A Modest Piece of Irony

I type this piece of blog on an unhappy stomach yet a happy heart. Wait, will tell you starting from the morning, 9 am to be precise, which is when Mom shouts aloud from the kitchen, “Will you wake up now, brush your teeth, and have lunch?” I hear that in my half-sleep mode, and reach out to my phone, which again shows 9 am. Lunch? - Not really, that’s how my Mom alarms way ahead of the time. I sit back to collect my senses in a meditating pose, then Mom enters with a plate of watermelon, cut into neat and eatable-at-once pieces. She puts the plate on my bedside table, and I do not mind starting munching on a piece of watermelon, without even having my face and mouth cleaned up.

I: “Mom, I want to have Dahi Vada.” Already I got to smell it.

Mom: “Did you dream about Dahi Vada?” Undoing the window screen, she points outside, “There is your Dahi Vada uncle. You lazy mess! Only if you get your butt moving…”

Really, he is there hawking around two blocks away from our building. Though my mouth  drools more, my body will not like to walk the distance to Dahi Vada. No hope from my stupid brother to cater to my boss-like Dahi Vada wish. Suddenly, Papa appears into the scene, and tells Mom to get ready as they will be going to visit a friend.

Exactly after 5 minutes they leave, I receive a quick call from them asking me to go downstairs, as they have sent the Dahi Vada uncle, and paid him up already.

I wash my face quickly, and run down even more quickly. After all, it’s Dahi Vada for what I meowed like a cat since I have woken up. When I reach there, uncle is ready  with two plates of Dahi Vada and does another round of garnishing. It looks IRRESISTIBLE in bold letters.

I take the two plates in my two hands and turn back to see Raja, the fat, cute, nursery boy who stays in the next building, standing like a puppy bow-wowing for Dahi Vada again.

Raja: “Uncle, give me too.”

Dahi Vada uncle: “No, your Papa has said no.”

Raja: “Shall I call my Papa?”

Dahi Vada Uncle: “Okay, you go, call him. I am coming.”

Raja comes in, Dahi Vada uncle goes off in his absence.

I am still there when Raja comes back. His eyes search his Papa and Dahi Vada in turns, but nobody is there to his avail except me. I even wonder what I kept waiting for. 

I: “Raja, come to our house. Will eat together.”

Raja: “Will take lift or stairs?”

I: “Lift is not working. Let’s walk.”

Raja: “No, I can’t.” He hangs a sulky face.

Now I get why Dahi Vada is a forbidden food for him. I am no family for him to care about his health or size. At that moment, I am a cat and he is a puppy who meowed and bow-wowed over a plate of Dahi Vada. The cat passes one plate to the puppy, and pull its cheek hard and run back happily. The happiness in his eyes and in my heart, may not be told in words. 

As soon as I get home, my incorrigibly stupid brother snatches away another plate and settles down before TV which plays What Happened Next? Season 2.

What really happened is my unhappy stomach does not pronounce any big philosophy, but my happy heart does realize a modest piece of irony.  

“Giving is the most rewarding thing of all time.”

Odisha!?

During my trips to out of my state in the past and  in the present too, when I am tapped with questions like, ‘Where are you from?’, and me, talking promptly – Odisha. He/she goes silent, or mouths safely, ‘Where is it exactly? . . .  ‘As I know, it’s in Bengal?’ I follow a silence of condolence, but I do not for what – the person’s lack of knowledge or the Odisha (I belong) beyond recognition.

I am ashamed of being asked so, even more ashamed for having been silent. I so must answer to the uninformed people, and to the ashamed me.

Well, Odisha is Odisha. The state on the eastern coastal belt of India, with a sea-line of 450 KM. Hope, you passed in preparatory Indian Geography. Okay, we have hatrick cyclones, frequent floods and more. Bengal is our worse-spring of Potatoes. Andhra avenges our fondness for fish. Hope, you watch news ever.

Oh my dear homonymous, you still don’t get it. It’s our Odisha. But, everything related to it, is not again or another Odisha. We chatter Odia. We dance Odishi. Kalinga is our history. Utkal is our pride.

Thanks to your ignorance! While thinking of all possible ways to explain the Odisha to you, I realize that I love Odisha, even though I know I hate it at a good number of instances. Had Lord Jagannath given a dropdown option, I would have customized my state of birth and growing up. I thought about it, I sank inside, I would have missed the land of the most laughable English-Hindi-accented Pakhala groups. I dream of a dazzling life at UK or USA, then I suddenly long for a life of Rebati – drizzling, darkness, grandmother, croaking frogs, smoky chullah, soft-sad melody on the only available radio set from an unknown distance. From the Sundays of Facebook, Shopping Mall, Multiplexes to the Sundays of Sri Krishna, fishing, and monkeying around. Guess, Odisha reads Fakir Mohan and Manoj Das. It makes me/you miss our/their Odisha if any Odia forgets to love Odisha in a long time.

Odisha is Jagannath. But, I hated the Puri Pandas, when, the last time I visited, my Buddhist Arunachali Roommate was denied an entry to the Sri Mandir. In theory, our Lord is known to be the Lord of the world/Jagat, in practice, He is of the Pandas, by the Pandas, for the Pandas. I am sure our Lord wishes getting globalized. By the end of the trip, Konark and Chilika are the game changers.

By Statistics, the down, the poor, the undeveloped are Odisha. Let me tell you, we enjoy a stable government; our government also loves stability. Wait, if there is a crime, there is a defense. “Slow and Steady Wins the Race.’’ We may someday! Just know it!

In any type of crowd, an Odia woman stands out, draping her dupata over her head. I dislike it more often. But what to do, I love Rajo, Khudurukuni, Kamar Purnami and new dresses. Tired of brands, Mom’s old Pata smells fresh. Ethnicity, elegance, traditionalism is the fashions that never go out-dated. Still, the act of acceptance is a sign of a growing culture. I hope we keep changing for good.

I hope I give you an idea about what/how/where is Odisha. Well, I can tell more of my love-hate relationship with my Odisha, maybe sometime later. Each time the steam engine runs into the land, that looks greener, brighter, windier, of which you have no idea, feels home. In case you know what it feels to be home…

Welcome to Odisha!?

Only a SOUL, Not a SLUT

Society may not be kind to her, but she is kind of society. 

She might be selling herself, but she is priceless. 

People ask for her body, but her soul is more giving.

The soul, I talk about was the one in news from the last week. Media talked over her on the front pages. People around the city hashed out her. Congratulatory buzzes even followed up from some corners. Does everything offer her an image of a kind/priceless/giving soul not a Prostitute?

Yes, she is a sex worker. Nobody knows her compulsion. Her reason may be a secret to herself. But, she has a heart to understand the reasons and compulsions of others. She gets herself excused from a fine-paying client in Puri, and makes an immediate train journey to Bhubaneswar, reaches a boy at the nick of the time. No, the boy was no rich client again. He was a son of a lifer, who needed some thousand bucks to attend a counselling for his admission in an engineering course. The boy leaves for his destination with the aided money from the sex worker.

In the above piece of news, two things show up. Her noble deed and her squalid profession. The point is which thing about her we celebrate, the former or later. It would be sad if her being a prostitute takes over her being a real human being. It would be a shame even if we applaud trolling, the kind gesture passed to the boy, by any smutty slut (A bitch did this... What you say!), not by only a sincere soul (Oh cool, what an amazing lady!)

My Young Friends! We can just think back when we made naughty eye contacts amid friends, chuckled superficially, passed a comment quickly, ‘She seems to be a slut,’ to anybody just because she stood on a road at odd hours and looked a little ratty. Whom we call a slut, she might make somebody’s day bright with what she earns making her night darker.

Let’s stop making judgments, let’s show some real understandings, of somebody’s life, act, speech, work or job.

 

Let it go

Irrespective of good or bad, our life has become so cool, cool like our foods, our gadgets, our dressings, our relationships, our works. In short, all of us want cool pieces of everything, you know It's so cool. What the modern so cool (badhiya) means is the traditional cheap, fine, strong (sashta, sundar, majhbutti). There is a very little room left for good or bad when something or somebody happens to be cool. Here, we can take another drug of coolness in addition to the already cool prescription and continue our doses of life.

And it is the coolness of just Let it go. Yes, let it go.

Don’t take it as a good advice, like a big-time moral teaching or a high philosophy, like forgiving is divine or something. Take it as Yo-Yo, like raps of Yo Yo Honey Singh, ‘Aunty police bulalegi, Party phir bhi chalegi,’ or anything else as such. The practice of Let it go, will add up a host of new coolness to our life in some easy and effortless ways, in un-cool situations like somebody or something being unreasonable, annoying, foolish, silly, undue, thoughtless, hurtful and the list can go on, creeping the hell out of us. Then, we coolly just need to let it go. 

It does not mean to forgive, to ignore, to avoid the person or situation, but not to stress us out or pull ourselves through, to help ourselves out by just letting it go. For instances, if waiter drops the order on you, if auto rickshaw bargains for just one rupee more, if neighbour is unyielding on sweeping the common walking-way even once, if your close friend passes a comment what is least expected and hurtful, treating the incorrigible house-maid, dealing with discouraging colleagues at work place, and the list can go on, till we are ready to break your head or hit the person in front of you. Then, we easily just need to let it go.

This coolness Let it go of ours can make a foolish image of us before others, they can take us for granted, we might be considered to be careless. We should let it go as we care enough for people not to hurt them, to give them chance after chance to correct them, then to show them how fool they are, not us who have not lost our cool even after their hundreds of un-cool trials. At times, we need to be little smart there to pick what we should let go and we should try our patience. We cannot turn blind to an eave teasing in front of us, to a corrupt personal rubbing public property, to domestic violence, to any harmful person or situation as such.

The coolness let it go; actually can make us upgrade our profile in many other ways. It adds up style, suave, respect, and mostly when we stay cool, we feel cool, we become cool. We don’t have to lose coolness of our lives. C’mon, we can be cooler at least than our foods, gadgets, dressing, vehicle etc. Life will be always un-cool like summer; we have to be cool, like the drinks. We can’t get rid of summer; yet we have to let it go. Hard like the green coconut and cool like its juicy liquid.

An Appointment

                                                               

An appointment was made available to me by a print journalist friend regarding a book review. It goes without saying it was important favourably, I was thankful to my friend too. During that week it remained unmet due to my urgent travel plans. After a good deal of time gap, I got back to her asking for another chance, my friend stood unconvinced, determined with a big No and tagged me...

‘You are casual about appointments. You were irresponsible when you knew you had a travel listing up that week, yet again you nodded for the meet up.’

I tried to explain there must be some communication gap as I fairly remember of texting about my inconvenience, my friend snapped me back, ‘Grow professional.’ She was immovable for her point that I had clearly missed out a fine chance as opportunity comes once.

Making such beautiful impressions of own, I was feeling like a fish out of water and continued sputtering SORRYs. She remained unavailable for another chance, teaching me a big time lesson.

The above is just not a behavioural discussion between my friend and me; it could be taken as an exemplary narration, to guide the current political behaviour of our country, in the happening General Election.  My friend is all the voters across India; I am all the Political parties in our play.

My friend provided me a golden opportunity; I took that as UPA has taken its ruling period for ten years, pleading like me for another chance to stop all scams happened with them, blinking eyes like me, like our current Prime Minister, explaining like me I am innocent, still shit happens you know.

I was NDA then. The lion from the Gir forest. I roared my friend should just give me a fresh opportunity this time seeing my convenience, my power, not on basis of last incident. Who cares for that? I, like Modiji might deserve a new opportunity, but what about the belief my friend had showed last time like all voters had put in UPA. What guarantees a more professional, less irresponsibility, not at all casual behaviour from me, or like from NDA if availed power hopefully.

My patience was draining out fighting back for the right impression as what I was actually, very much like AAP. All the voters should just believe me, just believe, what uncorrupted Kejriwal says about corrupt India, not what he performs in the first little chance he bagged, like I claimed before my friend just to listen to me, turn blind to my conduct. If not, I would get her off, or just resign off just because my proposed bill is not trusted or voted.

No, I did not give up. I had made my impression for true but it’s never late or too late to change it. I resorted to our the CM, Mr. Patnaik who has been regardless to criticisms in his tireless  effort to keep himself unstained, and probing himself not just right, but never the wrong one, likely to be more giving next time, like me, to get another chance, and a few more too.

I don’t expect my friend would entertain any such irresponsibility from me this time. Yet I try to clean my blurry image. My dear all voter friends too, please, don’t entertain any such unruliness from any party friends like me, once again despite caste, note or any such thing, as my friend is yet unforgiving to my lacks despite our good friendship. And political cub, lion, dog, cow like me watch out your appointments this time carefully. You dare a get another chance.

She broke His phone into pieces & He broke her into Pieces

               

Our young India does not wake up to the numbers of Sensex and Nifty but to the numbers of break up and hook up we have, our friends have, friends of friends’ have, all most every day. Okay, not taking a detour, I will simply land in our much-loved Bhubaneswar and the young Bhubaneswar-ites.

Numbered days back, in the crispy wintry evening, I parked my perky pink scooter, in front of a Cookies store which of course is in central Bhubaneswar. Just a scale away, a girl who of course looked two-three years younger than me, perched on her perky purple scooter elevatedly, gazed cutely out of her puffy wind-cheater. She seemed to be waiting for somebody, as her eyes fumed; her fingers constantly tapped the phone screen. I too vigorously Whatsapped my friend who I waited for (that day strictly an old-school-girl-friend not boy-friend). In the process of waiting, we both exchanged a half-smile as a toast to each other’s patience. As I eased up myself with few steps around, overhearing a razor-sharp, ‘I say tum jaldi idhar aao,’ I turned back. Okay, that was not for me, she snapped somebody on the phone. My fellow-company’s importunity made me too connect to my friend once more. In a minute, a bike jetted into the scale gap between our scooters (thanks to his disk break stuff that he did not hit any of us). Guess, he was still under the spell of the recent release Dhoom 3. Okay, all was fine till then. The girl smiled at him pleased by his unapologetic stunt where I almost imagined my guy (in case) doing this, getting slapped by me with due safety to the fellow company. The far cry of the BMC election campaign in the background, I could hear a little the girl pitching high, ‘You have two phones? So you did not take my call? Kiske saath baat karte ho?’ She threw the just-discovered-secret-phone of her guy with all her strength and frustration. The guy’s face turned spikier than his hairdo, in the presence of another girl. I tried looking away. He commanded her girl to collect the SIM and broken parts of the phone, rather broken parts of his prestige. The girl stood unmoved, displaying her adamancy and proving her mastery over her guy (showing off to me rather). All slanderous abuse I heard, the guy breaking into her. Her face turned distraught with loaded insults. I moved inside the Cookies to let them insult each other, at least comfortably. The BMC’s brassy campaigning went past, but did not surpass the guy’s loud mistreatment. Every bystander distasted their exchange of burning words; each passerby glanced wryly at them. I simply pitied our generation, looking at them from the Cookies shop, peering through the glass.

What’s wrong with us?

Firstly, the presence of insecurity. Secondly, the absence of respect.   It is the core cause of such a many resentful circumstances as above. When somebody is constantly feeling insecure and losing peace of mind, it is just because the person is insecure about himself or herself compulsively. Take charge of your life, make yourself feel the best. Let him or her go find somebody better than you, let him or her come back to better than best, who is only you. Or wait for the right him or her to find you rather investing all your heart and innocence in a wrong place, at a wrong time. When we freak out at family member’s slightest chiding, how come our generation put up with constant differences, with so-called girl friend or boy friend, with things which are out of the league? Coming to respect, let you respect your grace, your feelings first, then you be at easy to accept and let go things and persons more strongly and more respectfully. In the name of love and dating, only bitterness, duplicity, faithlessness, dislike and the very PDA (Public Display of Abuse) come out; it streamlines all other classy good-feelings of being in love.

My girl above could have been more patient and less possessive to track the secret of her guy’s mysterious second phone or second person, big-heartedly. Girls, guys like strong you. The other way round, the boy above could have smiled even though his phone goes into the gutter, could have pulled her chick, and clutched her quickly, been on his knees to collect the broken parts instead of pouring fine-invectives at her. It would have ended all her questions on your integrity and loyalty. It would have been made to each of them a respectful person, and a graceful show time for me. C’mon, guys! You love her that means her self-respect to be more protected than your iPhone, Lumia, Galaxy Grand, Xperia.

Guys and Girls in town, check your respect-status first and then relationship-status.

Jr. Tendukar

 
With media’s altering choice from Tendulkar to junior Tendulkar, an unwise side of our wise media unfolds. Yes, I am talking about the news of Arjun Tendulkar’s unsure form that is doing rounds in media now. When I came across the piece of news in morning ‘superfast’ news scheme, I could not swallow that superfastly. I went through the full news on web. I felt not good for the chap of the champion but welcomed the decision; the selecting board has taken, to change for a better. Arjun has been placed out of Uder-14, MCA team because of his constant not-so-good performance. Board claims that it will erase his impressions, in case he has any, that being a champion’s chap will make wonder to him every time, either in performance or selection.
All I want to understand is media’s stance here. The way ‘Arjun’s being out of team’ has been talked in media, which again whip him that he is chap of a champion, he needs to carry every edge of the legacy of his father. Selectors want clearly opposite to take that impression out of his mind. Poor kid! Not his performance! But his condition. Performing on form, getting back in team are not all but performing as a champion’s chap is. Champion’s chap must be a champion!? Expectations are natural on our part. But burdening and tormenting a wonderful soul in its boyish delight with our expectations, and how is it welcomed by media? I pity for Arjun’s state of mind, how he pays off psychologically and morally! ‘He is my father, he is not’, for Arjun, what to think and when? News of his failure being exposed nationally, internationally, must have been clouding his mind, negatively and downwardly. It must have been doubly affecting 13/14 years old innocent mind, strain of performing top-notch and nervousness of getting tugged in media.
Arjun is one among the scores of kids in our country who aspire a career in cricket, Sachin as role model, who undergoes a few low performances and recovers in a next few. Let Arjun play his natural game. Let him fall, let him rise. But he is not yet ready to play the media game. It’s not his or any kid’s age to be distressed by hyperactive media. Be wise, Media! Go ahead, Arjun!

11.07.2013