Dadagiri - A matter of perception

 DADAGIRI (Bullying) is more a perception than reality. I learnt it the hard way during my teenage days than ever before.

Ragging was at its peak when I entered into REC (now NIT) Rourkela in 1986 as an undergraduate Engineering student. I was well ragged and slapped multiple times (once slapped by a senior guy until my nose bled, I just stopped short of reporting him to the authority). My independent stay in hostel and enduring the perpetual ragging in a tough milieu made me tougher, contributing towards me perceiving myself as a cool guy.

I came home for the Durga Puja holidays in the month of October. A few guys near my locality were regularly harassing my sister by passing innuendos (comments in local lingo) whenever she ventured outside from home. Sick and tired of those road Romeos, she simply chose to avoid them. 

Once she overheard one of the eve teasers talking - "Her brother can do no harm to us as he is a good for nothing PENA (nincompoop) - not a smart guy." In Webster's dictionary smart means "clever, witty, brainy" etc. But in local Bhubaneswar parlance a guy on a bike wearing shiny shoes and chasing girls is considered a smart guy. I riding a bicycle without a girlfriend at that time didn't fit to their definition of smartness. The name "Smart city" tag given to the capital city of Odisha speaks for itself.

No wonder I was promptly dismissed as a nerdy kind of a guy who is just a harmless bookworm. Their taunt as retold by my sister got into my nerves. The ragging fatigued guy in me was dying to display some macho. Though not a very brave man, I was itching to confront those vagabonds and prove them wrong. It was time for some action. And fighting for the honor of my sister was the right thing to do, not to mention the perfect opportunity to display some bravado in an otherwise lackluster life.

The following afternoon I decided to escort my sister during her walk to her friend's house with a small knife tucked inside my pocket unknown to her. After we were half way through our journey,  three guys riding a pillion approached us. The guy in the middle turned his head towards us, put couple of his fingers behind his lips and whistled at my sister.

Then followed taunts of "Hi Hi". I raised my middle finger towards them as a sign of friendly reciprocity. Not sure if they understood my gesture, but they parked the bike and apprached me twitching their shirt collars uttering in Oriya "HAIRE DADAGIRI MARUCHU' meaning "Are you bossing around ?

Not long ago I had seen the movie NAAM and tried to replicate Sanjay Dutt,  as it was not uncommon those days for the youth to emulate the Bollywood actors. (Many tend to carry the angry young man trait of Amitabh Bachchan, the Superstar of our time as a hangover lasting for few hours after coming out of the movie theater). I took out the small knife from my pocket and threatened them in no uncertain terms whoever hits me first I will push the sharp top of the knife into his bottom. 

My sister expected me to confront them but was dumbfounded by seeing me pulling out a knife, giving me a look with dilated pupils. I could feel my heart pounding fast. My mouth was hot as heater but bottom was cold as a freezer. But the born grit and stubbornness in me didn't waver a bit. Saving my sister's honor was enough motivation for me to confront them, though she was the only person other than me who was aware of the fact that the pocket knife which I was holding was so sharp that I forever struggled to cut an apple using it. But I was the only one other than her who was aware of this secret. They never expected this from a so called PENA, DHAIN - a nincompoop. It caught them off guard. They apparently panicked and walked away. More that the object, it was the image or perception which mattered.

A few days later I went back to Rourkela as the institute opened post holidays. My sister wrote me a letter (only mode of communication then in the world sans email, phone) mentioning that those guys never bothered her again. 

The little junk knife I used to scare the perpetrator Majnus wouldn't have hurt a fly, yet the perception the aggressive guy in me holding it worked and worked to  perfection. 90% of things we assume in life never happen. Lot of things or threats aren't as serious or menacing as they seem, as most stereotypes have been proven to be wrong. 

RIP Pele

He was next thing to God in Football. Chief architect of Brazil's 3 time win in the World Cups of 1958, 1962 and 1970, his skills of passing and scoring was simply impeccable and insurmountable. Hailed from a soccer crazy nation he carved is niche as arguably the greatest football ⚽️ player of all time. 

In a country known to produce Soccer Stars he was undoubtedly the Superstar. In 1960s and 70s Soccer (called Football in the world outside United States) was synonymous with Pele. Though Brazil was a soccer nation even before he came to represent them as a 17 year old, he single handedly put his nation in forefront on the world map by being a major contributor to Brazil's victories. Come World Cup every 4 years, most fans all over the globe irrespective of their allegiance, want to watch Brazil play. Pele marked an era where Brazillians played the game in tandem with its Samba music. Watching Brazil play was akin to viewing poetry in motion. 

After retirement Pele joined Cosmos club in New York in 1975 to try promote Football, oops Soccer in America. He had limited success. America started qualifying in World Cups starting from 1998 (it played 1994 World Cup as the host nation). Now it is a much improved soccer nation though never came anywhere close to winning the Cup. 

In 1977 Pele arrived at the Dum Dum Airport in Calcutta on a  sultry August night to find to his surprise that thousands were waiting outside braving pouring rains to have a glimpse of him. Mesmerized by such adulation he was amazed at his fan following in a nation which forget about playing in World Cup, hardly got any closer to qualifying for the coveted tournament. 

While in Spain watching the 1982 edition of the World Cup as Brazil peaked early on a winning spree, juggernauting its way ahead, a confident Pele proclaimed - "Playing like this we are going to win the Cup". Everyone thought so. But Paolo Rossi of Italy crashed the Brazilian dream by scoring a hat trick and eliminating Brazil at a crucial stage of the tournament. It took 12 more years for Brazil to win a World Cup in 1994 edition held in the United States. Pele was seen openly dancing in the stadium with tears of joy in his eyes. 

Stars are born everyday, superstars once in a century. Pele was one of them who passed away today after a long tryst with illness. RIP Pele. You will forever be synonymous with World's most popular sports.

Zindagi Na Milega Dobara

 It is so heartening to see my junior batches of my Alma Mater NIT (Then REC) Rourkela celebrating their Silver Jubilee Anniversary of passing out from the coveted institute at this time of year. It is the equivalent of College reunion in American parlance. I was present there for the same occasion in December 2015. The occasion was a pure mix of joy and nostalgia.

On that balmy Rourkela winter afternoon while taking a stroll around the campus on the semi paved, dusty road, I met a group of students, a veritable mix of young boys and girls who obliged me by agreeing to take a selfie with them. In course of our tete-a-tete they were surprised to discover that I passed out from the institute before they were born. 

I was asked where I am now and what I do ? I replied back - "I live in Georgia, US and work for an IT Company". One of them shoot me this, "You must be a big shot". "No, I am not", I replied - "I am a very small fry compared to numerous NITians who are highly successful around the globe". The institute has its stamp in Technocracy, Bureaucracy, Research and higher echelons of the Corporate world. I told them how proud I am of my Alma Mater and you all should be, whatever you do, wherever you go.

On hearing to what I just said, their cup of joy was full, spilling all over in form of smiles from the boys and giggles from the girls, as if they just won an event in Spring Fest defeating their rivals. I added further, saying how pleased I was seeing so many girls in NIT, compared to hardly a dozen from our batch. And how during our days a Rengcolian boy's dream was to get the dream job of DARWAAN (the Gate Keeper) of the Ladies Hostel, to watch the damsels toing and froing at the gates of their Mecca. 

I narrated them this episode from my ragging days when I was in my first year. A senior entered my room and found a photo of Lord Shiva hanging on the wall. He ordered me to stand with folded hands 🙏 in front of the deity and pray - "O Lord Shiva. My present life is wasted as an Engineer. Please bless me in my next life by making me the Gate Keeper of the Ladies Hostel where I can watch damsels all day and night long". My roommate was also forced to do the same.

It brought the young folks laughter to its crest. It was a heroic gesture to someone who did nothing heroic but was visiting his Alma Mater after decades. I cherished my 2 minutes of fame. When solicited, my parting advise to them was - "You are young, follow your dreams, even if it's the dream of being the Ladies Hostel DARWAAN. I could still hear their laughter and giggles which slowly waned as they melted away. I walked ahead.

When I told all these to the youngsters, making eye contact with them I wanted to dive into their dreamy eyes, live my halcyon days in their eyes, akin to a ghost entering a human body to revisit his past. I wasn't exaggerating my feeling. It was deja vu moment for me, for like them at their age I was young, I too had a dream, so I could very well relate to the dreams in their innocent eyes. Rengcolians are now in myriad professions, all over the globe from Timbuktu to Turkmenistan. Nowhere you will find so many students spread out after graduating, in such a wide spectrum of professional fields. 

We have our folks in Civil Services, Post grads from IIMs, Xaviers, IITs and many prominent American Universities. Top class techies, managers, bankers, businesspersons, entrepreneurs dime a dozen from NIT, Rourkela they have spread their tentacles in 6 continents, probably with the exception of Antarctica. It's said that if you throw a stone in California Bay area, the center of creativity and innovation, it might hit the head of a Rengcolian (as a NIT, Rourkela person from my time is referenced as), followed by choicest of expletives from Rengcolian vocabulary.

Next day, we woke up to a sunnier and chillier Rourkela. A fun filled day awaited us at our batchmate Hardeep's farmhouse in Panposh on the outskirts of Rourkela. Secluded, but filled with modern amenities and lush green foliage looking gray due to winter dust. The venue had ample of space and facilities to host an event. In the middle of winter, I discovered a bunch of green mangoes hanging in clusters, barely few feet above ground. Varieties of lavishly laid food platters were spread out for us, munch on through out the day.

As the day progressed, it felt exhilarating to catch up with the past quarter of century and beyond. Our Sardar friends, Hardeep and Gurmeet were conspicuous by their bright turbans, shining like the sands of River Brahmani on a sunny day. Sands of time has seen many of us losing our hairs, apparent from receding hairlines and eggheads, but we hadn't lost our sense of humor and camaraderie. Many of us have put on weight, developed paunch and double chins, some looking mature with their salt & pepper top.

We shook our salt & pepper tops and protruding bellies to the tune of songs from our batchmates, especially from Rajesh Dhabre, who kept on churning out one number after another. A Mechanical Engineer, now with IRS, a part of Civil Services, he has become a great singer, having produced his own album. Rajesh entertained us with a plethora of hits from 60s and 70. The long day finally came to the end, as the dusty twilight was soaked with our farewell tears.

ZINDAGI NA MILLEGA DOBAARA, life won't come again the second time. Such encounters in life reminds me of a passage from our epic BHAGVAT GEETA - two logs floating in the middle of Ocean collide with each other, to get separated forever, never ever to meet again. Back of my mind I knew, the same awaits me after the rendezvous with batchmates, some of whom I am sure destined not to meet again, never ever.

Mohammad Ali Jinnah

 He famously said - "Failure is a word unknown to me.” The man Muhammad Ali Jinnah, who was born on this day December 25 certainly succeeded in the main goal of his life - creating his dream nation of Pakistan. He certainly got it, though a moth eaten one sans Kashmir. Kashmir was very much part of the envisioned PAKISTAN which stands for (Punjab - Afghanistan - Kashmir - Sindh - TAN), a name coined by a young student of Law, Choudhury Rehmat Ali in London in 1933. The idea was regarded strictly as a fantasy of a young man and promptly dismissed.

Jinnah wasn't wrong when he said that failure was a word unknown to him. From eloping with his friend's daughter who was barely 16 year old and 24 years younger to her father's friend on whom she had a serious crush, to becoming the champion of Indian Muslims and single handedly forming Pakistan, Jinnah saw no failure in his life.

Jinnah who heard about the young lawyer's dream about forming a separate homeland for Indian Muslims, didn't entirely dismissed the idea and kept it on the back of his mind for another day. He eventually formed his Muslim League. As the clarion call for Pakistan grew louder, his popularity among Muslims continued to grow, especially in the Muslim majority areas of India. He finally managed to get his Pakistan after a lot of bloodshed.

But Jinnah wasn't a typical Mullah, as he was a wine drinking, pork eating Muslim. His personal doctor was a Hindu who was aware of Jinnah's terminal cancer but kept it a secret. He had his vision of Hindus and Sikhs in Pakistan continuing to live as before. In fact Jinnah had offered the writer Khushwant Singh the position of Chief Justice of Lahore High Court. But destiny had its way.

Jinnah, who was synonymous with the making of Pakistan admitted one failure in his life. As retold by his personal doctor he regretted making Pakistan at his death bed as he passed away shortly after the country came into existence. Pakistan is still a failed nation after 75 years of its formation.

Khudiram Bose - the unsung freedom fighter

 He is one of our innumerable forgotten heroes who sacrificed their lives for the sake of freedom for our motherland. All of them were young, they too had a dream. They were aware of the risk they were taking, fully knowing the consequence that their taking up arms against the might British Empire didn't have a great chance to succeed or remove the well entrenched British from their country. Yet they chose to fight their battle, leaving their indelible mark to inspire generations to come.

Khudiram Bose was one of them. Born in the state of Bengal this month of December 3, 1889, he was inspired by Sri Aurobindo who before taking the path of spiritualism was an active participant in the struggle for freedom against the British. Sri Aurobindo used to give a series of public lectures and private session with the existing revolutionary groups fighting for independence. 

As a teenager Khudiram heard his speech and started plotting against British. He along with his revolutionary accomplice Prafulla Chaki threw bombs at a British judge, Magistrate Douglas Kingsford. The Magistrate however was seated in a different carriage, hence escaped. The bombs killed two British women. Prafulla Chaki shot himself fatally before the arrest. Khudiram was arrested and tried for the murder of the two women, ultimately being sentenced to death. He was one of the first Indian revolutionaries in Bengal to be executed by the British, just short of his 19th Birthday. It is said that he happily walked to the gallows singing "Vande Mataram" - Hail to the motherland.

Khudiram Bose brings to my mind couple more revolutionaries who gave their life for their country at a tender age - Saheed Bhagat Singh and Chandrasekhar Azad. Bhagat Singh along with his revolutionary friend Shivaram Rajguru were hanged for the killing a British police officer in Punjab. Both of them said to have proudly walked to the gallows.

But another revolutionary Chandrasekhar Azad was of different breed. He changed his last name to Azad (independent), who rather than surrendering preferred to kill himself with the last bullet left in his revolver when he was cornered by British police in a park in the city of Allahabad.

Born in the Indian state of Madhya Pradesh, Chandrasekhar was a born AZAD (free) revolutionary who destested living under the British rule. Once when asked his name, his impromptu answer was Chandrasekhar, followed by Azad. Azad was not his last name. He coined it to emphasize his penchant for remaining independent as a free man, as free as a bird. 

As a young man Chandrasekhar had little patience to succumb to British rule. He, along with his small band of merry men were perennial thorn in the flesh, fly on ointment of the local administration. Led by him, his gang surreptitiously launched some spectacular guerilla attacks on various British interests. But eventually he was betrayed by one of his close associates and was cornered by the police in a park in Allahabad. He fought tooth and nail until he realized that he was wounded and surrounded with a single bullet left in his repertoire. He shot himself with that bullet, preferring to die free (AZAD) rather than in hands of the British. He was only 24 years old.

We see numerous Gandhi Jayanti, Nehru Jayanti, again Gandhi Jayanti of another kind of Gandhi family - Indira, Rajeev et all. Many stadiums, airports and what not are named after them. But rarely we see the forgotten heroes a la Khudiram Bose, Bhagat Singh, Rajguru, Chandrasekhar Azad given their due credit they earned by their indepth patriotism and fierce sense of independence. Their revolutionary acts though unorganized and isolated in nature left their patriotic mark. My thousands of salute to our unsung heroes.

30th Anniversary of Destruction of Babri Masjid

 Exactly 30 years ago, this day on 6th of December 1992 the controversial Babri Masjid in Ayodha was pulled down by an irate mob. Next day morning headlines on newspapers and subsequently on magazines flashed the famous (rather infamous) picture of folks climbing on that ill fated dome, a la termites on a molehill. 

The appropriate caption on all the print media (social media was absent those days) was "NATION'S SHAME". In two words it summarized my feelings at that time. I was ashamed that we once upon a time used to call ourselves a great civilization.

Many may not be aware of another piece of news emanating the same night. It was then reported on media that not far from the plains of Ayodhya in the hilly township of Mussoorie where the National Academy of Administration is located, some of our elite Civil Services trainees and the prospective custodians of law & order acted extremely Civil by going berserk - cheering anf celebrating this colossal break of law and order earlier that evening. 

In Odia we say "RAKHYAKA BHAKHYAKA HELE KANA HABA", meaning - What will happen if the protector turns into tormentor. In other words what will happen if the fence starts eating the crops it should protect ? That impromptu zamboree made me wonder if we are in Zimbabwe and how safe our nation is with such future administrators at helm.

The intention of this post is not to start a debate on communal vs secular, Hindu vs Muslims and so on. As a nation of plurality and civility the rule of laws should rule the roost, above everything else. 

A dispute needs to be settled in the court of law, not on streets by taking law into one's own hands. If rule of law and the confidence of the citizenry on the administration is not restored this allusion of "Nation's Shame" is gonna hunt us forever.

KHAKEE - The Netflix web series

 Finished binge watching KHAKEE - a web series on Netflix based on the story of an honest, efficient IPS officer who struggles in the badlands of Bihar where rampant lawlessness, casteism, corruption and crime rules. Where unholy nexus between criminals - politicians - bureaucrats is the sine qua non of the state. Ironically this story is from a state which has produced stalwarts who were epitomes of honesty and integrity like Dr. Rajendra Prasad, the first President of India, revolutionary Jay Prakash Narayan (famously known as JP) and Justice Jagmohan Sinha who gave the famous verdict against Indira Gandhi disqualifying her from her from Parliament.

The young IPS officer Amit Lodha arrives in Bihar to be welcomed by electricity outages and extremely bad roads. Once the cheeky politician from Bihar, Laloo Yadav promised to make the roads of Bihar as smooth as the cheeks of Hema Malini. But down the road, the roads of Bihar still resemble the small pox pore filled face of the actor Om Puri rather than the cheek of the chick dream girl of yesteryears. Om Puri's poke marked cheek found its mark as something noteworthy to drive a point.

Not to mention casteism being shown on this Netflix series as a way of life in Bihar. I am reminded of my Engineering college days in REC (now NIT), Rourkela where 50% of the students came from outside, including Bihar (it was undivided Bihar then, Jharkhand was yet to be carved out of it). A few of my Bihari classmates who were great guys nevertheless, would occasionally whisper around my ears "ISKA JAAT KAA HAI" (what's his caste), curious to know about the caste of us Odias and then try to connect to their counterparts in Bihar. 

For example, they linked our KARANA caste to KAYAST in Bihar. The caste Brahmin was self explanatory for their last names shared with North Indian counterparts like Mishra, Tripathy, Nanda. They were confused with my last name, but it didn't take them long to figure out that I am a Brahmin as my PAITA (sacred thread around my shoulder) gave me away. They struggled a lot, whether to align our KHANDAYAT caste to Rajputs or Bhumihars. 

As a teenager, who had hardly ever travelled outside Odisha, I found this rather weird. Soon I noticed, a few of the upper caste folks from Bihar would avoid sitting on the Dining Hall called "Mess" with certain guys, whom they perceived as from lower caste or strata of the society. Odias might have tons of shortcomings, but such rampant and naked casteism is not one of them. The thought of not sharing a meal with someone due to caste barrier never ever came to my mind.

Casteism is not just limited to the cowbelt of UP and Bihar. It has its tentacles in other states too. Once in Delhi I found my ex-boss, one Sharma jee being over friendly towards me. One day he told me on face - TUM BRAHMAN HO, IS LIYE SAF SUTRE LAGTE HO. TUMHARE CHEHRE MEIN JO CHAMAK HAI, "You are Brahmin. That's why you look clean, there is a glare in your looks". I didn't find it very flattering.

It also reminds me of an episode narrated to me by a friend, whose father retired as a senior bureaucrat in Delhi. He was in PMO when Indira Gandhi was at the helm of affairs. During Cabinet meetings, the ministers would break for lunch. Once, Indira Gandhi walked towards Kamalapati Tripathy, a Brahmin and Railway minister from Uttar Pradesh and asked him "Tripathy JEE. BABU JAGJIVAN RAM (a minister from Scheduled Caste in her cabinet) KEHTE HAIN KI AAP UNKE SAATH NAHI KHAATE (Mr. Tripathy, Jagjivan Ram complains that you don't eat with him)". 

Kamalapati replied - MADAM, MEIN AAP KE SAATH BHI NAHI KHAATA, WOH TO CHAMAAR HAI (Madam, I don't even eat with you, he is from a low caste of shoe makers). Indira, though born a Brahmin, lost her caste as well as religion after her marriage to Feroz Gandhi and was never allowed inside Lord Jaganntah Temple post marriage for same reason.

This episode could be apocryphal but is accompanied by an underlying message. In this background, KHAKEE, the story of Bihari gangster and his relentless pursuit by a diligent police officer is a recommended watch unless you don't like violence and gory scenes.