one and half years of being at the helm of affairs, he could capture imagination of millions of Indians. 

Thinking him as weak, Pakistan attacked India in 1965, soon to be resoundingly rebuffed. His slogan of the time JAI JAWAN, JAI KISAAN (Hail Soldiers, Hail Farmers) swiftly yielded results in form of yield by farmers which was enough to wipe out India's perennial food grain shortage and motivating the soldiers who gave a befitting response to our attacking western neighbor by reaching the outskirts of the city of Lahore. It raised him to the zenith of popularity which unfortunately didn't last very long due to his untimely and controversial death on January 11, 1966 out of country in Uzbekistan, then part of the Soviet Union.

Truth is the first casualty of war. It reminds me of a column by the eminent writer Khushwant Singh. The legendary Sardar, known to be friendly towards Pakistan was once invited by the Pakistani consulate in Bombay where Premium Scotch and succulent Kabaabs were served. When K. Singh enquired about the occasion for the celebration, he was told that the party was to commemorate Pakistan's victory over India in 1965 War. Khushwant Singh exclaimed, "May Allah grant you more and more such imaginary victories and may I be invited to such parties where Premium Scotch is served."

Shastri's premature death brought Indira Gandhi to power, who soon consolidated her position by making the Congress Party her family fiefdom or "BOPA ZAMINDARI" (Father's feudal property). Soon others emulated her, except the Communists (though I have no love for them, I admire them for resisting the family fiefdom politics) and to some extent BJP, though of late it is starting to look more like Congress. Almost all parties, regional or otherwise are now family held Inc.

From the Badal dynasty of Punjab in North to Karunanidhi dynasty in South, from the Biju Dynasty in East, to Siv Sena Dynasty in West, we have examples aplenty. I am sure the history of India would have been different and our generation who were born in late 1960s and early 1970s would have seen a different India today, if Sastri Jee did not die on that fateful cold Soviet night in Tashkent.

Cat has 9 lives

 Years ago one fine morning in January I was driving my son to his Taekwondo class amidst a mist sprinkled; fog engulfed weather. On a narrow road leading to the arena I could see through the haze a Black Cat crossing the road right in front of me.

I was assured the black cat is going to be the harbinger of bad luck for rest of the day. As per the familiar superstition back home (especially in Odisha), I thought if I back up a little bit I should be able to ward off any evil effects destined for me. 

So I looked at my rear view mirror. There was no car behind me. I backed my vehicle counting 1 to 7. Then shifted back to forward gear and continued my journey ahead. My son was perplexed with this strange behavior of mine, gaping at me with widened eyes. I explained to him about the superstition, to which he retorted back - "You afraid of a kitty cat ? How silly !"

It could be silly, but old habits die hard; especially those related to superstition. Even the most logical and educated folks I have seen harbor some kind or other superstitious behaviors. It probably has to do with some sense of insecurity every individual carries. I am no exception. So I breathed easy after my to and fro motion on road and drove on, assured of all the evils being warded off. The day passed off uneventful. Yet I took no chance. Cat might have 9 lives, I have the luxury of only one.

Molestation on New Year's Eve

News came out about molestation of girls on New Year's Eve in certain cities in India which made ripples in media, social or otherwise. As every Faci-zen (Facebook Citizen) has an opinion about everything from Rocket science to Igneous Rocks, I didn't want to be the one left behind. So here is my take on this.

In our Metropolitan cities we have two Indias which mutually coexist side by side - one modern and liberal, the other misogynistic and voyeuristic kind. Both have this unwritten rule of sticking to their own territories. But on occasions, this thin viscous line of separation evaporates in the heat of the moment, encroaching into other's private territory.

This happens when both cultures clash, the cusp can be a large gatherings like New Year's eve. A la the warm and cold fronts clash across Jet stream causing weather phenomena like Tornadoes, such cultural clashes cause social tremors. The infamous Nirbhaya rape in Delhi and many more recent incidents are results of a milieu sitting on a gunpowder keg. All it takes someone light a matchstick to ignite it.

Constitution provides us freedom to hold peaceful gatherings. Yet freedom come with a price, it is never totally free, not even in America which boasts itself as the land of freedom. Let me narrate this story narrated to me by a friend of mine which pretty much tells the story - When copies of books like "One quarter of hour in night @ call center" and of hundreds of such titles mushrooming, the authors of such masterpieces being decorated with Padma Awards, such incidents would be very common in future. The other day, while with my wife and son, I witnessed a boy and a girl indulged in serious love making in broad day light and their two wheeler was acting like a bed ! We could not look and talk to our son for rest of the time !

For those have nots, who don't get such an opportunity in real life, do get a voyeuristic, vicarious pleasure watching these scenes. For them the sight of vociferous Damsels in midnight's crowd in darkness is a God sent opportunity to grab, so they grope it.
 
One can't clap using one hand. It always works both ways, so both moral and regular policing can help. By moral policing, I am not suggesting sermons by sundry Netas (Leaders) or Gurus. We should look at Singapore, which applies a carrot and stick policy. Carrot - Ethical values infused in their educational system, some guided by our eminent Odia writer Manoj Das as cultural consultant to the Citi-state. Charity begins at home, the parents and elders should cultivate ethics in their young minds.

Stick - Fear of lashes as the DANDA (stick) works wonder, where logic fails. Once during early 90s, the Singaporean authorities went on to lash an American tourist who broke the law of the land, in spite of the Superpower exhaustively exerting its diplomatic might to prevent it. Singapore doesn't have this concept of sparing someone, because that someone is someone's SALA KA MAMA KA BHATIJA (nephew of my Uncle's brothers-in-law). They went ahead and implemented the sentence. Our DANDA is no less effective than their lashes. If implemented without fear or favor, can yield awesome results.

Here goes the lesser known Odia Adage,

MADA KHIA MAHADEVA
MADA KHAILA BARA DABA, 

transliterated...

Thrashing prone Lord Mahadev
Grants boon, if he gets thrashed
For only thrashing he obeys.

The fearless Lord Mahedev once granted boon to a demon impressed by his penance only to be severely thrashed by the later. As we say in Odia, MADA EKA AMOGHA ASTRA (Thrashing is an effective weapon). Nothing works like DANDA therapy, which can work wonders. Legendary writer Khushwant Singh famously mentioned that during internal Emergency imposed from 1975-1977, efficiency in government and public sector services increased manifold. It yet vindicated that we Indians respect rods more than democracy. Not suggesting a Saudi style moral policing, but Prevention in the form of practising certain discretion in public is always better than cure in the form of DANDA therapy. Otherwise, it will take someone to strike a matchstick in a room filled with inflammable gas to initiate the next firestorm, which is waiting to happen.

Visit to Jagannath temple on New Year's Eve

 On New Year's Day the world famous Sri Jagannath temple in Puri in Odisha is kept open for almost all night as hundreds of thousands thronged the temple to visit the ARADHYA DEVATA (The most propitiated GOD) of all Odias across the world. It has become quite fashionable these days to visit temples on First Day of January - which ironically follows the Gregorian Calendar rather than the Hindu Lunar Calendar. Many of these visitors who are the first ones to be critical of the New Year's Day being celebrated in India on Gregorian New Year are also the first ones in the rat race to reach the temple. Define hypocrisy !!!

Not long ago, on one fine New Year's Day morning in India, I was trying to cross the Puri bound road close to our home in Bhubaneswar. I was surprised to see abnormally high traffic on a normal day, a rush almost similar to what you would see on a day of some major festival, like the famous RATH YATRA (Car festival) in Puri. While trying to cross the road, I had to tip toe my way, swaying hip, waving, clenching my hands like an eunuch at the approaching traffic of vehicles big and small zeroing on me, blaring their cacophonic horn in unison at the irritating pedestrian in me obstructing their path. 

As there were no Zebra crossing, it took 5 minutes of exhibiting my ass swinging skills like an Odishi dancer to cross a 25 feet wide road. Road crossing is an art in Odisha and one needs to be a trapeze artist to cross roads at the crossroads of Bhubaneswar. That day I went above and beyond my normal hip swaying which would have made any danseuse proud.

After managing to reach home in single piece I asked my father the reason behind such an unusual rush on an usual day. He said, it has become fashionable now-a-days to do a "JAGANNATH DARSHAN" (take a peek at Lord) on New Year's Day at His abode in Puri. Like a dip in river Ganga, they trust CHAKADOLA (Circular eyelid, another name of Sri Jagannath) with His ever pervading look will purify them off their dirt accumulated over time like Aqua guard does to crude water. 

It explains why you would see many bloody, bleary eyed folks, still nursing hangover from previous night's New year's eve Bacchanalian jamborees and after dumping their last year's shit stumbling their way up the "BAISI PAHANCHA" (the legendary 22 step entrance into the temple) leading to Lord's abode. Many of them I know are prolific slimy, corrupt characters, congenial liars, champion womanizers and cheats of the highest order, who are known to religiously make this trip on New year's day to His temple and involve themselves in temple matters. I am now reminded of the Odia proverb - "ATI BHAKTI CHORA RA KAKHYANA", "too much of devotion id sign of a scoundrel". Reminded of yet another Hindi proverb which aptly describes such folks - "SOU CHUHA MAARNE KI BAAD BILLI HAZ KARNE CHALI" (After killing 100 mice the cat went on Pilgrimage). 

Constipated with sins, they hope that the next 364 days (365 days if it is a Leap Year) will go as smooth as whistle, as the morning bowel movement post a dinner of RUTI (Chappati) and DALMA (boiled mixed of fiber rich lentils and vegetables), a staple Odia food. They think their accumulated sins will be reset to zero after entering Jagannath temple on New Year's Day which is display of ultimate hypocrisy. But they forget one thing - "CHAKA AKHI SABU DEKHUCHI" (Lord Jagannath is watching everything).

We have this popular Odia Adage - "BAARA BARSA RA TAPASYA SUKHUA PODA RE JIBA", transliterated, "Twelve years of penance will be swept away by consuming broiled dry fish". It means, all the great efforts and perseverance for a long period of time can go wrong by a single stroke of stupid act. Reverse this theorem - A trip to the abode of Lord Jagannath on the first day of the year guarantees buying peace and tranquility for the rest of the year, erasing off the sins in one stroke, a la the wiper of a car swishes away all the dust accumulated in summer after fresh monsoon rains. May KAALIA (as Lord Jagannath is known for his Amber complexion) bless them for the next 364 days, until their must visit yet again on January 1, 2027.