Day II - India trip January 2024

 The first night after arrival with a jet lag can be painful. A stubborn Jet lag was a real pain in my butt. My body clock simply refuses to relinquish the US Time Zone as I woke up at 3 O'clock 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, 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.  

Thanks to internet and Facebook I could keep myself preoccupied for a while until the tom-tomimg of GHANTA (brass plate) from a nearby MATHA (monastery) sounded like music to me, much more musical than the sporadic KAWALIs (group music) from stray dogs across the street. No sooner one gang of musical mongrels on the Eastern end of the street facing our house finished with a seqience of wooo.. wooo..woof.. than their western side competitive cousins responded with their musical version of wooo..wooo... wooo...woof. The Kawali sessions continued for the better part of the night with intermittent 10 - 15 minutes of breaks. 

The long arduous wait in dark paved way to dawn. The eastern sky grew brighter, turning crimson red as the light morning light slowly strived to drive 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. The chirping of birds grew louder, so also the sound of GHANTA from the nearby Bengali Sri Guru "MATH" (Monastery) - sounding the end of the morning session of prayer. Amidst the banging of GHANTA and GINI (musical instruments made from Brass), wafted in a Bengali Bhakti (devotional) song through the dust laden mango, jackfruit, coconut and betel nut trees. I could grasp the following stanza it - 

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. It felt bit cooler compared to yesterday with a cool breeze blowing the dust around. 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 parents can hardly do anything to stop them. 

Once a man leaned over our fence and pulled down a flower tree to surreptitiously steal low hanging flowers. When he saw me noticing, he pulled away and moved on to the next house. But not every one notices my Peeping Tom eyes. In one of my prior trips I saw a man stealing flowers looking left and right to make sure no one was noticing before letting out a bombadistic fart audible 20 feet away from me viewing from the balcony. 

Our never aging gray colored gigantic local Bull never stops placidly chewing cud on his bed of a big mound of sand in front of our house with his head drooping in an up and down motion. Couple of mongrels sleeping nearby noticed the tectonic shift in their surrounding as the giant Bovine suddenly stood up, shrugging off sand from his body. The doggies shifted further off to a nearby semi-broken concrete culvert perceived by them as a more secured, safer location from the big bully Bull. 

Two pariah dogs were indulged in a face off, their protruding mouths barely a feet from each other. The bigger, aggressive one about to prounce on the other like a dragon in fury. The smaller doggie in a defensive, crouching pose was snarling at its bigger opponent with its tails well tucked within the hind legs. The barking and snarling continued for a few minutes until they made a truce and went their separate way. 

From a distance approached our local Newspaper walla (guy). He swung and threw the newspaper past our main gate with immaculate accuracy and moved on to the next house. A stray dog tiered from last night's Kawali sessions woke up, sniffing his way near to a man walking holding a milk packet only to be rudely shooed away - HEY HEY JA JA (Hey, hey, go away). The doggie nonchalantly walked away. Well began is half done. It was a day well began in Bhonsar, the way locals pronounce Bhubaneswar. More later...

At Home, Day I in Bhubaneswar - India trip January 2024

 I was welcomed at Bhubaneswar Airport by a cool and foggy morning with the Sun struggling to shine through a hazy hue. At 7 AM, this is the earliest ever in the morning I made a touchdown at the Bhubaneswar Airport. 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).

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 the movie, the actor's wish at top of his voice, "Good Morning my neighbors", is instsntly 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 and unscrupulous elements with many 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 of my favorite "MACHHA HALADIPANI" (Fish cooked in turmeric water), "NADIA BARA" (coconut cutlet) than I lied down on bed tired after a long journey and jet lag, starting to doze off to the sound of the overhead fan. 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.....kicky...keee.." and wafting  voices of street vendors - E JHADU NABA JHADU (Want to buy Broom), KAREI NABA KAREI (Want Utensils), E KADALI KADALI (Voices selling Bananas), sellers of AMBAAAACHAARA LEMBAAACHAARA (Mango pickle, Lemon pickle).

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 could feel 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 Naveen Patnaik 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. 

My mother's caressing hands on my forehead and chest felt so soothing, something I was longing 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 hasn't 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. The black pepper tea boiled in ginger 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...

Arrival at Bhubaneswar Airport - India trip January 2024

 After checking in for my last leg of flight to Bhubaneswar, I settled down on a chair next to the boarding area. The Indigo flight to Bhubaneswar starts from the Terminal 2, a  walking distance from Terminal 3. As it neared the scheduled departure time of 5 AM in the morning, I could recognize the typical Odia crowd close by from their looks, language and mannerism.

The Indigo flight to Bhubaneswar wasn't connected to the departure area via jet bridge. So, before boarding I had to take a bus maneuvering through the dark and dense fog of Delhi to the Airplane standing on the turmac. I was reminded of this incident from several years ago when I was climbing the stairway to get into the plane, the guy couple of steps front ahead with his ass facing me farted right on my face. You should have recorded the moment and my expression, following by sharing it on the social media. It would have gone viral with a million hits. No such thing happened this time. 

Another time I saw a guy surreptitiously scratching their private parts in public while waiting to board the flight, grimacing with an orgasmic pleasure of big sighs "Aah, Ooh" laced relief from the itch as the heat and humidity of India can cause real havoc down under. When our eyes met he pretended to adjust his belts with a "Not I" look on his face. 

The Domestic Terminal 2 was bit chaotic, especially around the security gates. There were lot of people taking the morning flight. The departure area of the Domestic Airport before boarding resemble our BADAMBADI Bus stand in Cuttack. The Airport Authorities and CISF were doing a decent job, managing the recalcitrant ones.

The Indigo Airlines flight took off from Delhi turmac slicing through the dense fog like a hot knife through butter. I looked outside the window. Midway through the flight the sun on the Eastern horizon slowly popped up, its orange hue looking like the sunny side of poached egg for breakfast. Crimson color cloud on the far eastern horizon suddenly looked like hot lava flowing from a dormant volcano turning active. The world above the clouds is dream, takes you to Cloud 9. The world below it is the reality. 

The roaring big bird was flying high, whizzing past low lying clouds, enabling me to take a peek outside to get a Bird's eye view. The plane was flying over snow white fleece of cloud looking like a vast cotton plantation or a big flock of sheep. Huge mushroom clouds looked like the snow capped castles of some distant planet in the Guardian of the Galaxy.

Inside domestic flight to Bhubaneswar I have the opportunity to interact with many interesting personalities. Years ago while I was flying alone to Bhubaneswar on a similar flight, a guy next to me was conspicuously reading The Economics Times. I asked him why he is travelling to Bhubaneswar. He said he is on a short trip to Odisha where he envisions future lies in Organic farming as a potential money spinner.

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

Another time, a man sitting next to me was a garrulous guy full of hot air - both literally and figuratively. He boasted how like Hercules he carries all his company's responsibility on his shoulders and without his expertise the would collapse like a pack of cards. How indispensable he was and visited all the 75 states of India on various company trips (never knew there were 75 states in India, even if you include the Union territories).

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

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

Every other year I fly over Bhubaneswar, the city I moved into as a 7 year old in 1976 and never left, sadly I see more concrete and asphalt, less green foliage as the asthetic city once known for its salubrious weather slowly turning into an urban jungle. Peeked below to take a view of the city I grew up with to notice that has outgrown itself. Saw multiple skyscrapers staring at the plane from down below as vehicles looking like match boxes were snaking on the highways. I left Bhubaneswar for good for more than a quarter of a century now, but the city has never left me. Way too many skyrises see from the top have gone over the top. They are becoming a growing environmental concern - gonna to bite this city big time sooner or later.

How contrasting is the worms eye view of the sky from the ground to the bird's eye view from the top. It makes me understand the meaning of the phrase "Down To Earth". When it all seems you are on top of the world, in minutes you are back on the ground. So are the vagaries of life. How much and how high you fly you have to come down - in no time you must descent from 39000 feet to ground zero. Airplane teaches us a lesson on life. More later....

India trip January 2024 - Arrival at Delhi

 Kudos to the person who coined the term Cattle Class for the Economy Class which sounds more polite and politically correct. A la Cattles heading for QATAL (kill) loaded in trucks towards slaughter house, the economy class passengers are packed like sardines. While getting out of flight, they go helter skelter, scrambling to pluck their carry ons bags from the overhead compartments. Only the "HEK HEK" sound of the cowherd goading cattles as seen during twilight in villages of Odisha was missing.

My trip from Paris to Delhi was quite eventful. While I was taking a cat nap, I was interrupted when an elderly Sardar (Sikh) in bright brown turban and flowing white beard sitting behind tapped me, gasping in a very thick Punjabi accented Hindi complaining of breathing difficulties. I immediately alerted an Air Hostess, conveying her the same. She tried to communicate with the poor guy, but was having trouble as she knew only English and French, whereas our Sikh gentleman could speak neither, only Punjabi and a very thick accented Hindi which I could barely decipher.

So I became an in-flight translator and managed to figure out that the man was having breathing issues which started from his connecting flight from Canada to Paris which still persisted. The cabin crew made an announcement looking for a doctor. In minutes walked in a lady Doctor who was travelling from Virginia. The issue again was the Doctor, born in Kenya and settled in USA spoke only English and Gujarati. Glad I could translate the man's feeble Hindi, explaining his problem to the doctor. She measured his BP. It was much higher than normal. She suspected "Sleep Apnea" and suggested putting the patient on an Oxygen mask. It certainly helped as after sometime the Sikh gentleman uttered "Wahe Guru", announcing feeling better. Glad I could help. All the cabin crews, the Sikh man and not to mention the doctor thanked me for my cooperation.

Travelling without family has its share of other hazards too, when you have a stranger sitting next to you. Years back when I was travelling alone, had to to bear a unique mix of "Piarrhoea and Whiskey" wheezing its way into my nose, coming from a guy next to me, sleeling with his mouth wide open.

No wonder, those who forget history are always condemned to repeat it. Now this person next to me snores loud, with periodic sputters of exhale covering his straight, upright moustache with droplets of flegm. The moustache bearing both magnitude and direction, reminded me of equipotential vectors I studied during Intermediate Physics, with a huge potential to piss off any passenger next to him. Turning my squeezed and raised nose to the other side, I glanced at him, followed by surreptitiously shouldering his drooping head away from me.

This continued intermittently until my cup of patience was full. I elbowed him with a "not me look" on my face. Startled, he gets up wiping off the frosty, dewy stuff from his moustache using his finger tip and touch the screen to pick his channels. Didn't know that touchscreens needed lubricants. I wished our dude pinged the Air hostess for some tissue instead.

Reminded me of Tom Hanks from the movie FOREST GUMP - "Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are going to get". What I was getting was certainly not the box of chocolates I wished for. So I made peace with myself, after gulping couple of stiff shots of Vodka and catching some much needed sleep.

My sole solace was sitting close to the screen separating between economy and business class which offered me occasional glimpse of business class service and derive a vicarious pleasure out of it. So felt extremely relieved, when kicked by a propelling tailwind the flight approached slightly ahead of schedule at Delhi Airport. The eight hour ordeal inside the Air France 🇫🇷 flight ended as the aircraft started to descend over New Delhi. From the pilot's voice he seemed to be relieved as he announced first in French and then English - "Welcome to New Delhi's Indira Gandhi International Airport. It's 12.30 in morning, hazy, 8 degree C (47° Fahrenheit) outside. 

During one of my earlier trips just before landing at the Delhi Airport came abruptly the voice of an exalted teen sitting close to me exclaiming to his buddy next row, "OI UTTH, BAIN**OD DILLI A GAYEE" (Get up, So and So the sister slammer, Delhi has arrived). More than the pilot, I found the teen's welcome far more enthusiast and the most appropriate way of welcoming to Delhi. As "Jai Maharastra" goes with Mumbai, Oh' Calcutta to Kolkata, "Jay Jagannath" to Odisha, Behn**od (sister slammer) fits well to Delhi.

It was a grand standing Welcome to Delhi, Punjabi style, where a sentence can start with Bain**od (occasionally sounds as Pain**od, interspersed with a few liberal dosages of Bai**od and ends with Bai**od. It is how the self proclaimed Dill walle (Big Hearted) Dilli walle (Delhites) often greet each other. Same goes in the Punjab province of Pakistan. When Sunil Gavaskar was batting in Lahore in 1978 in his first tour to the country, he was puzzled by some Pakistani players frequently uttering "Pain**od" which sounded like "Pant-Shirt" to Sunny bhai until his skipper Bishen Singh Bedi clarified him what it meant, Punjabi style. 

Bai**od" is not such a bad word in Delhi and Punjab. Apart from usual meaning, it can stand for multiple euphemisms, to describe a scene or situation. "Bai**od KYA THAND HAI YAAR" (My friend, it's so cold), Bai**od MEIN GIR JAUNGA Bai**od (I will fall down, spoken after sighting a pretty girl), Bai**od KYA MATCH THA (what a game it was) ! Friends hug each other, Aa GALE LAG JA OI Bai**od (give me a hug, my dear friend, you the sister slammer).  

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


I remember that in the year 1998, more than quarter century ago when I was bit excited as I was coming to India to get married, no sooner I came out of the IGI Airport in the middle of night than I was treated like a hapless hare amid hounds baying for my blood in form of haranguing touts. I was forced to do an about turn and beat a hasty retreat, only to come out at break of the dawn to be ragged again. It was not unusual then for hapless  passengers like me to dish out a $20 note (Bill) to buy themselves out of harassment at the Customs department. Such things are long passe. 

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


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

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

Roughly transliterated, 

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

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

India trip January 2024 - On flight to Paris

 I was all excited and bit apprehensive upon my arrival at the Atlanta's Hartsfield - Jackson International Airport, hoping there is no flight delay as it has been pouring in North - Central Georgia since last night. Thankfully the clouds bended their spine like gentlemen, opening the door for sun to peek through them as they cleared. My flight to Paris was on time.

I thought both the Airport and the flight would be sparsely populated considering the schools are already open post the winter holidays. But I was wrong. We were on a packed flight to Paris. With the ever growing Indian population in the United States, this observation didn't come as surprising to me.

It is interesting to watch flights taking off and landing in quick succession at the Atlanta Airport, the busiest in the world. This being the peak hour, every couple of minutes an airliner lands or takes off. Flights line up one after another in the semi gray sky, forming a string of hazy pearls extending into the horizon, as they wait 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, no bypass for flyover was necessary over the Railway tracks). As a goods train passed by when we wait at the level crossings, 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.

The flight to Paris were filled with a good number families with infants & toddlers - some of them cranky and cacophonous. We had a rough start as for the first couple of hours there was a lot of turbulence due to inclement weather on the flight path. On top of that, the entertainment system was down for few hours. Thankfully, it was lot calmer when the plane entered the Atlantic over the Newfoundland. Due to the diurnal rotation of mother earth, while flying West to East you lose time, see reduced amount of daylight as night passes by too fast, too soon. Again you gain time flying the other way round, as earth is round, vindicating the fact that what goes around comes around. A few hours of dozing off was all I got to sleep.

Boosted by a glass of Merlot French wine, the best Cattle Class could offer and watching one of my favorite actors Denzel Washington taking on and taking out Sicilian mafia in movie "EQUALIZER 3", I passes 8 hours of flight to Paris to be welcomed by a fleece of pretty bluish white clouds which would have made another Mary of Little Lamb fame proud. The top view of the spotless white cloud from an unadulterated virgin sky looked like millions of white furred lambs on move looking for greener pastures. It seemed I was looking at a gigantic milk shake with cream churned on top.

It was morning in Paris as the airplane descended on the Charles DeGaulle Airport piercing through a hazy sky, the water bodies next to the Airport looking like faded blue ink on a dusty sandpaper as the grass on the ground looked gray and listless. As the descending aircraft continued flying in a low altitude but above the clouds, slowly the crimson sky in East turned brighter glowing with the sun. Dominique Lapierre and Larry Collins might have wrote a different kind of "Is Paris Burning" by having a view of the city burning under a bright morning sun. But the sunshine was short-lived as the flight descended piercing through the silvery cumulus clouds, the lushly but grayish meadows looked bigger amidst multiple highways crisscrossing each other. The flyovers looked like a bunch of threads crumbled using bare hands and thrown on the ground in a haphazard way. 

Got few hours to stretch my legs before I catch my connecting flight to Delhi. Apart from Europeans and Asians, 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 Knights from Medieval era in black attire. Covid virus won't dare penetrate their impregnable visors. 

I decided to take a stroll around the glittering Duty Free Shops doing window shopping until I was propelled on a Time Machine to a decade 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 who used to coach of the US team), Beckenbauer.


She now laughed at my attempt to humor her and asked me - "From America ?". "Ja, Fraulin", I responded instantly, 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 the tall lady 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. So goes the Kishore Kumar song from a Rajesh Khanna movie :

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.

More later...

India trip January 2024 - Leaving Georgia

 Jet, set and go. Leaving today on a 3 week trip to India which is going to be a long travel spanning across the seven seas, thirteen rivers spread across multiple continents. Few hours left before I leave and miles to go from Columbus ---> Atlanta -------> Paris -----> Delhi before I reach my final destination of Bhubaneswar in the state of Odisha in India 🇮🇳.

This journey is going to be my 18th trip I have made so far to India from Coke Land in my 27 years of living in the United States, that means on an average every 1 and 1/2 years I travel to India. I am flying at a time when winter is at its fag end in Odisha and spring is at the doorsteps of my home back home. I am fully equipped with the latest Covid shot and paraphernalia of masks to cover my face in case I need to face this never ending menace which like that drunk uncle who you don't want to come to your family reunion, but shows up nevertheless. Not planning to do a whole lot of traveling, restricting myself only to Bhubaneswar, the city I grew up with and like one's first love is always close to heart.

A lot of times you don't have much of a choice when you embark on a journey at a short notice. However, luckily for me the weather at this time of the year is salubrious in Odisha. Unlike the dog days of Indian summer, this time heat won't put a spanner on the wheels of my vacation. Apart from cricket, arguably it's the weather which unites India, especially at this juncture which now is neither too hot, nor too cold, even in the farthest South India.

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

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

Upon arriving in India, the initial days of jet lag and reverse cultural shock gives way to a lot of attention from friends and relatives, a la an infrequent guest is treated more cordially than a regular one. The shorter the trip, more .the 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 prefer a 3 rupees freshly fried Street side Bara to a Rs.300 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. I am keeping my fingers crossed, for a nuisance free trip. For almost 3 weeks, no work, full play with full pay. Dear Motherland, here I come.

Oiling, Buttering and KMP

 The winter months remind me of a popular brand of Coconut Oil available during our childhood days named KMP. The shape of the green or yellow colored cylindrical tin is still fresh in my memory. One needs to make couple of punctures on its surface using nail and hammer, then tilt it a bit to let the oil flow out.

In the cold season, a few minutes under the mild winter sun would melt the solidified grease, enough to ooze it out from the orifice. Not sure what KMP stood for, but a joke used to go around that KMP stands for KEBALA MAALISH PAAIN which in Odia means "Suitable only for Massaging (buttering)".

Oiling or buttering comes in many shades, hue and color, in different shapes and sizes. Irrespective of its form the effect can be quite profound. MASKA LAGANA (in Hindi) or TELA MAARIBA (in Odia) both of which means buttering is an art. 

A guy during my college days perfected it. We had this fastidious, stubborn Professor who was rarely approachable. He approached him for a favor only to be rebuffed by the teacher - "Your TELA (buttering) won't work on me". The student smiled back and politely replied, "You are correct Sir, you are the only Professor in this entire institution who is not susceptible to buttering". The professor smiled back and acquiesced. My friend came out, bearing a Tom Cruisesqe "Mission accomplished" smile. It's not the mean, the end that matters. Irrespective of the mode of application, the efficacy of the oil massaging is vindicated by the results.

The familiar sight of a few classmates obsequiously following the teachers with one hand inside their pocket, the other hand scratching the back of their ear with the head slightly bent would ring a bell to many. They are invariably males. As I studied in Co-Ed institutes, no idea about how much buttering was done in the girls only school and colleges, those who would readily volunteer to run the teacher's errands. 

Their impressive TELIABILITY (TEL in most Indian language means Oil + Ability. Hope one day the word makes into the Webster) impacted our teacher's malleability. Westerners who in general are not so accustomed to flattery, often readily fall for it. Most Orientals are arguably tougher nuts to crack, one needs to work harder due the surplus of our sebaceous glands in tropical environments. 

In Odia we have a proverb "TELIA MUNDARE TELA" transliterated "excess of oil lies on a oil soaked head". Literally it means those who have, always tend to have more. But in reality it needs some extra effort for the oil to sip in because the head already has surplus oil, similar to water which percolates better on a dry surface rather than wet one. But nothing beats the "Teliability" of the KMP oil.

There is this funny incident from an English medium school in Odisha. During a School Exam one of the questions set in Odia language paper was to fill in the blanks as TELIA MUNDARE  ______. Translated roughly into English "Oil soaked Filled Head Has __________".  Most students filled in the blank with the obvious answers like Shampoo, Soaps etc. Quite logical and makes a hell lot of sense. Any smart person would need a generous helping of shampoo or soap to clean an oil soaked head. 

Well, their smart answers turned out to be wrong.The correct answer is "TELA" (Oil). This is a classic Odia proverb meaning "More affluence for the affluent", in the sense rich gets richer. Can't blame the students as TELA (oil) would be last thing one would think to add to an already oil soaked head.

Adlai Stevenson, the US politician who lost the 1956 Presidential Elections once said - "Oh, flattery. It's like cigarette. It is all right if you don't inhale the smoke. If you do, you can get lung cancer".