India All out for 36

 In the year 1974, India toured England in the first half of English summer. I lived in Liverpool, England for some time and very familiar with its freaky weather. It is not unusual to have cold spells during the summer in England, especially in its early part. But that year it was quite unusual - it was more like a cold spring than summer when the Indian team landed on the English soil on a 3 test series.

The tour was ill fated from the beginning. India lost the series 3-0, whitewashed. Ordinary bowlers like Chris Old and John Snow created havoc in India's batting line up. Gavaskar was probably the only batsman who stood up showing some grit filled resistance. 

Sunil Gavaskar has rated his 101 on a cold, blistery day in Old Trafford, Manchester on that tour as his best knock, well above his several double centuries. Our bowling attack those days, completely dependent on spinners who couldn't get their grip on the ball due to the cold conditions. English batsmen made our world class spinners look like ordinary club cricketers making a mincemeat out of them.

To add salt to the wound, India was bowled out for a paltry 42 runs at Lord's. I had an old copy of the magazine "Illustrated Weekly of India" (now defunct) at home where its cricket columnist Raju Bharatan published all the 10 black and white photos of our batsmen's dismissal.

Fast forward to 46 years later. All these years Cricket has gone through metamorphic changes. India is no more the cricketing world's minnows of 1970s. It is now a cricket powerhouse having all the money, power, influence over the game centered around it. West Indies, the unbeatable team of 1970s is now just another ordinary team on the cricket map.

Yet India couldn't defy history. History repeats itself and strikes at inopportune moments. Those who forget history are condemned to repeat it. Yesterday we created history, breaking that record set at Mecca of cricket in 1974 by getting dismissed for 36 runs, 6 runs less than the humiliating innings total under the Captainship of Ajit Wadekar. Emotional fans in Indian greeted Wadekar and the team mates with a shower of rotten eggs and sandals (a mode of humiliation in Indian subcontinent) upon their arrival at Bombay (it wasn't Mumbai yet) Airport. Glad there was no social media then - otherwise, they would have been trolled.

And trolled are now our players on media, social or otherwise after scoring 36 runs off pink ball in Adelaide losing all their 10 wickets, especially the director of the team Ravi Sastri who is toasted and roasted a la a burnt bread. Sastri is not new to this kind of treatment. During his playing days he was known to be a selfish player hell bent upon scoring runs at snail's pace at the cost of the country. His slow innings was blamed for several Indian defeats. At least one comes to my mind. When India lost to Australia in a crucial group game in 1992 World Cup held Down Under by just 1 run, Sastri's slow innings came under scanner. 

The ignominy then wasn't just limited to media. Across India Ravi Sastri's effigies were garlanded with CHAPPAL (sandals) and public made bonfire of them. It still remember a photograph from Sastri's hometown of Bombay where his name was painted on a donkey and the poor animal was garlanded with string of slippers. It doesn't take our mercurial fans to overreact. It doesn't take long for bricks to follow bouquets. It may happen yet again. An emotionally charged public may very well make an ass out of him - fanning a long stretch from the player Sastri of yesteryear to Director Sastri.

RIP Paolo Rossi

 This Italian will forever be remembered as the star of the 1982 World Cup Soccer who dashed the dream of the Brazil's dream team who was the favorite to win the Cup. The scorer of 6 goals in that World Cup, including his hat trick in the crucial game against Brazil which sealed the fate of the South American Samba team.

The Brazil's soccer team that year managed by the legendary Tele Santana who believed attack is the best method of defense. The star studded Brazilian team with the likes of Zico, Socrates, Falcao breezed into the quarters. The legendary Pele boasted "Playing like this we are going to win the Cup". 

That year, the number of nations qualifying for the World Cup was increased from 16 to 24. Quarterfinals was held in a league format with Argentina (with a promising 21 year old Maradona in their side), Brazil and Italy clubbed together in one group, with one team to qualify for the semifinals. It was dubbed as the group of death. Italy barely qualified to the Quarterfinals, finding itself in a group of previous World Cup Champions and the tournament's favorite team Brazil.

The Samba team defeated Argentina 3-1, Italy defeated Argentina 2-1. Brazil just needed a draw to qualify for the Semifinals and in full form, it seemed to be an easy task for the team.

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

Rossi didn't stop there. He netted 2 goals against Poland in Semifinal and it final against Germany netted one more to take their team to an improbable win. He was Italy's national hero overnight.

As a 13 year old I remember following the matches on BBC Radio. There was no TV in Bhubaneswar at that time. Being a fan of Brazil, I was sad too. Many died of heart attack in Brazil and a few committed suicide due to this unexpected loss. 

And today's shocking loss was Paolo Rossi at the age of 64. December turning out to be a bad year for Soccer stars, as Brazil's Socrates the maverick player and a star of 1982 World Cup too died in the month of December. RIP, Paolo Rossi. You will be remembered as synonymous to the Azzuri's (Italian Soccer team) 1982 World Cup win.

RIP Binayak Mohapatra

 I remember him from the year 1976 when I arrived in Bhubaneswar as a 7 year old as my father got transferred to BJB College. We never left Bhubaneswar ever since, nor my memories of him. He was one year senior to me in school and lived next door in BJB Flats - an array of newly constructed three storeyed government quarters next to Lewis Road.

As he was my senior in school and more familiar to the local milieu my mother put faith on him, requested him to guide me while crossing the crowded Lewis road which used to get busy with the Puri and the Secretariate bound traffic during the peak school hours. Bhubaneswar was a sleepy township of salaried government employees. The main roads were mostly empty except during the commute hours of the office goers.

We were next door neighbors. He took good care of me, always fed me the sweetest of Guavas and BARA KOLI (tiny sweet and sour berries) from their backyard. As he was a better built lad and a year senior to me, the bullying kids avoided me. It didn't take long for my schoolmates to accept me as one of their own once I scored good marks in exams and got rid of my typical accent of Bhadrak, the town where I spent five years of my early childhood, long enough to catch the local accent. My classmates in Bhubaneswar laughed at me when I pronounced KODIE CHORA (Twenty thieves) as KOODIE CHOORA, putting a "Na" after words, e.g. KHAICHU NA, JAICHU NA. He laughed too, counselled me to restrain myself and not to get reactive when someone poked fun at me. Soon I got over it and my ubiquitous BHADRAKIA accent.

He was a good organizer and had leadership qualities. We used to play cricket and a local version of basketball where you put a stack of broken bricks, throw a ball at it to dismantle it, then put them back together before someone hurls and hits you with the ball. I was at best average in sports, he was amongst the best to earn the "captain" tag and call the shots at team selection before any crucial match with our adjacent gully opponents.

We used to celebrate Saraswati Puja, Ganesh Puja, Holi and Diwali together. Once a few weeks before Diwali he came with a creative idea of his own. He brought a tin box and made a tiny slot on top of it. We were instructed to put coins inside and save them to buy firecrackers for Diwali. To keep it safe, following his advice we dug up the ground and buried our safe box. On the morning of Diwali, we purchased fireworks with the saved money. I was afraid of sound making TALA PHOTAKA (firecracker made from palm leaves) but he wasn't. He used to take pride in bursting them standing a few feet away.

He wasn't afraid of anyone, but his father, who was a thorough gentleman but a strict dad. Even if he would be batting (a cherished moment for gully cricketers), no sooner he heard the typical sound of Mausa (his father's) Bajaj Chetak, than he threw his bat away and ran towards home. It's always a desperate race against time to sneak through backdoor. 

Mausa usually took his time to take off the helmet, elongate the folded stand of the scooter using his hind leg, park and lock it before turning the handle couple of times ensure that the lock is secured. That provides his son precious little time to be at his study table, pretending to be studying.

And studied he well. After completing his Intermediate Science he studied Engineering and came to USA 🇺🇸 to do further studies. Like the overwhelming majority of us who came to America not to return back, he made a choice to settle down here and had been living in Phoenix, Arizona for no less than a decade. 

Last Wednesday (December 2) morning he passed away, apparently from a massive cardiac arrest, leaving his wife and his 9 year old behind. Only 52, he had a long road ahead. The news was stunning beyond my belief as I felt something snapping inside me. When I heard his 9 year old son saying - "Don't you worry. I am a strong boy", drops of tears fogged my vision. BINAYAK (Bapi) MOHAPATRA, stay in peace in heaven, where you rightly belong. Om Shanti.

RIP Diego Maradona

 This 21 year old thin, tiny guy from Argentina was the new star in the horizon amongst the more established Brazilian, German and Italian stars like Zico, Socrates, Paolo Rossi in the 1982 World Cup Soccer being held in Spain. He was Diego Maradona.

Argentina the champion in the previous version missed to see Maradona in the World Cup held in their own soil as the coach thought at 17 he was too raw to play in a high profile tournament. But in 1979 FIFA Youth World Cup held in Japan, Maradona emerged as a star as Argentina won the cup defeating Soviet Union in the Finals.

In 1982 Maradona was no stranger to the world of soccer, having already carved his niche. The Quarterfinals was in a league format with Argentina, Brazil and Italy clubbed together in one group, the group of sudden death from which only one team can qualify for the semifinals. In the all important match, Brazil, the overwhelming favorite Samba team needed just a draw to qualify to the semis. But Argentina and Brazil, both lost to Italy which stopped their juggernaut, especially the fancied Brazil.

Maradona was a matured 25 year old and 1986 was His World Cup. I deliberately used (H in Caps) for His famous "Hand of God" goal which sealed England's chances in the Quarterfinals. Maradona scored a controversial goal against the English team, apparently touching the ball by his hand just before scoring the goal. The British press went berserk to which Maradona responded - "It was the hand of Diego (God)".

Arguably, apart from Pele, Maradona wearing his famous no. 10 Jersey when on a dribbling mode was unstoppable and dangerous proposition to any opponent. It also often made him victim to professional fouls to break their flow, causing frequent injuries.

He played in the next World Cup in 1990 when he took his team to the Finals again, before Argentina lost to Germany in a close encounter. I still remember a visibly crying Maradona at the end of the final, as he couldn't bear the loss of his team.

Maradona had an uneventful World Cup i in 1994 World Cup held in the United States, failing a drug test. He was always in the news ever since, mostly for wrong reasons with allegations of drug use and a messy married life. But he was still unstoppable on soccer front, working as a Manager. Death finally stopped him once and for all today. At 60, he still had yards to go. Rest in peace, Hand of God.

In Memory of Chiranjeebi - Story of an Odia Imposter

 Who said that we Odias aren't smart ! This is the story of an Odia con artist who fooled many and successfully flirted with multiple women on Facebook, until one day he lied exposed.

Once upon a time, I was part of a group of Odias on Facebook. A common friend, a good samatarian, an active member and Admin of that group who liked my blogs and other posts on Facebook added me to that group, because I was expected to add variety by contributing my blogs. So I did religiously. But soon I suspected that hardly anyone followed my blogs in that forum. 

Majority of the members were ladies whose taste hovered around exotic Odia food, Bollywood and occasional Odia songs, pickles, mundane talks about their day to day activities, gossips, especially character assassination of their villainous mother-in-laws and sister-in-laws. I could sense that hardly anyone bothered to read my blogs, barring a few humorous ones which earned me some frugal "Likes". Being the odd man out in a group where majority were girls, I thought of quitting. But kept on procrastinating my decision as I found their gossips spicy enough for me to stay glued to the group.

There was this guy, a member and a very active participant, non-controversial, liked by one and all. But eventually he turned out to be a BAHURUPI (multiple personality), a master of the game he was playing. Unknown to all he created an account in the name of "Chiranjeebi Dash", a good looking stud with a handsome picture and added him to this group. His profile page said he was a pilot in Indian Air Force, flying fighter jets across the globe.

Soon at least half a dozen married ladies from the group swooned over and went crazy about this new kid in the block. Bored with their mundane life as housewives, a la instant kick from caffeine shruggs off jaded nerves, they discovered new found excitement in chasing the mirage of this perfect man - Tall, dark, handsome (with stolen profile picture), a dashing young pilot with a sense of humor who humored the girls with poetry and romantic Shayaris quoting choicest Urdu couplets. 

One day he perfectly placed himself in a position of abject sympathy, as the fictitious Airman announced the loss of his fictitious girlfriend to cancer. To give credence to his character, he had already created a Facebook profile of a pretty girl (obviously stolen). To add more myth surrounding our pilot Chiranjeebi a fictitious sister of him was added to the group. His fictitious sister boasted about her loving Air Force brother Chiranjeebi. If I remember correctly her name was "Anwesha Dash", a very appropriate name chosen, for everyone is still in ANWESAN (quest) of that girl. 

His best laid plan to create a wonderful scenario which appeared so realistic in the virtual world of Facebook started to yield results. No less than half a dozen girls in that group instantly bought his story and were all over him. They literally got into a cat fight to grab his attention, making a beeline of their melted hearts showering him with sympathy. Before they realized, their compassion had transformed into infatuation, infatuation to love. 

One of the girls promptly offered a gift of an expensive Parker pen to the pilot. Another girl was on the verge of leaving her family to fulfill the void left at the man's heart now that his girlfriend (fictitious) is gone. The ladies were ready to give up their everytning for someone they never met before. In the wildest of their dreams they didn't know that their man in Shining Armor, their hero was a conman. 

At this point I was starting to get curious to know about this guy. Couple of times he mentioned about flying to US Airforce base in Colorado on some training mission. I requested him to share his telephone number while he was supposed to be in US. He was evasive - "this is a top secret mission, we are not supposed to give our contact number". He agreed to gave me his India number and told me that I may call him once he returns back". Something didn't sound right. Nevertheless, I called him after a few days.

On the other end was a hoarce voice, coughing - "Brother, I am in Egypt now, just flew my fighter plane straight from Russia. It was snowing there. Here it's damn hot. The sudden change of weather caused me a bad cold. Sorry, brother. Can't talk any longer. Too tired and want to call it a day". "No problem. Take care" - I replied. 

But my suspicion only grew. Our dashing man Chiranjeebi Dash avoids to talk, and when he talks it is a coarse, shadowy voice from some shady place in Egypt at the other end. Something ain't sounded right. I thought of disclosing my findings, but was apprehensive that it will fall into deaf ears of these women who were completely smitten and mesmerized by their pilot hero. So, I kept quite.

A few days later, a real Odia pilot was killed along with 4 more Airforce guys as their flight crashed near Gwalior. Our Chiranjeebi immediately announced that the unfortunate Odia pilot was his friend and he was supposed to be in that flight but somehow was lucky to have missed the ill fated flight by a whisker. The girls went gaga over him, their infatuation grew many fold. They profusely thanked God for saving the precious life of their SAPNON KA SAUDAGAR (Dream man).

At this point I gave Chiranjibee the benefit of doubt and wasn't suspicious anymore. Though I was on right track, after this incident I blamed myself for being inordinately skeptical, with my suspicion hitting a road block. It was vindicated that my Sherlock Holmes skills has its limitations. A real guy is dead. The aircrash has been reported in all the major Indian newspapers. Poor Chiranjibee is mourning his friend and I am needlessly getting suspicious about someone who just lost his friend and not long ago lost his girlfriend. I felt offtrack.

Or so I thought. Chiranjibee remained the blue eyes boy of these Odia girls, until his luck finally finally ran out after a year. This man posing as the legendary pilot got caught one day by another member of the group while trying to change phones and modulate his voice to play the character of Airman Chiranjeebi. Caught red handed, he admitted of playing the role of a fictitious character to flirt with the girls. Now folks were able to connect the dots and his victims figured how they were taken for a ride for couple of years by this imposter. Poor ladies, their Knight in Shining Armor they so long fantasized had turned into a crook.

Years later I happened to meet this guy during my trip to Odisha. I confronted him, urf the fictitious Chiranjibee and asked him right on his face - "Should I address you with your real name So and So, or as Chiranjibee, the dashing Air Force pilot ?" He sounded embarrassed, "BHAI, KAHI CHUNA MARUCHA. GOTE KHARAP BELA THILA - Bro, why you are adding salt to the wound. It was my bad time". I replied - "You had a good time. Many men would love to be in your shoes. After all, who can make half a dozen women go crazy simultaneously after one person ? Only celebrity can and you had your celebrity status for quite long time".

That Facebook group is no more there, probably defunct now. From what I heard, this guy has been blocked, unfriended by some of the ladies. Yet the memory of the Indian Airforce Pilot Chiranjeebi, as the name goes, lives on.

US 2020 Elections and its aftermath

 The night after the day of US Elections I was fast asleep. In the wee hours my phone kept on ringing. Drowsy after a long day I hesitantly picked up the phone. At the other end I could hear the sad voice of a boy from our village - "BHAINA, KANA TRAWMPAW KU HAREI DELA - Hey Brother, you defeated Trump ?". "But why do you care ?" - I asked in an intriguing tone. He retorted back - "BICHARAA HAARI GALA. NA HELE PAKISTAN UPARE BOMA PAKEI THANTA - The poor guy lost. Otherwise, he could have dropped a bomb on Pakistan". I replied dismissively - "Oh, Trump told you so ? That's good to know".

In meantime, there was a Presidential election that was held in Tanzania on October 28, less than a week before the US Elections. Outside their country, nobody cares, nobody bothers about their elections. Poor Tanzania !!!

Come American Presidential elections every other 4 years, it gets its fair coverage in India. But this year, the extent of its following, especially on social media surprised me. What surprised me more was the widespread passion of the Trump supporers back home rooting for his victory. If Trump would run in India, he need not do any campaigning - he will win hands down.

But who am I to sermonize? I was also one of those tens of millions who passionately followed the elections, bidding for the Democrats, including Joe Biden, now the President Elect. But in my view following are the reasons which generated an extra interest in this election back home.

First, the flamboyancy of Trump's character. His unconventional, bullying and tweeting tactics made him a great salesman - his sales pitch bought instantly by his fans which shrugged off their jaded nerves, giving them the instant kick of multiple cups instant coffee. Secondly, the misplaced belief of our foreign policy experts on social media that Trump was on the verge of declaring Pakistan a terrorist state because their Supreme God Sri Sri Modi danced in "Howdy Modi" event in Houston holding Trump's hands.

In spite of all these histrionics at Houston, 72% of Indian Americans including me voted for Joe Biden. What a vision in foreign policy by Modi to take sides in am election in a foreign country and openly declare standing next to someone up for reelection - "AB KI BAAR, TRUMP SARKAR - Next time, it's Trump Government" ! Can't find any thing more appropriate to describe this than a myopic, tunnel vision in foreign policy.

I have been following Elections in USA since 1976. Every time a Republican comes, he screws up the governance. Then a Democratic President comes and goes on to rescue it. The Right wingers across the globe are big on rhetorics, failures at governance. I can write an essay about it, but here is a brief summary.

1. George Bush Senior - He screwed up the economy and lost to Bill Clinton in 1992. When Clinton left in 2000 the economy was booming.

2. In 2008 George Bush Junior went for ill fated Iraq war and economy was on a freefall. Obama rescued the economy and left with an economy in good shape in 2016. 

3. Now under Trump both economy is bad and COVID-19 is worse.

I can go on and on, on this. In meantime Trump is behaving like a petulant child whose candy has been snatched away from his hand. The Nostradamuses and Alhabadi Astrologers on social media who predicted a Trump victory have gone underground.

Yet Democrats need to do some soul searching to do. Though better than the Republicans, they are no lily whites either. Gone are the days they used to be the party of the blue collar, middle class working American. Many of them have become elitists and because of that they have lost a chunk of votes in the Rust belt. They need to get back to the basics and be the champions of the middle class.

The shy supporters of Modi and Trump

 Frank Luntz, the famed Republican pollster apologized on National Public Radio for his failure to call the US 2020  Election correctly. His estimate was a conservative, but a comfortable win for Joe Biden. Though Biden is almost there, the Election was far closer than he predicted, Trump really giving the Democrats a run for money.

Frank was frank enough to own his failure. Per him, the discrepancy in his prediction was due to those shy Trump voters preferred not to express publicly their choice for Trump, being afraid of getting ridiculed. Those unaccounted shy voters made all the difference to calculations in the pollsters prediction.

It immediately rang a bell. I have observed, at least on the social media there are many shy supporters of our Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi, who are afraid of being ridiculed in public. They don't want to be branded as a Modi BHAKT (a religiously blind follower). At the same time, there are obviously plenty of those not so shy supporters of Mr. Modi roaming all over the social media.

I mock at both Modi and Trump, as they go hand in hand. They even danced together hand in hand in the much publicized "Howdy Modi" event last year (much publicized in India, the American media barely took a notice the event being held in their own soil in Houston). I also mock at their hardcore, blind supporters as BHAKTs in a generic way, never being specific to any particular individual.

Nothing riles someone more than being labelled as a BHAKT. But there is some misunderstanding here as I have never said in any of my blogs or posts anything specifically about Mr. X or Ms. Y being a Bhakt. Not sure why people take it so personally in that case. I would like to make it clear that my views are highly generic, not any specific to any particular person.

There is a saying in Odia "MANDIRA RE KIYE, NA MU KADALI KHAINI - Who is there in the temple, reply comes, I haven't eaten any Banana." It simply means, somebody trying to defend himself when there is no accusation". But if my mockery of Modi-Trump duo makes anyone uncomfortable, they are free to ignore my posts, unfriend me or even block me. 

I am reminded of this famous song from a Guru Dutt movie and modified it in this context.

 

BHAKT NE KIYA, KYA HASI SITAM

NA TUM RAHE NA TUM

NA HUM RAHE NA HUM.

Roughly transliterated....

The devotee has done charming injustice,

Nor Me or you,

now are what we used to.