India trip March 2023 - On flight to Paris

 A glass of Red Wine, followed by a shot of Finlandia Vodka and watching Christopher Waltz as a Bounty hunter firing multiple shots in the new Western movie "Dead for a Dollar" preceded my arrival at the Charles De Gaulle International Airport in Paris, France. Got few hours to stretch my legs before I catch my connecting flight to Delhi, I decided to take a stroll around the glittering Duty Free Shops which enticed me to do some window shopping.

It suddenly propelled me on a Time Machine to a decade or so or back when I was at the Frankfurt Airport in Germany, similarly browsing the Duty Free Shops with my prying eyes. While busy inspecting the liquor racks a tall, pretty brunette inadvertently dropped a pouch on the floor right next to me. I picked it up and handed over to her. She nodded back at me with a sweet smile on her lips uttering "Danke Schoen" meaning "Thank You"; expressing her gratitude in German. I replied instantly - "Gutten Morgen Fraulein", mustering whatever little German I accumulated in my entire life with the apprehension that little knowledge can also be a dangerous thing. As a contingency plan at back of my head I stacked up German words like blitzkrieg, gotterdamerung, doppelganger, hansen, putten, Autobahn, BMW, Andrea Merkel, Berlin Wall, Brandenburg gate, Klinsmann (the German soccer player and coach of the US team).

She now laughed at my attempt to humor her and asked me - "From America ?". "Ja, Fraulin", I responded, now almost exhausted of my repertoire of words from my German dictionary. She apparently didn't mind my KHANDI (broken) German spoken by an Odia who quite apt at speaking "PAKHALA KHIA English - thick accented English spoken by Odias after eating a stomach full of water soaked rice" and matched every word of mine with her German accented English. After a few minutes of chit chat our tryst with destiny ended as she melted away in the labyrinth of perfume and liquor bottles.

Such chance encounters in life reminds me of a passage from our Hindu epic "BHAGVAT GITA" - two logs floating in the middle of a vast Ocean collide with each other only once to get separated forever never to meet ever again, lost in the vastness of the sea, as the Kishore Kumar song :

AATE JAATE KHOOBSURAT
AWARA SADKON PE
KABHI KABHI ITTEFAQ SE ;
ITNE ANJAAN LOG MIL JAATE HAIN
IN MEIN SE KUCHH LOG BHUL JAATE HAIN,
KUCHH YAAD REH JAATEIN HAI...

Roughly transliterated....

On these vagabond roads
Once in a while by chance
Many unknown faces we meet;
Some we forget
And some in our memory forever fit.

At Paris Airport I interacted with a few passengers who were returning to India after spending their Evenings in Paris. Not a bad time to savor the cool, salubrious climes of Europe as a getaway from the stifling heat and humidity of India. I was doing exactly the opposite, travelling on a vacation straight into India's heat & dust and excited to core. 

Now back to Paris Duty Free Shop, once when I was flying through it, I asked a Sales girl the price of a perfume I was buying for my wife. She responded to me in French where except the word "Monsieur" the rest sounded Greek and Latin to me. I replied back - "English please". She replied in feeble English. Same thing I encountered at the security gate and lavatory where folks were explaining something in French where people from all over the world connecting to their destinations across the globe assembled and I am sure not everyone understands French. However full credit goes to the French for taking pride in their language. We Odias perhaps are the only ones on earth who do not take pride in its mother tongue should learn a thing or two from the French.

Inside my Paris to Delhi flight I was sitted next to a Punjabi lady and her son. During our tete-a-tete she mentioned that she was from Boston and glad that her long journey ends at Delhi. I said - "I am not so fortunate. It will be at least a 7 hour arduous wait in the middle of night at the Delhi Airport before I catch the morning flight to Bhubaneswar". Now I could see surprise in her eyes - "Bhubaneswar ? Where is it ?" I replied - "It's the capital of the state of Odisha". "I am sorry, I have no idea where it is", she said. "Well, do you know Jagannath Puri ? ", I mentioned thinking the better known Lord Jagannath temple of Puri will at least ring a bell. 

The Punjabi lady's eyes sparkled a bit as she suddenly came with an answer - "I have a relative Jagannath Puri who lives in Greater Kailash, Delhi". I got my answer. Now it's late night in America while outside the flight the midday Sun was glittering over snow white clouds somewhere over the Black Sea. It was now time to doze off a bit before I land in Delhi. More later...

India trip March 2023 - At Atlanta Airport

 As I arrived at Atlanta Airport my excitement was accompanied by a bit of perturbation, not quite unusual at the beginning of a long journey spanning several continents. I expected both the Airport and the flight would be sparsely populated as this ain't the peak travel season considering the schools are already open. But I was wrong. We were on a packed flight to Paris, packed like sardines.

It's interesting to watch flights taking off and landing in quick succession at Hatfield International, Atlanta, the busiest Airport in the world. This being the peak hour, every couple of minutes an airliner lands or takes off. It has been raining here since yesterday. Flights lined up one after another in the gray cloudy sky, forming a string of hazy pearls extending into the horizon, as they waited for their turns to land. The Air Traffic controllers must be doing an amazing job. They are in a professional where error is not an option.

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

I am now reminded of an interesting episode during one of my earlier trips. A Virgin Airline flight was about to take off and names of passengers not boarded yet were called. An Air hostess swung by, shouting on top of her voice - "ANY VIRGIN HERE", obviously looking for some missing Virgin Airline passengers. Couple of girls raised their hands. Everyone close by started looking at them, some with chuckles and half baked smiles. The shy girls retreated to their privacy by dropping their heads over their smartphones to hide their embarrassment, still peeping through their corner of their eyes. Non of them got up to board the flight. We humans are slaves of inadvertent reflex actions.

The flight to Paris were filled with a good number families with infants & toddlers - some of them cranky and cacophonous. Though Covid pandemic is almost a passe, the corridors and toilets were regularly cleaned up and sprayed. The toilet doorknobs were cleaned often and a bottle of hand sanitizer was kept right outside it. Due to the diurnal rotation of mother earth, flying West to East you lose time. You see reduced amount of daylight. Again you gain time flying the other way round, as earth is round, vindicating the fact that what goes around comes around.

It was morning in Paris as the airplane descended on Charles DeGaulle Airport after 8 hour of flight under a crimson sky with sun looking like a poached egg with its sunny side up. Dominique Lapierre and Larry Collins might have wrote a different kind of "Is Paris Burning" by having a top view of the city burning under bright morning sun 🌞.

I was reminded of a joke on our ex-President Giani Zail Singh who was once travelling on a plane above the Equator. His secretary tried to flatter him - "Sir, can you see the equator below" ? Zail Singh responded "Yes. I can see the equator and a car is slowly going on it". What he actually saw was a lice walking on his long string of hair, which just happened to be hanging right in front of his eyes. This flight flying so low, Giani Jail Singh would have seen numerous lices, in form of cars crawling on the interspersed highways. 

As the flight descended piercing the silvery cumulus clouds, the lushly meadows started looking greener amidst highways crisscrossing each other. From top view the flyovers looked like a bunch of threads crumbled using bare hands and thrown on the ground in a haphazard way. 

Another 3 hour of wait at Paris and still 8 more hours of flight awaits me before I land in Delhi. And 8 more hours before I reach Bhubaneswar. Gosh, when can there be a direct flight to connect to Bhubaneswar from Eurasia ? I took some time to scan around using my poking eyes. Apart from Europeans, I could see a good number of Africans wearing long gowns. Saw a few Arabians in white cotton helmets, with their female folks tagged along in black attire from top to bottom peeping through tiny slits cut below their foreheads - looking like Ku Klux Klan members in black attire. Covid virus won't dare penetrate their impregnable visors. More later...

India trip March 2023 - Leaving Georgia

 Jet, set and go. Leaving today on a short trip to India which is going to be a long travel spanning across the seven seas, thirteen rivers spread across multiple continents. Only few hours left before I leave and miles to go before I reach my final destination of Bhubaneswar, Odisha in India 🇮🇳.

This journey is going to be unique, the shortest of the 16 trips I have made so far to India from Coke Land. I am flying at a time when summer is at the doorsteps in Odisha, my home back home. Though I am fully equipped with a paraphernalia of Covid masks, unlike last couple of my visits to India this time no RT-PCR test documents nor mandatory Covid tests. While standing close to the sea on a beach we bear the brunt of the wave when it hits us and relax a bit when we get some breathing time while waiting for the next wave to barge in. Similarly after withstanding series of Covid waves, never knowing when another one will hit, I am going to sneak in between them by making a short trip to my Motherland. It should work fine for me, as I am not planning to do a whole lot of traveling, restricting myself only to Bhubaneswar, the city I grew up with and like one's first love is always close to my heart.

Weather this time of the year may not exactly salubrious, but not too bad either, as lot of times you don't have much of a choice when you embark on a journey on a short notice.
Apart from cricket, arguably it's the weather which unites India at this time of the year. Barring a handful of places on higher altitude like Srinagar, Simla, Bangalore etc, from Ahmedabad to Agartala, Chandigarh to Chennai it is invariably neither too hot, nor too cold this time of the year.

Spring is in the air. Mango trees will be full of BAULA (flowers), a few might be sprouting tiny green fruits. This is the peak season for raw Jackfruit, one of my favorite vegetables available fresh and plentiful. We rarely buy it as most traditional home owners in Bhubaneswar have Jackfruit trees in their compound hanging like tummies of Sumo wrestlers from the tree trunks, producing enough to gift others. The canned Jackfruit imported from Thailand we get here in USA tastes no where closer to the freshly plucked ones in Bhubaneswar.

In life the feeling of apprehensive curiosity in anticipation of an event is much more pleasant than the event itself. Right now I am having the same feeling. It is going to be 17th journey from Coke Land to my Motherland India during more than quarter of a century my stay in USA 🇺🇸. People usually go out of there home on vacation. We Persons of Indian  origin go home on vacation. My friends in America find it a bit odd that we visit our homes on vacation, when they travel away from home for the same. Yet there is so much fun homecoming when you are away from home.

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

Looking forward to this short and sweet trip which will challenge my sweet tooth as I intend on splurging on an array of my favorite Odia sweets which includes but not limited to, CHHENA JHILLI, CHHENA PODA, PAHALA RASAGOLA, RABIDI all very typical of Odisha. The other stuff I love are Cuttack Mixture, freshly baked Naans, numerous Street foods, AVADA, the temple food and much more which I don't get here in the USA. I have made a solemn promise to myself not to touch any Pizza, KFC, Subway, visit Burger King or McDonalds. I found a 2 rupees freshly fried Street side Bara to a Rs.200 burger at a Mall. I don't have plans to visit any Mall in Bhubaneswar having seen the two biggest Malls in America - the Mall of Minneapolis and King of Prussia Mall in Philadelphia. I firmly believe in - Be Roman in Rome, eat Indian in India. Dear Motherland, here I come.

Happy birthday Manoj Das

 When the eccentric celluloid genius Kishore Kumar died in October 1987, the Editorial on Newspaper "The Times of India" came with a tribute about him - "The last of the originals". Today, 25 years later, I attribute the same, the last of the original Odia writer to Manoj Das on his 89th birthday.

I am not new to Manoj Das and his writing. Ever since as a 8 year old I read his book ALOKA O ANANDA RA KAHANI (Story of Light and Delight) published by National Book Trust (NBT) in 1977, I have never ever looked back. A writer at ease in both Odia, his mother tongue and English, he is an excellent story teller for a layman tyro like me, also a writer of philosophical stuff which can only be understood and appreciated by folks at an higher level of intellect (not me).

Manoj Das shifted to Aurobindo Ashram in Pondicherry in the early 1960s and it was a prudent decision on his part to leave Odisha, as the state is known as a graveyard for any kind of creative pursuits. I believe he would have been the proverbial "BANA MALLI BANA RE JHADI JAE" - "Jasmin flower in the forest falls off without its fragrance ever getting noticed". No sooner he left Odisha, than his talent was immediately visible and recognized, his writings were published by the widely circulating Newspaper "THE HINDU" and spread northwards beyond Vindyas when Delhi based The Hindustan Times started publishing his articles and short stories.

It didn't take very long for more adulation to follow, especially from two nations, whose success is often attributed for their penchant to appreciate and nurture talents - The United States of America, my adopted country and Singapore, my ever appreciated country.

The late Martha Foley annually listed the best short stories published in the United States for many years in 1970s. At least five short stories by Manoj Das were published in the year 1975 in some of the prestigious magazines and anthologies of the USA. To cite a few more examples Confrontation, a volume brought out by the Long Island University (1983) was an interesting anthology of the representative writings of Brooklyn, vis-à-vis the representative writings of the current world. The only story from Asia to find a place in the compilation was Manoj Das’s “Lakshmi’s Adventure”, a typical Indian short story worth a mystic touch. Similarly, the international Number of New Orleans Review (Loyala University, 1979) chose only one story from Asia and that was Manoj Das’s “A Bridge in the Moonlit Night”.

The government of Singapore invited him in 1980s to help them in their Moral and Ethical studies projects. Sri Das delivered lectures in Schools and Colleges of Singapore, wrote two textbooks for their school system, his work appreciated by non other than the Deputy PM of Singapore.

Manoj Das's short stories were serialized by Khushwant Singh when the Sardar (Sikh) edited "THE ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY OF INDIA", the most widely read and circulated magazine in 1970s. The writings styles of both the eminent writers were poles apart. The Sardar, a master of glut of smut, thrives on liberal dosage of crude humor, fart and sex in his writing, whereas Manoj Das's revolved on simple life philosophy and his subtle sense of humor hovering the mundane life episodes. The Sardar the salacious and the Manoj Das the sagacious formed a unique bond.

Yet both has tremendous respect for each other. Khushwant Singh recognized Manoj Das by publishing his stories in his magazine of repute at a time when authors of the day died to get their work published in the Illustrated Weekly of India which he edited. Manoj Das was one of the few whose writing made into the much coveted magazine on regular basis. Sri Das appreciated the witty Sardar as one NIRBHIKA LEKHAKA (fearless writer, proved by the fact that he dared to take head on the likes of Bal Thackarey and Sant Bhindranwale, at a time most other journos when they were expected to bend volunteered to crawl in front of them).

Manoj Das, in his tribute to Khushwant Singh after the his death has described how liquor used to flow during evenings at Sardar's party, when the invited odd man out Manoj Das would be sipping his endless glasses of Tomato juice. These two great writers formed a unity in diversity, of mutual trust and respect. The old Sardar still kept writing well into his 90s and may Sri Das, who passed away couple of years ago in his late 80s.

If I am allowed to vote for the greatest Odia achiever in my lifetime - it would go to this gentleman MANOJ DAS. He may be dead, not the immortal masterpieces from his pen. RIP Sir in heaven where you aptly belong.

RIP Pradip Kaka

Today I received one of the biggest jolts in my life. Pradip Panda uncle, a close friend, philosopher and guide to our family lost his battle with life after days of stay in the ICU. He was only in his mid 60s. I simply can't believe he isn't among us anymore. 

A very noble, kind and benevolent human being, he never dissapointed anyone. No one would ever return empty handed from his doorstep. Pradip Kaka, as we fondly call him was way ahead of time, way apart from others. He was a multifaceted talent who predicted all the outcomes in my life for last 30 years just by browsing my horoscope, surprising the sceptic in me. He predicted that I will marry in winter, as being born in the month of May certain "Dasa and Lagna" will always prevent me from getting married in summer months. Well I tried to defy my fate by almost tying the knot in summer but my marriage broke up. I ended up marrying in December, as predicted by him. 

He also accurately predicted my coming to America, settling down in South and what not with immaculate accuracy. He owed his accuracy of clairvoyance to his intuition and experience. And apart from being a brilliant astrologer, he was a moving encyclopedia who had answer to every query under the sun. Conversations with him was a erudite concoction of fun and knowledge. He would drive me to the best bookstores in Bhubaneswar and introduce me to the latest best sellers. 

Pradip Kaka was too good a person, a kind soul who left way too early, leaving a huge vacuum amongst his family and friends. A part of me snapped when I heard the news of his passing away. Sometimes I wonder about the vagaries of life. A doctor who cures patients from incurable diseases, can fall seriously ill. A great bowler who take wickets of the best batters often gets out to ordinary balls. Astrologers who can predict other's future can barely control their own. Burglaries in policemen's home aren't unheard of. And many more... 

May God give his family strength and courage to overcome this untimely tragedy. As I finish writing my obituary, I can feel the blurriness of my eyelids, my view turning hazy due to the moistening of the corner of my eyes. Unknown to me, my reflex action took the glasses off using my fingers, wiping off my tears, tersly reminded of this Hindi song, an ode to the nicest of human beings whose repertoire of love and affection to me and my family was never empty. 

ZINDAGI SAU BARAS KI SAHI,

ZINDAGI KA BHAROSA NAHI;

CHAAND CHHOOP JAE KAB KYA PATA,

CHANDNI KA BHAROSA NAHI. 

Transliterated.. 

Life is for living hundred years,

But destiny is unreliable forever;

Never know when moon can go into hiding,

For Moonlight is not worth relying.

One year of the Ukrain war

Russian invasion of Ukraine completed its first year, entering the second. Many, especially those who neither themselves nor anyone in their past 14 generations have ever stepped a day on a battlefield nor have done anything beyond swinging Lathis (sticks) in the age of AK-47, jumped to predict that Russia would vanquish Ukraine in 12 days. The loser Bhakts were supporting Putin. Ukraine has given the Bhakts, Whatsapp University foreign policy experts such a tight slap that they will never forget.

But at end of 12 months from the commencement of war it is still a stalemate. The big bear Russia was supposed to maul the hapless human Ukraine to pulp. But the hapless human though injured, like a cornered tiger has held on spectacularly against the big bear for 1 year and could do so for many more months to come.

Ukrainian resistance surprised graduates from Whatsapp University. Yet it has also surprised many military, strategic and foreign policy experts, including its aggressor Russia too, though it is not surprising that NATO, mainly the USA has played a key role behind the lines helping Ukraine to stubbornly resist the Russian aggression. At the same time the Russian troops are hardly motivated to be dogged in a long dragging, purposeless war against an enemy with whom they are emotionally and culturally bound for a long time. It is to be noted that for decades both Russia and Ukraine both were part of erstwhile Soviet Union or U.S.S.R. In fact the Bhakts and graduates from Whatsapp University who say that Russia supported India in 1971 war against Pakistan, they conveniently forgot that Ukraine then supported India too as part of erstwhile U.S.S.R.

In meantime the global economy may not be doing great, but it seems to have recovered from the aftershock due to the sudden spike in the crude oil price. Gas price has been stabilizing, at least in the United States. It has come down by no less than 25% at the gas stations from what was a year ago. That's certainly good news. Inflation though still high, has gone down a bit.

How this thing will end is a million dollar question. Frankly no one knows, especially in this age filled with tons of unpredictable factors the world's best astrologer or clairvoyant cannot prophesize the future. But what we know, considering the countries forming NATO are turning into more of a liability than assets to the United States. What's a wastage of tax payers money !

NATO countries are behaving like toddlers holding their parent's hands forever, complacent with the desire to stay forever young and dependent. They don't want to learn how to walk and are reluctant to decouple their hands from their parent's. It's high time America quit holding their hands and let NATO countries learn to stand on its own feet and walk by themselves.

Germany, France, England are formidable powers with a long military history. They should take care of themselves rather than forever leaning on America's shoulder. In the meantime let's pray that Putin sees some sense and the war ends soon. Because he is the one started it, he should end it. Ending this war is good for all except Putin's ego and the Arms lobby.

Thoughts from Dil Dhadakne Do

 Simetime back I saw this Hindi movie "DIL DHADAKNE DO" (Let the heart beat). The story veers around a rich but dysfunctional family going through a financial mess and trying to cope with the changing reality. An ordinary movie, with some extraordinary anecdotes carrying subtle underlying messages.

A group of business families are on a Cruise Ship, armed by - "ADHARE HASA, ANTARE BISA" (Smile on lips, Venom filled Inside). Fakeness at its best is displayed by women in the group, who make the perfect use of their kitty party to indulge in classic "PARA NINDA, PARA CHUGULI" (Character Assassination and B**ching about others).

Men, if not dragged into avoidable squables on their wives behest were seen mixing business with pleasure. Apart from bragging about their wealth and amorous conquests, they were busy drinking, fixing deals and smartly trying to outmaneuver each other by manipulating using devious ways to proliferate their business through marital bond amongst their kids.

Loved this monologue delivered by Anil Kapoor in that movie - "Humans are basically pretentious. If others do it we call it hypocrisy, if we do it we call it worldly wise." How true !!! So also goes another narration in the movie. When the boy goes out on date, he is considered to have come to age by their parents who feel proud of his maturity. But if a girl does the same, she brings shame to their family. How shamelessly hypocrite !

All these traits acted out nicely by a group of performer who have one thing in common. Being from the tinsel town of Bollywood which reeks of hollowness and hypocrisy, playing these roles on screen came naturally to them, as a walk in the park.

Though the milieu shown in this movie is distinctly upper class, this venom of plastic runs fast and furious in the vain of the middle class, something we engage on daily basis. ADHARE HASA, ANTARE BISA (Smile on lips, Venom Inside) never seemed more apt. We see it all the time - smile on your face, stab on yout back.