Two men of February, Manoj Das and Khushwant Singh

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

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

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

Manoj Das is a vegetarian and spiritual person to core. Khushwant Singh loved his Spirits in the form of Single Malt. Prayers and Devotional songs are Sri Das's company during the evening, while the old Sardar cherished the company of women and women his company. The fairer sex were attracted towards his intellect. He listened to their sorrows (most women have secret sorrows) and his company was a soothing balm for them. The Sardar was smart enough to figure out Indian mind's hypocrisy and obsession with sex which he catered well in his work. Manoj Das nevered veered into that territory in his writing.

Unlike poles are known attract each other. Manoj Das's short stories were serialized by Khushwant Singh when the later edited "THE ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY", the most widely read and circulated magazine in 1970s. Writings styles of both eminent writers were poles apart.

The Sardar, a master of glut of smut, thrived on liberal dosage of crude humor, fart and sex, whereas Manoj Das's revolved on nature and life, the subtle humor hovering around its vagaries. Khushwant Singh who rejected many stories sent to him published many short stories written by Manoj Das.

Sri Das eulogized the witty Sardar as JANE NIRBHIKA LEKHAKA (One fearless writer). It is proved by the fact he dared to take head on the likes of Bal Thackarey at a time most other journos when expected to bend, volunteered to crawl before the Mumbai's self proclaimed lord and minority hater).

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

Snobbing of the Canadian PM by Indian media

The recent trip by the Canadian Prime Minister was covered with snobbery by the Indian media - social or otherwise. Many SUBZANTAWALLAs (Mr. Know Alls) of Foreign policy jumped into immature and premature conclusions - sounding gleefully patriotic about how we ignored and deliberately snobbed the Canadian Premier.

In the complex world of global relationships, the realpolitik is not played on knee jerk emotions, but by shewd pragmatism. Circled by bellicose China and Pakistan, India needs Canada - a G8 Nation more than vice versa. There is nothing to be gained by Pissing off a Canadian leaders, rather it might hurt India on the long term.

Canada is an advanced, first world nation. India has a long relationship with it - both historic and from Indian diaspora prospective. It is immaterial if their PM is ultra Left liberal. If Canadian voters elect liberal politicians, it is their wish and need align to our political points of view. Domestic political orientation in Canada shouldn't be our headache, nor a Right wing government leading India should be there.

Foreign policy should be based on pragmatism and preservation cum  extention of one's national interest. Matured nations religiously follow a self interest oriented external affairs matters - even if they need to bake bread with tin pot dictators if it suits them. Prominent are US, Russia and China who have no qualms about courting rogue nations putting their national interest on top. Russia, our so called all weather friend is slowly extending a friendly hand to our better noire Pakistan and allying up with China caring a hoot about our sentiment.

What reeks of hypocrisy is we often go overboard when an American President visits India, giving a rockstar welcome, sewing his red carpet months ahead of his trip. But Uncle Sam continues to mollycoddle Pakistan. Our entire media went ga ga over Obama's visit, but the later gave long lecture to India about Human rights before leaving for Saudi Arabia on his next stop - a nation not known to be great in that area.

Yet if and when Trump visits India, given his penchant for being extrovert and flamboyant, I bet our media will go ga ga over him. Sensible foreign policy should never be made under media glare. Let the Canadian Prime Minister be given his due respect, does not matter if he commands it or not - what matters is India's relationship with Canada. India has nothing to gain being snobbish towards him.

RIP SRIDEVI

I heard about her first time in the year 1983, acting in the Hindi movie HIMMAT WALLA, the remake of a Telugu blockbuster at a time when South Indian actresses were talented originals and not fair skinned North Indian imports. Before coming to Bollywood, she had already carved her niche in South India where she started as a child actress, then soon to mature as a teenager acting against aging stars old enough to be her grandfather.

The movie Himmatwalla was followed by others like TOFA, MAWALI etc. Not an avid movie goer, her first movie I saw was the forgettable "Justice Choudhury", another Jeetendra - Sridevi junk churned out of Bollywood when Amitabh was sitting on top as the One Man movie Industry. 

She then had this image to open up, exposing her clevage and thunder thighs at a time when Indian society has not yet opened up. Her first movie  which exposed her talent as an actress was SADMA, originally a Tamil movie where she played the role of a mentally challenged girl opposite to indomitable Kamal Hasan. 

In the last scene of that movie she recovers and regains her mental state, in the process nonchalantly dismissing a jumping Kamal Hasan trying to remind  her of her past, as HOGA KOI PAAGAL (May be some mad guy). It brought tears to many seen leaving the movie theaters wipping off their eyes in handkerchiefs.

Sridevi finally came out of the orbit of Jeetendra to pair with the better known actor Amitabh in the hit movie AAKHIR RASTA in 1986. By the time I went to study Engineering in REC (now NIT) Rourkela, she was already an established star, the heartthrob of many. Here are couple of incidents involving her still etched in my memory.

One day during the ragging period in first year, a senior of my college took me to his room to help him write his sessional (lab) works. I was taking a break after copying 50 odd pages from another notebook (copying notes was a manual, no brainer job where the juniors expertise was used). Then barged inside the senior's room mate who had a big picture of Sridevi adoring the wall at a higher height. 

He wanted to have some fun at my expense - told me to jump and kiss her picture. I leaped multiple times, but only managed to kiss the white coating on the wall to the laughter of the senior duo in the background. My hardwork and entertainment provided was rewarded by a double chicken egg role and a sumptuous dinner that evening, all paid by the senior duo.

On another day, a senior who was a avid Quizzer (trivia knowledgeable, later made it to IIM) came to my room and asked me some hard questions. Impressed by my answers he let me go with some light ragging. Then it was my roommate turn, whom he asked about his favorite actress. Instantly came my roommate's answer - Sridevi. Then he was instantly asked to imagine the leg of his cot as Sridevi's thigh and rub is own, replicating the actor Jeetendra from one of the pair's movies. My roommate's act aping the actor was tragically comic, for I had to suppress my laughter lest I earn my senior's wrath.

Back to the actress - post mid 1980s she had multiples of hits to her own like Mr. INDIA, JAANBAAZ, CHANDNI, until she was eclipsed by a resurgent Madhuri Dixit. But she reigned for a long time in Bollywood where the life of an actress in leading role is shortlived, as yonger actresses take over with audience looking for a fresh face. 

She slowly delved into character roles as she aged gracefully. Her last movie I saw was ENGLISH VINGLISH a few years ago where she brilliantly played a middle aged lady in New York struggling with English and an alien milieu. I almost forgot her until today when I heard her passing away at the age of 54.

It is rumored that too much plastic surgery and her obsession to look young took a toll on her, accentuating her uuntimely demise. Death is the best leveller. It doesn't distinguish between rich and poor, top 1% and bottom 99%, race, religions, political affiliation of Democrats vs Republicans, a BJP Bhakt (devotee) or Congressi Chamcha (sycophant). Nor it spares anybody - chosing its own place and time, often stricking at the least opportune moment. RIP Sridevi.

Being Goody goody can be taken for granted

The middle class, peeved at the Annual budget presented by BJP not long ago, are the ones who are staunch defenders of the government giving it a free pass in the $2 billion and still counting PNB Bank Scam. It yet reinforces the notion - if you blindly support or your love is blind then mark my words and tighten your seat belts - you are taken for a ride.

The Indian middle class is known to be freaky. They whined and vented out their vociferous disapproval of the partisan budget, but come IPL (Indian Premier Leauge Cricket) or the next Bollywood blockbuster, they will get busy and forget easy.

History repeats itself. When the Ancient Roman Emperors and Senators faced challenges from a restless public, they organized chariot races and Gladiators fights to keep them busy and distracted -calming their nerves. India, a democracy has its own Bollywood and Cricket as the fiesta counterparts.

Our Middle class is least patriotic and filled with the most hypocrites. Come next election, they will vote for BJP being perceived as the lesser evil. Political parties, especially BJP is well aware of this and no wonder takes the middle class which forms it base for granted.

The majority of them don't vote. Some are both apathetic and cynical enough not to waste their time voting, which can be better used for better purpose. Some are reluctant to stand in line in hot, humid weather amidst voters stinking of sweat (exactly the reason disclosed to me by someone for not voting).

It explains why voting was a meagre 30% in the capital Bhubaneswar, a city of mostly middle class milieu. It comes with a mixed blessing for the parties - For BJP who can be banked upon, but not invaluable as they may not be sufficient to tilt the electoral outcome. For the rest, thankfully the tardy middle layer of the society is not powerful enough to be taken seriously, forget being feared.

The Vice President of the first company I worked for once told me "In life one has to be both fair and square. If you are goody goody all the time, you will be considered weak and will be taken advantage of". Quarter of a century since I have seen this being vindicated time and again - both in my private and public life. 

I love my child, but I also reprimand him as and when needed. If I don't, tomorrow he will seat over my head (as they say in Odia MUNDARE BASIBA and in Hindi SAR PE BAITHEGA). Similarly, the middle class must make BJP accountable with its checks and balances, can't bank on them a la the PNB Bank. Else someday it might turn into a BHASMASURA (the legendary demon who targeted the person whose boon he benefited from).

Padmavati movie - A review

Just came out after watching the movie PADMAVATI. I was fully assured of no interruptions from the Karni Sena whose swords hardly hold their sway in the Land of Guns. 

I reserved my comments about this movie until I have watched it. Don't understand why so much fuss about it. It's just another movie, should be seen as entertainment, not judged as a history research paper presented for thesis approval which needing minute scrutiny for accuracy - as simple as that. 

But what I understand, all the brouhaha making mountain out of molehill and raising a storm in the tea cup associated with this movie was only to serve political purpose. But purpose it really served was fattening the wallet of Sanjay L Banshali who now must be happily walking on his way to bank.

Last but the least - nothing new or great about this movie which is at best average. More appropriately it won't be an exaggeration to call this a JATRA (Dance Troup). I have seen many such historical Jatras back home on hot summer nights, this one was staged on Silver Screen on a cold winter afternoon when I wanted the movie to end soon to end my misery.

A marriage ceremony and beaten Barajatris

Barely 8 years old, I still have vivid memories of this incident from the year 1976. It was the occasion of a marriage ceremony that took place in the village of Brahmanapada, couple of miles from our village Biranchidashpur across the river Bhargabi near Puri.

Those days we used to spend long dog days of summer vacation in our village. Enticed by the thought of some freebies in the form of  KHIRI PITHA (a local lingo for food provided during marriage receptions), I accompanied my grandpa being part of a team of BARAJATRIS (the groom's companion).

A group of all male Brahmins from our village boarded (It was a taboo those days for females to accompany Barajatris) a half a dozen or so Bullock carts to cover the long distance of barely couple of miles. The non-Brahmins, especially the BARIKA (Barber) much needed to perform the marriage rituals from the groom's side followed us on foot.

Though the distance was not long, a shower earlier that morning laced the roads full of mud, making them treacherous and slippery. Well ensconced inside the Bullock cart throughout the bumpy ride, I watched the driver frequently getting off and on from the cart, prodding and poking the hapless steer duo (castrated bulls turned into bullocks) struggling to go up and down the sloppy, mushy alluvial soil of the BANDHA  (embankment) of the river.

The ultimate challenge of the Bullock cart driver was to goad the reluctant bovines through the water to get across the other side of the bank of the river already slightly swollen due to rains. He beat the animals with his seasoned PANCHANA (thin but effective bamboo sticks) standing in front of them, carefully pushing them to trudge ahead, piloting the cart by probing for spots inside water where it was least deep.

I could feel the water barely inches away from the porch of the Bullock cart, intermittently lurking down to touch and feel the flowing water. The not so happy Bullocks initially protested by toing and froing their heads sideways to the "HE HE ARRE CHAAL BA (Hey Hey move ahead)" prodding of their charioteer. When persuasion and shouting did not work, the bamboo beating finally did. The pair of bovines relented and nudged ahead.

It was late afternoon when we reached the Brahmanapada village. The hosts welcomed us with a sugary lemon drink, followed by ALIPANA (refreshment) in the form of CHUDAGHASA (Sweetened Crumbled brown parched rice), DALMA (a locally popular dish of boiled lentil and veggies) and SUJI KHIRI (Dessert made from ground flour).

The much awaited full fledged feast (a term used in Odisha for a grand meal) was supposed to be served late. But as the fate would have it, the events down the road denied us the pleasure of the dinner, especially the much cherished MACHHA BESARA (Scarmbled fish curry cooked in mustard paste).

No sooner than we settled down post refreshment, than a few of our village youth with an exalted sense of entitlement as the revered BARAJATRI got into some altercation with their local counterparts. Fist fight ensued. Badly outnumbered inside the perimeters of another village and alien locality, our village youth badly thrashed by the locals who had the home turf advantage.

Being 8 years of age is an unique stage in life. You're not old enough to comprehend a lot, but still old enough to figure out a lot of things going around yoy. In the commotion that followed, a local boy bigger and stronger than me tried to heckle and push me around. I felt helpless. All of a sudden, my cousin a came to my rescue. He was older than me and pretty well built as well. Together we punched than guy enough on his face to flee with a bleeding nose.

Before the guy could muster his local accomplices to gang up against us, we thought it prudent to stay close to our elders. Soon my grandfather got hold of us and told us to follow him to the Bullock carts getting ready for their journey back home. Inside the carts I could see the sulking hungry, humiliated villagers eager to get back to the comforts of their own village - the sumptuous dinner remained a mirage.

It was close to midnight when we got back home nursing bruised ego (some with bruised body) and hungry stomach. My mother and grandmother quickly prepared some CHUDA BHAJA (Fried parched rice) to quench our hunger filled bellies.

Excited about events from last nighr, the following day I narrated the episodes to everyone in our extended household. Long story short - there were many such incidents of the bullying BARAJATRIS creating trouble and ending up being bashed by the locals. These days I guess such incidents are minimal, as no one has time and energy for such nonsense nuisance.

Sepoy Mutiny - III

My continuing last in the Series of narration from Dalrymple's "Last Mughal" retold in my own words...

In 3 months of seize of Delhi outside its Ridge by the British Army of mostly Gurkha, Sikhs and Punjabi Muslim mercenaries, the rebel Sepoys were weakened by many factors - from lack of good leadership, food, money, logistics to recently acquired Veneral disease from visiting brothels in Delhi.

It was accentuated by bouts of Cholera post the late June monsoon showers. But cholera was more impartial - took its toll on the rebel Sepoys as well as many from the British Army, including a few of their able officers.

It did not mean that the Rebels gave up without a fight .Seapoys won multiple battles, fought to the hilt, but couldn't combine these wins to win the more important war. They couldn't sustain the battles on long run against a stubborn enemy who continued pushing forward to the city. Often ending a battle with a win, they will relax only to allow the Company Army to replenish and regroup.

It was only when the Sepoys running out of food, ammunition and more importantly the zeal to fight they decided to give one final push, which they could have done long time ago when time was on their side. Now they were desperately looking for leadership to Old Bahadur Shah Zaffer, whom they once it taunted as BUDHA (Oldie) by pulling his beard, passed lecherous remarks at his angry begums and concubines in ZANANA (ladiesquarters) and their horses spoiled his beloved gardens so carefully nourished and preserved by the aesthetic Emperor.

Zaffer, already 80 years in age was hardly battle hardened, so also neither any of his 15 odd legitimate childrens (only Mirza Mughal provided some leadership) and his brood of bastards produced from concubines - which can be attributed to the age sans condoms. (One of his sons was eaten by crocodile in river Yamuna. It is interesting to know Crocs roamed as far as Delhi and Lions now restricted to Gir forest of Gujarat and Cheetah already extinct were in large numbers in North and Central India).

Though the Hindu and Muslim Sepoys were bound by a common cause of hatred towards the English, there was plenty of lack of trust and respect among them. The Wahabbis (followers of an orthodox version of Islam) Jihadi elements openly taunted the Hindus as cowards and "one Muslim being the equivalent of 10 Hindus". They openly proclaimed to annihilate the idol worshipper Kafir Hindus after they drive out the British.

An incident in July during the Muslim festival of Bakr Id brought the difference to the forefront. Instead of sacrificing the usual goat or sheep, the fundamentalist  Muslims in the city slaughtered a cow near Jama Masjid. It created an uproar amongst the Hindus whose response was swift.

On 19th, July they slit the throat of 5 Muslim butchers accused of cow killing. The situation turned tense inside the walled city whose population was evenly divided amongst Hindus and Muslims. Bahadur Shah Zaffer, half Hindu himself who celebrated Hindu festivals inside his Red Fort came to the forefront, showing a rare leadership appealing the Hindus and Muslims to maintain peace. His subjects finally acquiesced to the disappointment of the British who were updated by their spies and banked on a communal riot to further the division between the rebels.

But by end of July the wind was blowing in favor of British, refreshed by fresh supply of soldiers, arms and bolstered by the logistics and ready for the final push. They were able to blow their way inside the city by incessantly blasting cannons, only to face stiff resistance by the Sepoys inside the city who stunned the British by staging a successful urban guerrilla warfare.

Couple of times the Sepoys were close to victory. But lack of imagination, leadership, killer instinct inability to give a finishing touch, not to mention lack of logistics providing supply lines cost them the war. Even inside the city Bakht Khan and Mirza Mughal gave a stiff resistance which took the life of the 6 feeter General Nicholson, who perished mortally wounded by a shot from a Sepoy sniper, temporarily demoralizing the English. Yet the faltering Sepoys could hardly take advantage of the situation.

16th of September, 1957 was the turning point of the war. Bahadur Shah Zaffer was prodded one last time and came out to lead a troop of rebels and city dwellers - a 70,000 strong. But soon he chickened out and went back to his Fort on pretext of prayers. His subjects confused by this dithering behaviour of their Commander in Chief, were first disorganised and then fled the city. The British chased and butchered them, rampantly shooting and hanging them. Many of Zaffer's son, including Mirza Mughal who led the rebels and were betrayed into surrendering by their own were shot by General Hudson from point blank, their bodies lying in open rotting in hot Delhi weather for 3 days before given burial.

One of the rare survivors was Mirza Ghalib, the legendary witty poet. British who bore anathema to Muslims post mutiny asked him if he belonged to the community. Ghalib responded - " I am half Muslim". The puzzled officer asked, "How come you are half Muslim" to which the poet replied - "I drink wine, but do not eat Pork. So, I am half Muslim". Impressed by his wit, the officer let him go, but not without an warning.

Zaffer was spared from death and was transferred to Allahabad where he borded a Steam Ship and transported to Diamond Harbour port, Calcutta where they stocked up supplies for the long trip to Rangoon set for his exile. The last Mughal was Excited about seeing sea for the first time in life and fascinated by the technical prowess of the ship.

He was accompanied by his wife, concubines and two living sons. One of them was Jawan Bakht, his son born from his young and powerful wife Zeenat Mahal who dreamt of seeing his son as the next Emperor which was never to be. Now Jawan Bakht, a spoilt brat earned the ire of his mom due to his affair with one of his father's kept and stealthily buying Port wine from the British by bribing them.

Zaffer died in seclusion in 1862 in faraway Rangoon, buried in a nondescript location effectively ending the 300 year old Mughal rule which had seen better days. Ghalib published this news in Delhi's Urdu newspaper where he regularly contributed his SHAYARIs (poems). The legendary poet died in the year 1869, the same year hundred of miles away in Porbandar, Gujarat was born Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi - the man credited of driving away the British less than a century later.