Israel - US launched strike on Iran

 Middle East is boiling again as Israel and America have launched attack on Iran behind the smokescreen of talks going on between US and Iran. It is rumored that the Iranian Supremo Ali Khamenei has been eliminated, though we all know that truth is the first casualty of war. Here are the major forces who are in action and what's in stake for them.

1. USA - I remember in 1996 US firing Monica missiles on targets in Afghanistan at peak of Bill Clinton's Lewinsky scandal. Fast forward 30 years to 2026. It's time for "Epstein" missiles to fall on Iran. Also pro-Israeli Jewish lobby is very strong in USA, a country which has more Jews than any country including Israel. American jews are extremely rich, powerful and influential. Their writ runs in any US Administration, regardless of Republican or Democrat. Trump who promised to end American involvement in overseas wars is true to the salt of his fellow Republicans is involved in wars, dancing to Netanyahu's tune. With US $38 trillion national debt and still growing,. the country can at least afford a war at this juncture.

Israel - The country seems to be obsessed with Iran and fully using America to do its dirty work. Ever since Israel was formed in 1948, followed by immediate recognition from US and UK the country along with its middle east neighborhood is in perpetual turmoil with no end in sight. Now too both countries have come swinging in support of the Zionist state unlike most of their NATO partners. But end of Iranian regime doesn't mean that Israel will be allowed to live in peace and tranquility. A place as complicated as Middle East can't be solved militarily, it needs a long term political solution.

Iran - It has done the strategic mistake of trying to be the hero of the Muslim world by taking on Israel which is more than thousand miles from Iran and both countries don't share a common border. In its zeal to be the darling of the Isramic world it started to poke Israel. This hasn't gone well with the Saudi Arabia led Sunni world of Middle East for whom Shia Iran is more dangerous than Zionist Israel. Iran is paying the price of taking the Israel bull by horn when the other Middle East Sunni dominated nations have compromised with it,grudgingly accepting Israel's existence to coexis with the Jewish state.

China - It is a country which ruthlessly follows its self interest policy with long term goal to dislodge America from its position of world's superpower. This war gives it an opportunity to test its weapons against American's with whom it is fast catching up. It is shrewd enough not directly get involved in a war, although it is a major buyer of Iranian oil. In one way we can see it as a proxy war between China-Russia versus US-Israel axis.

Russia - A long time partner and weapons supplier to Iran, it is busy in its war in Ukraine. Economically not in great shape, its war ridden economy benefits from high gas price due to the turmoil in the Middle East. Trump's softness towards Russia is pretty well known and American President will make sure that Putin is kept in good humor. Don't be surprised if top officials of the present Iranian regime end up finding asylum in Moscow.

India - Incidentally Prime Minister Modi was in Israel just few days ago when Israel-US were openly plotting to launch an attack on Iran. Incidentally Donald Trump already went public mentioning America was preparing to strike Iran. The recent public show of hospitality and extension of red carpet by Netanyahu towards Modi is not due to Israel's love for India, but as a timely strategy. Not that Netanyahu loves our Vishwaguru's white beard or fake laugh, being mostly isolated these days even by its erstwhile friendly western European nations, Israel is desperate for any support from any quarter in any form. In that context it doesn't hurt Israel to court India. No more, no less.

There are folks on social media fed with fake propaganda of India being a Vishwaguru are demanding India to intervene to stop the war. Let's be realistic here setting our jingoism aside. Do you think that US and Israel will listen to India and stop the war ? What leverage it has got to impress Israel and USA to change their mind to stop the war ? Modi was in Israel only few days ago when Israel was already in preparation for the war. What magic India has to stop the war at this moment ? The best option for India would be to follow a wait and watch policy as it won't do anything, as it cannot do nothing. Let's just keep fingers closed and hope for the best for the entire world.

Two men of February - Manoj Das and Khushwant Singh

 As we March into the month of March, February is the month I remember for giving birth to two great Indian writers - Manoj Das an Odia writer of international fame and Khushwant Singh, who needs no introduction. Both are my favorites whose simple, crispy and lucid style of writing without using many bombadistic words has a tremendous influence on me. 

Both are unique and contradictory in their own way  - One known for his sagacious and the other for his salacious writings. Manoj Das's writing touches the simple truth and philosophy of life. He never hurts a fly. But Khushwant Singh never spared anyone, including himself and his Sardar community by his self deprecating jokes, often mocking at his own religion and community.

Books by both authors are enchanting writing and make a fabulous read. Manoj Das was an excellent story tellers, his philosophical writing was way beyond to comprehend for a layman tyro like me. Both have some serious writings to their credit - Manoj Das with his philosophical stuff which can only be understood and appreciated by folks at an higher level of intellect (not me). Khushwant Singh is known for his volumes of "History of Sikhs" which is regarded as an authentic treatise and researched encyclopedia about the Sikh community and the religion.

Manoj Das was a vegetarian and spiritual person to core. Khushwant Singh loved his Spirits in the form his Scotch every evening. Prayers and Devotional songs were Sri Das's company during the evening, while the old Sardar cherished the company of wine and women his company. The fairer sex were attracted towards his intellect. He listened to their sorrows (most women have their secret sorrows to share) and his company was a soothing balm for them. The Sardar was smart enough to figure out Indians mind's hypocrisy and obsession with sex which he catered well in his work. Manoj Das never veered into that territory in his writing which was clean as a whistle.

Unlike poles are known attract each other. Manoj Das's short stories were serialized by Khushwant Singh when the later edited "THE ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY", the most widely read and circulated magazine in 1970s. Those days many were desperate to get their short stories published in Illustrated Weekly magazine. But Khushwant Singh would include Manoj Das's short stories which he found to be uniquely unique, very authentic and original.

Writings styles of both eminent writers were poles apart. The Sardar, a master of glut of smut, thrived on liberal dosage of crude humor, fart and sex, whereas Manoj Das's revolved on nature and life, the subtle humor hovering around its vagaries. No wonder Khushwant Singh who rejected many stories sent to him published many short stories written by Manoj Das because of the authenticity in the later's writing. Sri Das eulogized the witty Sardar as "JANE NIRBHIKA LEKHAKA" (One fearless writer). It is proved by the fact he dared to take head on the likes of Bal Thackarey and Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale at a time most other journos when expected to bend, volunteered to crawl before the those self proclaimed lords and myopic hate mongers).

Manoj Das, in his tribute to Khushwant Singh after the later's death has described how liquor used to flow during evenings at the Sardar's party, while Manoj Das would be sipping his endless glasses of Tomato juice. These two great writers formed a unique bond in diversity, of mutual trust and respect. The old Sardar still kept writing well into his late 90s and may Sri Manoj Das too. Khushwant Singh lived until 99 and Manoj Das late 80s. Kudos to both.

Urban legends from Childhood days

 Like many from my generation, I grew up amidst several Urban legends (few Rural too) in Odisha. For a long time I believed them as gospels written on stone. Here you go :

Jeff Thompson was known to be the fastest bowler during my childhood days. It was then said, to Sunil Gavaskar, the better known cricketer of our time, once the ball came out of Thompson's hand it looked like a woman's Sindoor (Vermilion dot which adores Hindu women's forehead as a symbol of marriage). A la Hindu women, it was destined for Gavaskara's (Sunny's last name pronounced in a thick Odia accent) forehead.

But our little Gavaskara knew about this folklore attributed to him. Because the Little Master had the height advantage of having a small height, readily ducking Thompson's "bounsara" missiles without getting hurt. As we know in India, cricket is more skewed towards the batsmen (probably the reason why we rarely produce quality fast bowlers). So whatever supposedly came out of our Gavaskara's mouth who dominated in the 1970s and 80s was treated as the gospel.

A guy in our neighborhood used to say that the world's fastest bowler was Lillian Thomson. Many would be wondering how can be a woman be the world's fastest bowler in a male dominated sport. Fast bowlers are known to hunt in pairs, so he innoculosly combined Lillie and Thompson duo as Lillian Thomson. But unfortunately later on we alluded the guy as "Gullian" Thompson (Gullia in Odia means a person who kills light hearted jokes).

In the 1979s a person from near my ancestral village near Puri, Odisha got into the Civil Services, undoubtedly the most cherished job those days when government was the largest employer in the country. The legend goes like this. In the UPSC interview panel he was questioned - "What's Half Circle, Full Circle, Half Circle A, Half Circle, Full Circle, Right Angle A". Instantly came his answer - "Coca Cola", which catapulted him to a top rank above the rest who were not brilliant enough to answer this question correctly. Not sure if that question prompted George Fernandez, the champion Socialist of that era to drive Coke and IBM out of India. It's rumored he toiled hard to nationalize the Tatas, the largest private sector of the time. Glad sanity prevailed, nothing of that sort happened.

And this one beats all - the myth about Mahatab's head. A widely circulated story attributed to the brain of late Dr. H.K. Mahatab, a Congressman and ex-Chief Minister of Odisha and the Governor of the state of Maharastra. Considered to be a wily politician of his time, it is said after his death America secretly fetched his head from Odisha to investigate and explore the secrets behind his masterly shrewd political brain.

It is still rumored to be well preserved is some remote research lab in the United States as the American scientists still can't fathom the depth of his immense political acumen and shrewness. Source of this GULLI (a light hearted joke) is most likely the Old Town area of Bhubaneswar where he lived and still has a lot of fan following. Many credit him for being the Founding Father of the New Capital city of Bhubaneswar who influence with Nehru tipped Bhonsara in its favor rather than the originally panned Anugul as the capital city of Odisha. Never know one day I might stumble upon a mummified head in some museum in US with a slab underneath it 'The Brainiest Head in the history of Mankind'. 
 
The story about his head is a devotional lie which transformed itself into a well believed truth. No wonder Goebbels, Hitler's propaganda Minister during the days of Nazi Germany famously said - "A lie repeated hundred times becomes the truth". We have an Odia proverb - "TINI TUNDARE CHHELI KUKURA - " a goat can be a dog if three mouths say so". The meaning is self explanatory as lies after lies peddled these days are believed as gospels by gullible folks.

Shivaji - the great Maratha warrior

 On the birthday of Chhatrapati Shivaji let me present you a fascinating story about the life and time of the great Maratha warrior. It's a rare success story of a small time Hindu Chiftain who went on to built a Maratha empire of his own and was christened as CHHATRAPATI (Emperor) in an age when Muslim rulers dominated most of India. Showing uncanny guile and leadership, he was one of very few Hindu Kings in a thousand year span who successfully survived the onslaught of his enemies, including the Badshah of Bijapur and Nizam of Hyderabad who were in his surrounding neighborhood, not to mention the mighty Mughals under Aurangzeb in North.

Shivaji was tactical in his approach and a master strategist. He was prudent enough to use these three elements - "Flattery, Bravery and Bribery" to win over his rivals, as and when needed. He was not a foolhardy like the Rajputs, who although very brave lacked guile and strategy, perennially facing defeat. Shivaji was unmatched, for he used his guts along with classic guerilla warfare tactics and pre-emptive strikes, altogether forming an explosive combination for success. 

He attacked Shayast Khan, the Mughal General inside the later's own den in the middle of night. The burly Mughal was lucky, as he barely escaped alive with few of his fingers chopped off by non other than Shivaji himself. After almost killing Shayast Khan he planned his escape well in advance, letting loose the Bullock carts carrying flames he brought along with him. As the faltering Mughals took time to recuperate, they ended up chasing the Bullock carts only to find that they have been duped and misled by Shivaji, giving him and his band of merry men precious enough time to to escape in the darkness.

But non of his several escape escapades matched the breaking free from his house arrest by the Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb in Agra. Shivaji was invited to The Emperor's birthday-cum-coronation ceremony after the middle son of Shah Jahan earned it after eliminating his potential rivals. The Mughal Emperor was sitting on his peacock throne when the Maratha King along with his son Sambhaji who was a boy arrived at the Diwan-e-Khas (The gathering of the Elites). Badshah Aurangzeb was fanned by his attendants who sprayed cool mist around him on a hot day in mid May, right in the middle of North Indian summer.

It was the only occasion they ever met. The day was very special for Aurangzeb - his birthday and the day of coronation to the crown which he had earned by successfully eliminating his own blood brothers. Though there were many eminent personalities present at Court to grace the occasion, Aurangzeb's Cobra like piercing eyes (as described by Shivaji himself) were prying on the Maratha icon laced with suspicion and apprehension at the man he named as "MOUNTAIN RAT". He knew about Shivaji from the days when his father sent him to Deccan to deal with him. The man had frustrated him time and again. Shivaji had a history of making spectacular escapes when surrounded with all escape routes closed only to resurface earning this sobriquet. Now the same man was standing right in front of him, so his look was fixated on Shivaji.

Ignored and feeling humiliated being made to seat behind those whom he once defeated, Shivaji lost his cool on that hot summer day in the Mughal capital city of Agra. Exhibiting flaired temper he protested his humiliation at top of his voice. Shivaji's protest in front of Aurangzeb was tantamount to sacrilege, never heard of in the history of Mughal rule. The standard protocol in front of a Mughal Emperor was to keep the head down, speak softly with handkerchief on face, that too only when asked to do so, never out of turn. A person in front of Emperor was not supposed to return showing his back to the "Badshah". He must bend and walk backwards until out of sight of the Alamgir (Lord of the World). But what Shivaji Raje did was unthinkable. He turned his back to Aurangzeb and went out of the Durbar (Gathering of the Elites) in haste. 

By this act of defiance Shivaji blatantly broke every protocol of Mughal book of etiquette in front of "Jahapanah" (Emperor) which was considered a sacrilege. The Scion of Mughal Empire, Aurangzeb the ruthless, observed this, but didn't show his reaction in public. He sent his faithful, one of his trusted Hindu Rajput lieutenants to pacify Shivaji and bring him back to his court. But to his chagrin the Maratha Chieftain refused to oblige. This became the much talked about incident on a day the third son of Sah Jahan after ruthlessly killing all his brothers waited for six long for his imprisoned father to die to ascend the throne. Aurangzeb asked those present around him solicitating their opinion on how to deal with Shivaji. The fact that a Hindu provincial Chief misbehaved and refused Aurangzeb didn't go well with his queens and the courtiers. All opined in unison that Shivaji should be severely punished.

It was a long day. A tired Aurangzeb was seen twitching his moustache using his left hand as he scrolled a string of pearl beads which he religiously carried with him chanting "Bismillah Rahim" (O God, the Benevolent, the Merciful). He announced to the Court - "Allah has given us this beautiful gift called sleep". Saying this he called it a day, needing some rest. The very next morning, on Emperor Aurangzeb's order Shivaji was put under house arrest in Agra.

Kingship is better than kinship. Aurangzeb had no qualms about killing his own brothers. Though the de facto Emperor, he couldn't be crowned until Sah Jahan was dead. So Aurangzeb had no patience to wait any longer as the old man was still alive in the Agra fort more than 6 years after he sent his brothers to the abode of Allah. It was rumored that he poisoned his father as the old man Shah Jahan took too long to die. Shivaji expected no mercy from such a man. In fact the day Shivaji escaped, Aurangzeb had plans to send him to a Haveli and kill him there.

Many were surprised by Shivaji's cool, nonchalant behavior even if he was imprisoned by no other than the ruthless Aurangzeb. But the wily Maratha was not to sit idle. He was silently plotting his next move. Successfully feigning illness, he ordered crates of sweets to be sent out to the mendicants of Agra as gifts of charity in leau of blessings for his early recovery from his feigned illness. This continued every day.

One night he changed his dress with one of his trusted attendants, a barber who shaved off his well trimmed beard and moustache, put his son in one of the sweet crates and carried it disguised as a bearers on his way out. Next morning the attendant sent out a message to the guard that Shivaji Raje had trouble sleeping last night and was catching up with sleep, hence he shouldn't be disturbed. It was well past noon when the guards got suspicious only to find that Shivaji had already made his escape the previous night.

Aurangzeb was immersed in his royal duties when he got the news of Shivaji's escape. He was furious and aghast that the "Mountain Rat" didn't escape from one of his forts in Marathwada area, but right under his nose in the capital city of Agra - the seat of Mughal Supremacy. Now a man possessed, ruthless yet religious man, he threw his string of pearl beads to the ground. As the courtiers were shivering, speculating the next head to roll, the infuriated Emporer ordered them out. As he often did at times of crisis, alone he knelt down praying facing West towards Mecca -" Ya Allah, what has happened. The infidel has escaped right under my nose" !

Meanwhile in the outskirts of Agra, the fastest horses of the Maratha cavalry fanned by six of Shivaji's most trusted lieutenants, all burly, strapping six feeters were waiting for their diminutive Raje to take him towards safety. (Shivaji was a short height man surrounded by tall well built generals). He was smart enough not to immediately ride the horse out of Agra as he expected tight scrutiny on the surrounding roads. He waited few days for things to cool down, took a circuitous route North-East towards Mathura and Kashi, as he knew that surveillance would be tight Southbound to Deccan which he needed to cross before getting into his familiar territory of Marathwada region. His small but devoted entourage travelled in night, resting in dense forests during the day to avoid undue suspicion. 

Shivaji was disguised as a mendicant. He still had days to reach his Fort, but sent out instructions to his folks to fire cannon from the Fort to keep his pursuants at tenterhooks. The news of the celebratory cannons shots reached the Mughals which they construed as Shivaji's safe arrival at his fort, thus lessening the intensity of search. Shivaji outsmarted them yet again, but this time no other than Aurangzeb, the Emperor of India who fumed for a long time on the aftermath of Shivaji's Houdini act.

A great lesson for those who love history, that a battle isn't won by strength or number of soldiers alone, not by emotions but by using shrewd strategies and smart moves. Shivaji had the acumen to read it well and it was his secret sauce for survival and success. But sadly the man who made some of the incredible escapes in history couldn't escape communicable diseases and died in 1680 when he was only 50 years old, succumbing to Typhoid as per the symptoms recorded by the historians, a water born disease he contracted during the marriage ceremony of his second son Rajaram. He never recovered from it.

Wish the man who frustrated Aurangzeb to no end lived longer. The Mughal King who was at least a decade older than Shivaji, lived much longer, at least more than quarter of a century after Shivaji's death and died in 1707. He was the harbinger of the end of Mughal empire. It was followed by  rise of Marathas and then the British who were still trading in India but watching the political developments with great interest. Shivaji once said about the British - "The Englishmen aren't mere traders. They are very shrewd and can steal from right under your nose without you even knowing it". He was so prophetic.

Clemency for Imran Khan

 Imran Khan still hangs on, hasn't hung up his boots yet. News from Pakistan is the former famous cricketer-cum-playboy turned politician is seriously ill in prison fighting for his life and on the verge of losing eyesight, at least in one eye. His sad and precarious condition has prompted many prominent ex-cricketers raise "May Day" which includes well known ex-cricketers and Imran's contemporaries Sunil Gavaskar, Vivian Richards, Kapil Dev, Clive Lloyd and Chappell brothers requesting Pakistan's government for urgent clemency.

Imran Khan had a highly successful career as a Cricket player. As the cricket captain of Pakistan he desired to defeat England in England and India in India - both countries he loved to hate, though In his book "All Round View" Imran Khan wrote that in the 1982–83 season, Mohinder was quite simply the best batsman in the world. He got both his wishes fulfilled by defeating India in India in the spring of 1987 and later England in England in summer. Then he went on to win the Cricket World Cup in 1992 after motivating his team when all hope was gone as they were one game shy from elimination. He said he told his players to behave as cornered tigers and the team responded magnificently.
He soon built a Cancer hospital in memory of his mother, first of its kind in the poverty stricken nation of Pakistan.

The ultimate Alpha Male, Imran Khan a playboy of repute bedded a number of lasses, some of them rumored to be Rekha, Moon Moon Sen and notably Zeenat Aman whom he almost married but for the objection from his mother. He produced at least one kid out of wedlock from the six feet American celebrity girl Sita White. He first denied but in the age of DNA test he admitted of fathering the girl child when an US Court summoned him to do a paternity test. Sita White died young at a young age 43, suddenly collapsing before her Yoga class in Los Angeles. Imran was forced to take his daughter into his custody. He married multiple times which included Jemima Goldsmith, his first wife and daughter of a super rich Jewish tycoon - a girl half his age.

Imran Khan had a great eye for talent. Once in 1990 he saw a young Inzamam Ul Haq at the nets and was impressed. He told Akram and Waqar to bowl to him. He also bowled couple of bouncers to Inzamam who successfully pulled them. Imran walked to Rameez Raza and said - "Pakistan got its Vivian Richards".

When Imran Khan joined politics, he was laughed off and expected not to replicate his success on the Cricket field in the murky world of Pakistani politics. A man destined to be the yet again winner all the way, he went on to become the Prime Minister of the country - the ultimate dream of any politician from the Indian subcontinent.

But politics is a different ball game. His dream would soon turn into a nightmare. Allah, Army and America rule the roost in Pakistan. Imran Khan should have realized that, but he made the cardinal mistake of taking on two of the three, i.e. Army and America. Every successful person doesn't necessarily succeed in the murky world of politics. Ask India's Bollywood megastar Amitabh Bachchan who quit politics barely two years after he became a Member of Parliament with a lot of fanfare only to realize that politics wasn't his cup of tea.

Imran Khan is paying the price of taking on the all powerful Pakistani Army establishment, the institution which got full support of America. It ain't happened yet. Though ailing the gritty Pathan won't quit without a fight. I always admire and adore leaders with "never say die" attitude, also famously exemplified by British Prime Minister Winston Churchill during the World War II (incidentally both Imran and Churchill weren't great fans of India).

A born fighter, Imran Khan hasn't hung up his boots yet. Like a cornered tiger when he came back from behind against all odds to inspire a talented but maverick Pakistan side to win the 1992 Cricket World Cup, he is still in the game, down but not out. Though fighting an increasingly losing battle, he can take solace from the legendary American baseball player Yogi Berra who famously said - "It ain't over until it's over" ! Good luck all rounder.

Change of habits after coming to America

 I was in India last month where I observed how much things have changed in almost 30 years since I left India. Here is a list of my change in habits after coming to the United States. I am sure most of my contemporary NRIs are on same boat.

1. It has been a long time since I have taken a shower in cold water. During my growing up days back in India, I used to take bath in normal tap water stored in tanks, even during the coldest of winters in Rourkela, Odisha where the temperature dips to single digit (in centigrade) in night. Can't do that now. Even in Bhubaneswar the water was cold enough to mix it with hot water from the overhead Geyser water heater. Cold water bath is considered for the body protecting skin from dryness. Read somewhere that the prisoners in the famous Alcatraz Island are given shower in warm water jets, so that they can't escape swimming in the cold waters off the San Francisco bay. They have a point.

2. Putting ice in drinking water. Water in Room temperature tastes so bland, iced water tastes so crispy and fresh ! Many in India were surprised at looking at me pouring ice cubes into my drinking water and drinking refrigerated water in the middle of January. Bad habit.

3. Washing hands after peeing. Never did that when I was India and didn't regret shaking hands with others after shaking  the residue off immediately after peeing. I have watched some of them with trepidation when they rolled their hand over their chin and nose after shaking hands with me. Converted many tree trunks and walls as urinals, not anymore as there is no empty space left in Bhubaneswar to do relieve yourself, even at night.

4. Catching up with Hollywood movies I missed earlier and became extremely selective on Bollywood ones, the later lacking ingenuity as years progress. No wonder a junk Bollywood movies are becoming blockbusters. OTT stuff on Netflix and Amazon are much better these days.

5. At work, Coffee has taken over Tea. Never liked the tea made out of tea bags. Love the brewed Tea which is restricted to home and developed a taste over cold, sweet tea - a specialty in the Dixie land of the Southern United States.

6. No more looking for News inside the Newspapers. I scan them for Coupons and Sale items in my neighborhood stores. Mostly get news from the Internet and Social media these days. Even TV has taken a backseat these days.

7. While stepping in or stepping out of doors or Elevators (called Lifts in India), I let the other person go first. Never cared to do that before, no one cared for me either. Rarely I get a thank you when I do the same back in India.

8. Never had the feeling of driving a car with steering wheel on the right hand side of the vehicle, as I never drove a 4-wheeler in India. Won't dare now. Used to lane driving and driving automated cars (have never driven a shift gear car with cluth in my life). If I ever drive a car in Bhubaneswar, you can bet that either I will either hit some one or some one will hit me within a mile of me driving.

9. Developed gardening and blogging as a hobby. Never thought in wildest of my dreams I will cultivate these hobbies, but now I am addicted to those, cultivating veggies and fruits in my backyard every summer.

And few old habits die hard.

1. My flashback to days in India. Unless I am using a restroom (toilet) outside my home, old fashion flashing off cold water to wash my bottom feels soothing. The softest of toilet papers is to Subways Sandwitch, as a Mug of Cold water is to hot chilli chicken.

2. Never could develop a passion for American Sports like Football, Baseball and Basketball. Still love Cricket, Soccer and Field Hockey (Hockey in US defaults to Ice Hockey which I find fast, furious and boring).

3. Wasn't able to develope a taste in English music. When the rockstar "Prince" died I got curious and asked others - "Prince, who" ? I googled about Rihanna when she twitted something controversial sometime back. Still stuck in the old Hindi music of Kishore Kumar, Mohd Rafi, Mukesh, Lata, Asha, Akshay Mohanty, Pranab Patnaik, Chitta Jena era whom I find soothing to my soul and don't mind at all.

Leaving Odisha - India trip January 2026

 I have been visiting Bhubaneswar every year post Covid since 2021, twice in the year 2024. Couple of things stood out to me, exponential growth in pollution and alcohol consumption. Since I flew out of India my cough, runny nose and throat irritation has suddenly become a thing of the past. I have a feeling it was the pollution and dust laden air of Bhubaneswar causing it. Throughout my stay the cloudless sky of the Capital city of Odisha looked gray not blue. The mid afternoon sun resembled incandescent bulb.

From my childhood I know the color of the sky is blue. For a Gen Z kid growing up in Delhi and Bhubaneswar, the capital of India and Odisha respectively, the color of the sky is gray. No sooner I arrived in Abu Dhabi than its morning sky looked bright and blue which I missed for almost 3 weeks. Normally you would expect otherwise in a city in the middle of a sand and dust filled desert.

Now coming to alcohol, it is available aplenty these days with most known foreign brands flooding the market to be consumed by the noveu riche Bhonsariya who of late have carved their niche with growing affordability. But alcohol juxtaposed with arrogance are on the rise, forming a deadly concoction. One evening after finishing my dinner at a well known hotel-cum-restaurant in the city I suddenly stumbled upon an old friend. At the hotel lobby he introduced me to a guy - "This is my friend Sambeet". His companion who was already heavily inebriated asked me in a slurry voice, "Where do you live ?" I replied, "In America". "Oh, I see. There must be one lakh (100,000) Odias in America" - he queried.

I found one lakh a gross overestimation of the population of Odias living in the USA and concluded it as a perfect calculation of a drunken mind. Before I could correct his unrealistic assessment he dropped another bombshell - "AMERICA RE JOU LAKHYE ODIA ACHHANTI SABU MO BA**A BA*LA" (All the Odias living in USA are my pubic hairs). In response I somehow blurted out "How could you count your pubic hairs so accurately and arrive at the exact figure of one lakh ?" I went a step further - "How do you manage to count and groom your 100,000 pubic hairs ! Do you count them by hand or use a machine, the kind uses by bank tellers to counter cash emitting a whirring sound" ?

He was too drunk to get my joke, but told me - "Hang on. I will see you around". He never came back. My friends were still laughing at my reply. No sooner I turned around than came a loud thud. I looked back to see our drunk friend fall down at the doorstep of the hotel lobby and farted loudly enough to be audible over a distance as his friends struggled to pull him up. Staggering a few feet, he suddenly leaned on a car close by and started vomited on the tyre, belching out BHAK..BHAK in waves as one of his friends poured a bottle of water on his head and then forced him into the back seat of a car.

On my way to the Airport while going over the Punama Gate overbridge which bridges my  locality to the Airport, making it only a 15-20 minute drive, not too bad by Bhubaneswar standard. I could see a lot of people in front of a podium loud blaring music. It was a Melody, a local lingo for Orchestra going on for the occasion of "Agi Purnima", a bonfire festival in Odisha to celebrate end of winter and the beginning of spring when the days start to get warmer but the night is still cool. The traffic slowed down for me to take a peek. The singer on the stage was apparently doing lip syncing in front of a boisterous crowd. I doubt many from the current generation of Odias would be remembering "Agijala" (bonfire) Purnima which has been mostly relegated to villages.

At Bhubaneswar Airport I found our Bhais (brothers) and Behens (sisters) occupying chairs near the boarding gate and blocking a seat next to them by placing handkerchief or bag on it for their spouses who leisurely roam around as if seats are their father's property. I removed one such bags from a chair and sat down on it. The lady next to me complained. I said - "You can't reserve a seat while others are standing".

Those who have traveled by bus in Odisha know this a classic way of reserving seats. Once while travelling to Dhenkanal by bus I waited for my turn and took my time to board. Once inside I saw some empty seats though many were still standing, reluctant to occupy those seats by the windows strewn with handkerchiefs. I nonchalantly swished away one of those "RUMALS" (handkerchief) from a cherished window seat and occupied it. After a few minutes here comes this guy leisurely strolling towards me munching a packet of peanuts (groundnuts), spilling the shells on the bus floor. He wasn't too pleased to see me occupying his side seat.

While bending down to pick up his Rumal he started accusing me of stealing his seat which he painstakingly reserved for himself by throwing that piece of cloth. I told him pointing to a Scooter parked outside "So you think by throwing your handkerchief on this vehicle you can claim it as your own" - trying to drive my point. I could hear muffled laughter from the surrounding co-passengers.
But the punchline was yet to come. Another guy sitting behind followed me in his typical Odia in Berhampuri accent "HA RE PUA, MO MAAIKINA MUNDARE RUMALU TA THOI KAHIBU TO MAIKINA TA MORA EKKA" - "Oh my son, you can put the handkerchief on my wife's head and claim my wife as your's only." Now the entire bus burst into laughter.

My deja vu recollection of the event was rudely interrupted when the boarding call was announced for my flight for Zone 3 and the rest were told to seat until their turn arrives. There were 3 lines (queues) clustered around i
like the Triveni Sangam of Ganga, Yamuna and Saraswati in front of the gate. Inside the flight I had a Mosquito as my co-passenger getting a free ride, swarming around. I also noticed Wheel chairs being abused, folks looking perfectly healthy using it.

My flight to Delhi landed at Terminal 2 close to midnight. I quickly grabbed my luggages from the carousel and took a walk to the international Terminal 3 pushing my trolley in a cold, foggy night with low visibility. The immigration and security check was shoo in, thanks to a pretty tall, pretty pretty girl from the Airline who goaded me through the security gate. During our walk together we had a bit of tete-a-tete. She had a mixed view of her employer. Originally from Gorakhpur, UP she lives an hour from the Airport and does night shift from midnight till 10 AM. Every day she travels by a bus designated for the Airport which picks her up close to home. After the security check in I told her to wait until I put my belt on - "Without the belt my trousers could go down. Don't want to stand wearing my boxers in front of hundreds of passengers in the middle of an Airport". She laughed at my joke covering her mouth with her palm.

From inside of the full flight I could see the Full moon close by, the rabbit inside it looked eager to jump into my lap. The 30 hour long journey including the in between flight stoppage time seemed eternal. I finally reached home tired and jet lagged. My first day at work wasn't too bad except late in afternoon when my chin started to drool and hit the space bar of computer keyboard. Still drooling over my India trip. No black coffee or aspirin can assuage post vacation hangover, only time will heal it. My trip didn't go in vain. Travelled miles to achieve several milestones meeting family and friends, connected with old friends and met new ones, ate a lot of local food with fun filled moments, last but the least managed to get my first book see the light of the day.

Reminds me of Kamal Hasan from the movie PUSHPAK who while staying in a posh hotel could not sleep as he missed the sights and sounds of his locality, where his deep rooted roots lied. The pleasure of staying amongst your own is unparallel. One always tends to fall in love with own millieu. Love it or hate it, amidst all these there is a unique flavor of incredible India which you do not find elsewhere. Thus concluds my travel blog to India. More next time...

Day XIV and XV - India trip January 2026

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


The barber at local saloon gave me a close shave, followed by haircut and application of color to my hair. He continued chatting while clipping my hair. Hailing from Bhanjanar and speaking with a Southern Odisha accent, he told me that there aren't lot of opportunities back home. Here in Bhonsara he lives in a rented house close to the Saloon and makes enough money to send to his folks in Bhanjanagar. He went on - "In my village there are many unemployed youth who don't do anything and sit idle at home. When I go there they demand a BHATA-MANSA (Rice and Goat meat curry) party from me. At the same time they burn with jealousy for those who have gone out of village and make a decent "ROJAGARA" (income). Bloody double headed snakes". With such stories rampant here, he made his point.

On Saturday I went to the Toshali Literature Festival which featured the release of my first book "Architects of Odisha - a NRI's prospective", a compilation of my selected blogs on Odisha, its achievers, culture and traditions. The program commenced on time. Many accomplished writers and poets were on stage, speaking from the podium. Some speeches were short, witty and eye-catching, others dour and long winded which gave me an excuse to step out to view the farmhouse named "The Ranch" located in Mangalpur, about 10 miles from Bhubaneswar on the National Highway to Puti. The place had a lot of flora consisting of dwarf Mango trees filled with nascent bloom, short Papaya, Coconut trees which didn't look native to me. The cool breeze and chirping of birds outside sounded much more soothing.

My book was released on time just before the noon tea break, followed by some photo ups. Excitement would be an understatement. I was super thrilled on the release of my first ever book. It was followed by another session of addresses and discussions followed by a very homely lunch. On the last throes of my India trip I was glad to able to get my book published and released. I returned back home late in the afternoon.

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

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

Day XII and XIII India trip January 2026

 The day following Republic day was Tuesday. On that day there was a strike called by the Unionized Public Sector Bank demanding a 5 day work week. It is no coincidence that this was perfectly timed to make a 4 day long weekend a 5 day one. Anyway, I went to withdraw money from the local branch of Kotak Mahindra Bank, a private bank located closer to our home at Lewis Road. I own an NRE account in that bank.

The Bank opens at 10 AM. I was there at 10.30 AM to encash a check. The girl at the money transaction desk was away. I was told "MADAM BREAKFAST KARIBAKU JAICHANTI (ma'am has gone to eat breakfast)" and was instructed to seat in front of her chair until she is back. It took ma'am 20 more minutes to get back to her desk. She burped a bit indicating a fulfilling breakfast, slid her chair to make space to take her seat, sipping couple of sips from her green color plastic water bottle. I passed on my check to her for verification. She looked at the check's front and back, put a "x" sign behind it and pushed it back to me - "ETHI SIGN KARANTU (Please sign here). She kept clicking into the computer with her right hand as she yawned covering her mouth with her left hand.

I asked her - "Why the shutter at the bank entrance is half down ?" She replied back - "That's a precautionary measure to prevent the public sector banking folks from barging in and creating nuisance, forcing us to support their strike by closing our bank". I said - "But why the shutter is half down ? Is it to prevent big, burly guys from entering into the bank and only less threatening Liliputs would be allowed to get in ?" She laughed at my joke, covering her mouth and responded - "Sir, not long ago we had folks from the Government Bank Union forcibly enter into our bank threatening to do "BHANGA RUZA" (vandalism). We had a close call. I am so scared of their GOONDA GIRI (rowdiness) and concerned about my safety today". She again pushed back the check to me and told me that being the holder of an NRE account I need to check the box mentioning the purpose of withdrawal. I did the needful. She passed on the check to the next counter where the girl sitting inside an enclosure handed me the cash without looking at me as she was talking to someone on her cellphone, clinging to it well tucked between her left ear & shoulder. I left the bank safe with cash on hand.

The next day was Bharat Bandh (Close India) strike called by Farmers Union and supported Opposition parties. I had to cancel some of my programs in morning as I was told that traveling on the main roads could be hassle. Though the impact of Bandh was minimal, I didn't take any chances. At the fag end of my trip din't want to travel in a vehicle and be stoned. Fasting and Bandh as protests are so passe. Those are from a bygone era and shouldn't have any place in 21st century. It's such a wastage of time, money and productivity. Sad every party, including BJP, so called a party with a difference do it.

In the evening accompanied by a friend made a trip to the 64 Yogini Temple on the outskirts of Bhubaneswar near Hirapur village. The temple was surrounded by huge mango trees harboring tons of sprouting brown colored "BAULA" (Mango flowers) and at least a dozen monkeys, big ones jumping around, mama monkeys carrying their babies perched on their back. Most of the visitors to the temple were from outside Odisha, speaking in Hindi and Telugu (same I noticed when at Lingaraj temple, not far from where I live).

It was "GODHULI" (twilight zone) time as we drove past on a dusty road with the red setting sun looking like the an ultra-large "Sindoor" of an old woman in the smog. After reaching the picturesque confluence of the rivers of Daya and Bhargavi, I took pictures of birds circling over, flying back to their nest after a long day. My native village near Puri is located on the banks of the tributary Bhargavi before it flows into the Chilika lagoon.

My reverie was bluntly disturbed by smell of wet shit wafting into my nostrils. Turned around to see couple of urchins relieving themselves by the "BARAKOLI" (Jujube) bush with smartphones in hand, their bottoms barely an inch above pyramids of shit. They felt shy,  looked the other way and so also I. A swarm of mosquitoes spiraled out of the cesspool of water looking like mini tornadoes forming in the smog, spreading through, a la time Draculas baying for blood. 

It was getting dark as my friend and I left the place. On the river bridge we saw fishermen selling fresh catch of "POHALA" fish and tiny shrimps from the river under street light equipped with the modernity of cell phone and "Phone Pe". India is a paradox, a land of contradiction where richness and poverty, modernity and backwardness all thrive together side by side. I slapped myself to get rid of a mosquito sitting on my cheek and the dimmed red hot son slid below the distance horizon to mark the end of the day. I tied the helmet to my head and rode the pillion back home. More later...

Day X and XI - India trip January 2026

 In order to catch the early morning flight to Bhubaneswar via Hyderabad leaving Dabolim Airport of Goa at 7.30 AM, I had to get up early at 4 O'clock in the morning and get ready. It was pitch dark when us, about a dozen friends boarded the van to the Airport. As India has only one time zone sun rises at 4.30 AM in the eastern state of Assam, where in Goa which is on the West coast of India it doesn't dawn before 7.30 AM. It felt like middle of night in Goa in the wee hours of the morning. Considering its size, India should ideally have 2 time zones.

For us who had only carry on hand luggages to carry and no bag to check-in, we moved straight to the security counter as we already did our online check-in. The security at Dabolim Airport in Goa was shoo-in. But it wasn't so at the security gate in Hyderabad Airport where transiting passengers were transfering/connecting to various airports in India. Sunday morning, the next day being a Monday and national holiday there were too many passengers in the queue (line) waiting for their turn to go through the security.

The place was too crowded for my comfort. Some one shouted that his flight was about to leave, slid down one of the straps separating the parallel lines to get ahead in queue. Commotion followed as some passengers snuck through that narrow opening as many in the back shouting at the perpetrators of this uncivilized act. But the flood gate already opened, people poured in like waves across a ruptured dam which would have put DALEI GHAI (the legendary embankment on river Mahanadi known to burst during monsoon flooding) to shame. 

A lady security staff arrived on scene and tried to keep the crowd under control by putting back the strap in place. I was but a mute yet amused spectator to this saga which didn't end there. As I pulled out the tray to put my hand bag, belt, phone etc to be X-rayed, some one tried to sneak in his tray ahead of me. I politely asked him to go back in line. He dithered a bit. But no sooner he looked around and saw a security personnel staring at him, he fell in line. I remembered Khushwant Singh once mentioned on his column - "We Indians respect rod more than logic". Couldn't understand why there weren't more staff to handle the security on a long weekend at a major Airport of India. As I climbed the escalator towards the boarding gates, I could hear the sound of another bout of verbiage directed at some one cutting the line which slowly faded away due Doppler's effect we read in Physics as the escalator moved upstairs.

Today's saga reminded me of an incident narrated by Bollywood actor Raja Murad who was once traveling in an upper class of an international flight in the very early stages in his career. Traveling with him was Rajkumar, an established actor at that time. Someone passed on a message to Raja Murad that folks traveling in the Economy Class were interested to get a glimpse of their favorite star Rajkumar who after some persuasion agreed to come to the economy class to meet his admirers. After the meet and greet was over on his way back to his Business/First Class area Rajkumar told Raja Murad in his inimitable style - "JAANI, TUM KAHAN MUJHE DHARAAVI LE AYE" - "My dear, you have brought me to Dharaavi". It was a condescending remark alluding the economy class, also called cattle class to Dharaavi, a famous slum in Bombay, the biggest in Asia. After watching the episode at the Hyderabad Airport security I am convinced that folks in Dharaavi or Salia Sahi slum of Bhubaneswar are a civilized lot.

It was already past 10 AM as it took us close to an hour to come out of security. Famished as we hadn't eaten since last night, some of us hit the lounge area to eat breakfast. It consisted of myriads Indian dishes like Dosa, Vada, Idli, Sambar etc and a veritable spread of Continental cuisine like cereal, bread, eggs, chicken sausages, baked beans, washed down by Masala Tea, watery juice and Coffee. Food and caffeine rejuvenated our tired souls.

The flight to Bhubaneswar was full with more than a dozen of my friends and classmates on board for company. As the aircraft descended over the mid-afternoon Bhonsar you would expect to see a bright, sunny blue sky. From the window seat I had a smoky and dusty view with the sun looking like a dimmed incandescent bulb. It seemed as if some one lit millions of "Agarbati" (incense sticks) in the city, thanks to heavy dust and pollution, most of it created by city's residents. No sooner I reached home than took a short nap to ameliorate my body & spirit and recharge my battery. The long day is yet to be over as a long evening awaits me to get ready for a social event. More later...

Day IX - India trip 2026

The residents of Goa mostly speak Konkani. It was interesting to know that there are two variations of Konkani - the regular Konkani spoken en masse and the Catholic Konkani which has a heavy Portuguese influence tinged with its own grammar.

After a good night sleep, I followed up with a heavy breakfast taking full advantage of the buffet spread with a varieties of Indian items like Dosa, Idli, Upma as well as the regular spread of continental dishes like fruits, cereals, bread, egg, sausages, potato wedges and so on. In Odia we have a saying "AME ODIA LOKE MAGENA MILILE RALA AAU GARAM PICHU HAPUDI PAKEIBU", meaning "We Odias can slurp hot coal tar or black pitch used to make road surface, as long as it is given to us free". Being a true Odia, I helped myself well at the breakfast buffet of all free items.

We traveled by bus to Nandanvan Spice Farm in Kodar, about 30-40 minutes drive from the resort. A guided tour of the Spice plantation was followed by lunch. The plantation looked dark and deep, the foliage kept environment cool at middle of the day when temperature hit 90°F (32°C). The soil was still damp from irrigated by sprinkler earlier that morning. When I queried the tour guide about the dry environment outside the plantation, she said - "You should visit Goa during the monsoon season between June and September. It doesn't rain here, it simply pours. Rest of the year it stays predominantly dry in Goa".

Being a nature lover, its flora and fauna, I saw a Resin producing plant from which "Jhuna", a product when lit produces smoke used during Puja (worshipping). I saw plants of cashew, betel nut, bay leave, turmeric, green ilaichi (cardamom), nutmeg, clove, cinnamon and last but not the least, black pepper, called the black gold during the medieval time of history. The Portuguese discovered it in India and found the Goa weather most suitable for its plantation. Black pepper plant is a climber which goes around tall trees. I saw one climbing on a betel nut tree, its nascent green fruit sprouting on both sides of the stem a la beads on the long braid of a tribal girl. Our girl guide told us that come April, these green fruit will turn red, the tiny round shaped pepper inside becomes dark in color, ready to be harvested as black pepper. The Europeans preferred black pepper to the chillies because unlike chilli pepper which gives instant heat, the heat from black pepper is milder with a distinct flavor which takes time to bring out the heat, titillating the taste bud.

Mid afternoon after a quick lunch at the Spice farm it was time to head to Benaulim beach, known for its various Water sports activities. Many took part in fancied jet skiing, paragliding etc. I stuck to a ten seater boat ride about a mile into the sea from coast. It was fun with all the salty water flashing all over your body. Yet I would consider the beach between Puri and Chandrabhaga in Odisha better with its golden white sand and rolling waves. However the Goa beach was lot cleaner. Unlike the Puri beach which is strewn in litters and at shit at places where you can hurt your feet if you walk barefoot, the Goa beach hardly had any debris. The coast guards were patrolling to chastise any recalcitrant tourists trying to break rules.

After returning back to hotel and freshening up, it was time to hit Joecons Beach Shack Benaulim right on the beachfront, sipping Bahama breeze cocktail on a breezy evening. As a fitting finale to the reunion, we had our last supper accompanied by live band and karaoke with Arabian sea roaring in the background. I loved Serradura on supper manu, a local sweet dish of Portuguese origin which I ate for the first time.

It was a lovely evening filled with nostalgia, the last one before our departure. We all agreed "ZINDAGI NA MILEGA DOBARAA", such life will not come again. Earlier that evening our friends went to the beach to enjoy the sunset. Sun might have set over the British empire, but Sun never sets over our friendship. God bless the REC 90 batch. More later...

Day VIII - India trip 2026

 After catching cold it was my turn to catch the morning flight to Hyderabad on my way to Goa to attend a College reunion on the occasion of the 35th Anniversary of passing out from NIT (them REC), Rourkela. Engineered for fun, I reached the Airport around 7.30 AM in the morning, standing in line for my id and boarding pass to be checked by the security in order to get into the Airport (unlike in USA where you can straight walk to the check in counter, in India there is an additional layer of security to get inside the airport. Only bonafide passengers and airport staff are allowed inside Airport).

Suddenly a young girl proudly cut the line going ahead of me in line, barging in front of me sliding her pink colored hand luggage. I promptly protested - "You are cutting the line ma'am". Rather than sending a polite apology or its milder version sorry, or even remaining quite, he retorted back - "I didn't see you". Irritated, I replied - "What do you mean by not seeing me standing ahead of me in queue ? Are you blind" ? "Oh, you don't have to be so rude". I replied back - "I don't have to, but I have". She twitched her cheek, gave me a sneer and melted into the crowd already reeking with passengers travelling on a long weekend (Friday, January 23 is a holiday here due to Saraswati Puja, Monday, January 26 is holiday as the Republic day).

This is my first trip in India where I was not taking a direct flight to my destination, rather transferring/connecting through Hyderabad en route to the final destination Goa. First time at Hyderabad Airport, found it swankier compared to Bhubaneswar Airport. There were a lot of stores, restaurants around the boarding gates. Restrooms were clean. (Like a dog I peed at the Airport to leave my mark at Hyderabad before catching my Airplane to Goa).

It was my initial thought that cutting line was limited to Bhubaneswar only. The same happening during the security check of passengers at Hyderabad Airport transferring to the connecting gates. Folks were trying to sneak in between to snatch the trays to put their bags, belts, electronic items on them and put them ahead of you. I politely asked one guy not to cut ahead of me. He gave me "didn't har you" kind of look. But when a 6 feeter CISF personnel with a Walrus moustache standing nearby warned the passengers, every one fell in line. More than my polite request, a cop's high pitched voice was heard loud and clear by co-passengers.

It was middle of afternoon when my flight from Hyderabad landed at the Dabolim Airport in South Goa. OLA and Uber Cabs aren't available in Goa, thanks to the locally Unionized Cab association. The pre-paid Taxi looked so seventies, with worn out seat and dusty interior. No wonder lack of competition and options impacts quality and breeds inefficiency. The taxis are Goa Airport best vindicated this fact. The old car with a struggling Airconditioning trudged its way to Sarovar Sea Breeze Fatrade Resort in Varca area of South Goa, maneuvering through the narrow lanes and bylaness.

I took a peek outside to look around the hilly terrains filled with a labyrinth of old style houses. The milieu of Goa looks like a sophisticated version of Puri, minus the filth. I saw signs of "Garibi" (poverty), but hardly any "Gandgi" (trash). The afternoon flow of vehicles was orderly, no zigzag traffic, hardly any honking of horn, bulls. I saw fewer pariah dogs on road compared to Bhubaneswar. Locals looked dark, short and stout but all smiling. Didn't see any female in Saree attire, they wore western dress, long flowing scott.

The houses were made up of concrete with red tiled rooftops, had big walls, tall iron gates protecting the protruding TAGARA, MANDARA (hibiscus) flowing trees, Mango trees filled with BAULA (sprouting blossoms), guava, coconut and betel nut trees ladden with construction dust. Not a single wall had any lover's public proclamation of eternal love - "Harry loves Sally" or " Harish loves Savita". Didn't see any stacks of shit, nor anybody peeing or squatting by roadside. Only difference, in Goa you see as many churches as you see temples in Puri or Bhubaneswar.

It was a heartfelt moment filled with nostalgic memories to be greeted by a banner proudly proclaiming the Reunion of 1990 batch Rengcolian (as NIT, or old REC Rourkela guys are called). Meeting many after years, some after passing out from the college 35 years ago, I noticed that all of us have gracefully aged, more graying and receding hairlines. Excited by meeting each other after a long hiatus, few of us went an extra yard at the hotel lobby hopping towards each other like a triple jumper athlete with spring on their feel to embrace each other,

Done with meet and greet, it was sun set time and time for us to gather at the resort lobby to travel to Ouzo Delmar Banquet Varca beach in South Goa where Goan dance show plus music plus karaoke plus gala dinner with drinks awaited us. Bar, Beach and Barbecue in Goa is incomplete without shaking legs. Us Rengcolians on the wrong side of their 50s and arguably in the last throes, we are without any argument the best dancers on earth. For many of us, it was the last occasion to swing and tweak our hips and legs as a group before arthritis takes over.

Goa is a foodie's paradise, especially those who love seafood. The are known for excellent Sea Food preparation. Fish is called "Machhi" which sounds more like Makhee (flies), rather than Machhli is Suddh Hindi. They speak a sweet Konkani mixed Hindi. It was close to midnight when I dragged by tired torso, but high on spirit to my hotel room. I had a pretty long eventful day and slept through the night till 7 O'clock in morning. After exactly a week my jet lag was over. More later...

Day VI and VII in Bhubaneswar

 Managed to catch a cold. Got up this morning to sore throat, cough, body ache and a slight running temperature. It seems a combination of Virus, dust and pollution probably took their toll on and control over my body. Soon I had this odd feeling of my throat getting sore and starting to itch more. By noontime I could sense coming down with something. Post lunch I sneezed couple of times as my nostrils started to get warmer and wetter, as my breathing was beginning to get heavier, giving it a burning sensation. The spine, knees and slowly my entire body started aching badly.

Sipped a "Kadda Chai" (strong tea) boiled with a liberal dosage of ginger slices and black pepper. It certainly was soothing to my aching throat and shrugged off my jaded nerves. But the relief was temporary as the symptoms came back again, a la a drunk uncle who you don't want to be at your family function, yet you can't stop him from coming.

Fortunately I didn't have a whole lot of items in my to do list. Feeling weak and tired took an afternoon siesta. By evening I was feeling lousy and drank stronger tea. My voice sounds like our legendary singer Saigal". My wife told me sarcastically - "To me it sounds more like the course croak of a Bull Frog on a rainy summer night".

After a frugal lunch of hot Chinese soup, it felt a lot better. Hot and spicy food feel so soothingly titillating to my numbed taste bud.
Read somewhere that Viruses hate Alcohol. However, didn't try any. Continued to lie on bed like a horizontal version of Sri Chaitanya Mahaprabhu, the legendary medieval time  preacher in Odisha and Bengal during the Bhakti movement.

Common cold can be very irritating. Medical science which has grown leaps and bounds, is yet to discover a cure for it. Only it's duration can be minimized with plenty of fluids and rest. If you take medicine it will last a week.


Took this opportunity to catch up with news back home in United States tuning in to CNN The local Odia channels, gave me more headaches than the cold virus. During the  Odia news the screen flashes in English BREAKING NEWS. They can very well transliterate it as BHANGA KHABARA (broken news), from the way the Odia anchors and newsreaders speak in needless accented Broken Odia. I have seen "Breaking news" like DURDANTA APARADHI CHAKULI GIRAF (Notorious criminal named CHAKULI has been arrested). And more, NAKALI GUTHKA COMPANY UPARE POLICE RA CHADHAU  (police raid on fake chewing tobacco company).

As if not enough, came across a few more terms or phrases. CHUTIA BANEILA (Chutia Banaya) -  Made an ass of me. MAHANGA PADILA  (Mehnga Pada) - Prove costly.
KANA KHECHUDI PAKUCHI (Kya Khichdi Pakta hai) - What's cooking? May Lord Jagannath save my mother tongue. Either it is enriching itself by liberally accepting the influx from other languages. Or, it's destined towards oblivion, which seems like the most likely outcome.

Day IV and V in Bhubaneswar - India trip January 2026

Life in Bhubaneswar goes at a slow pace but time passes fast. Before I realized already 5 days from my vacation are over, and before I realize my entire vacation will be over just like the twinkling of an eye. So it's better to make the best out of it.

Sunday as usual is a holiday here, and Bhubaneswar being the capital city harboring multiple government offices with salaried class people saw relatively less crowded on its roads as today was a government holiday here. It was a cool, Sunday morning with a light wind blowing the dust around. The tree leaves on foliage were desperately trying to shrug off the dust by swaying to the wind. Slowly the wind started to taper and winding up. I accompanied a group of friends for a walk inside the Forest Park. The holiday morning traffic seemed a walk in the park. The floor of the park was filled with few broken twigs and leaves lying amidst layers of dust. There were plenty of "Baul and Krushnachuda" trees inside the park. The mango trees in nascent bloom were adorned with "Baula" (mango flowers) looking like star studded mini Christmas trees protruding out of the dusty, green leaves. Patches of greenish yellow flowers sprinkled all over the walking trail.

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

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

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

Next morning, I took a slow walk to the local Sukhmeswar temple, barely 500 feet from our house. The temple had more than its usual share of devotees today Sombaar (Monday) with Bhakts (devotees) making a beeline to enter into the narrow entrance of the temple, touching the feet of the Bull, the carrier of Lord Shiva lying near the entrance. I finished my "Darshan" (beholding of the diety) and started by walk home after ringing the temple bell. Suddenly rang a bell of this episode from one of my prior trips.

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

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

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

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

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

Day II and III in Bhubaneswar - India trip January 2026

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

A NRI (Non Resident Indian) visiting India once went shopping for Toilet paper. The store was out of it. Retorted the furious NRI, "What kind of store you have, you don't carry a necessity item like Toilet Paper ?" "Sorry Sir" - the storekeeper responded politely. We don't have toilet paper but we have plenty of Sand papers. TIKE ADJUST KARANTU ("Please adjust a little bit)". In many instances it simply means, please squeeze in more than 5 people in a seat made for 3 persons inside a car or any mode of public transport. Or a polite way of saying, "Bear the inconvenience".

Made a trip to "Sarasa Sisira Mela 2026" at the local Exhibition ground. I was told to go around 3 PM in the afternoon to beat the crowd. Though there weren't a whole lot of folks over there, but the haphazard and disorganized onlookers made the venue look crowded.

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

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

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

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

I asked him - "How can you simply generalize like that" ? He continued - "Trust me, you haven't seen Cuttack". He was right. Though Cuttack is our neighboring city, I haven visited it no more than half a dozen times in my life. He went further - "The traffic in the new Capital city of Bhonsar is a walk in the park compared to Odisha's Old Capital city of Cuttack". I chuckled back and told him - "I certainly see how every rule abiding Bhubaneswariya makes his or own road rules on daily basis. Cuttackias can't be any worse".
My ride was over the fare of Rs.160. I gave him a Rs.200 bill (called note here). He reached out to his dashboard for changes. I gestured him to keep the change. During our earlier conversation I raised his curiosity. Now I got his attention to give me a closer look in the street lamp struggling to lighten the darkness.

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

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

All sorts of topics are discussed here. From the cold, bland ones like current weather condition to hot and spicy political gossips as hot and spicy as the simmering Bara dollops getting fried in hot oil. As Bulu the Chef moved around the dollops of "Bara" swirling and wobbling on the surface of boiling oil using his jumbo sized spatula, he exclaimed in an excited voice - "SALAA SABU GAON RU UTHI ASI KAHIBE AME BHONSARA RE RAHIBU" - All those brothers of the sisters I have seduced (SALAA means wife's brother, but in local lingo its usage suggests the speaker is the seducer of the sister of whom so ever concerned). They have come out of their villages with the desire to live in Bhonsara (Bhubaneswar). "RAJADHANI PANI, TANKU ANUCHI TANI - the water of capital city is luring them into it".

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

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

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

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

Day 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...