MESSAGE BEHIND THE HUMOUR

Our venerable Reserve Bank of India has completed counting the currency notes that had been rendered illegal tender post Demonetisation and has declared the results, Almost the entire currency notes that were in circulation, has come back to the RBI. This makes me realise that my country and countrymen have been officially declared as among the financially cleanest mortals on the earth and all this talk of tainted money, black money, offshore money were no more than  "made to order" cocktail of desi and foreign pseudo economists . I also feel concerned about those persecuted worthies who keep running and hiding for their only fault of being rude to a right man somewhere in our system.. No wonder at least one of them has publicly stated how anxious he is to return home, his sweet home.  

Let me come back to the issue on a serious note. What did the exercise reveal in the end? Didn't it show loudly that in our country lawbreakers can get away with anything?  An explanation that the intended objective of bring back Black Money into the system has been achieved does not convince my common sense. For every surrender of a demonetised currency note the depositor got valid currency notes. Those who could not explain their source, faced the wrath of law. But what has been the outcome? Has the assessed volume of unaccounted for money in circulation been taxed or impounded fully? An atmosphere of disbelief seems to have descended the country, 

:)

The RBI revelation now makes me think on some other important matters. Take for example the persistent talk about the huge population of the country and the uncomfortable prophecy about the impending and inevitable happening of my country's population overtaking China's. I now suspect that there could be several cases of double/ multiple head counting in my country and the real population could as well be much less, closer to that of the United States rather than our northern neighbour.

 :)

The other issue is about the number of voters my country has and the issue of bogus voters. It is common knowledge that we Indians love politics and don't love working. Every election in our country is being both fiercely financed and fiercely contested. Come 2019, and the country should decide, once for all, the number of Indian voters. It should be pegged at the number of votes cast, including the NOTA votes and the rest struck off the rolls. New voters should only be Aadhar linked. 

The list could get longer and I am disinclined to write more. Let me now place my conclusions. My country is not all that problematic as has been painted. My countrymen are gentle, god-fearing, responsible. It is the Bureaucracy that keeps inventing--- be it the number of people India has, the number of currency notes in circulation or the number of hungry people. 

The RBI has rendered yeoman service by initiating the DEBUNK process. India seems to have rested far too long on many assumptions, mostly created by shrewd people with an evil design. Let the process of debunking spread to other areas and continue till the quintessence of India gets revealed. That indeed will be our Tryst with Destiny.

********* 

POSTING AND TRANSFER OF A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL

In Odisha --- and I would presume this malady could be prevailing elsewhere too ---- I had witnessed, while working in the Government, tremendous wastage of time and resources in facing and handling requests for transfer of government employees, emanating  not necessarily always from the concerned employees; but through different routes ranging from suffering wives; politicians to your friends . Reluctance to move even short distance, say, from Jagatsinhpur to Kendrapara; or from Cuttack to Baleshwar was mind boggling and one had to waste a lot of time in dealing with such cases.

The bizarre situation was, however, mercifully not without a few sparks of comedy. I remember two such cases. While I was the Director of Community Development ( Now Panchayati Raj ) Department, I got a phone call from the Minister while I was working on a complicated issue in a a thick file. He suggested transfer of someone from one place (X) to another(Y) . I said I had taken note of Minister's suggestion and soon thereafter resumed studying the file. After a short interlude of peace, the phone rang again and I spoke to the Minister. He was apologetic. "Mr Mishra, you appreciate our plight; we have to see so many visitors and take note of their requests." He said. I liked his tone-- one of sincerity and fatigue. He continued, "I just spoke to you about that official's transfer from X to Y. Actually he is at Y and needs to be posted to X ". I promptly assured him that the changed request has been taken note of and soon returned to my file. By the time the file was disposed of, I had totally forgotten about both X and Y. Minister never asked me if his request had been complied with.

The other incident related to a senior government officer who thought that since he was born at Cuttack, he should have the entire service career of about 35 years spent also in that ancient city. But as ill luck would have it, he was transferred to the Planning & Coordination Department in the Secretariat for which he had to leave Cuttack and come to Bhubaneswar. This calamity struck him when he was approaching his retirement. This hazard was, therefore. too severe to bear. He was sulking and complaining. He was commuting between Cuttack and Bhubaneswar. Then suddenly one day he was bitten by a stray dog, fortunately, in his home town. He was happy because he could be on leave and stay at Cuttack. But, like every good thing, this pleasant period also must come to an end. And it did come to an end. He had to make his appearance in the Secretariat. His colleagues sympathised and cursed that beast for having caused great harm to such a noble man.

 He was furious at the sympathisers. " Do not vilify that noble animal, he shouted. " He was no one else other than that great Dog that had accompanied Yudhistira on his journey to heaven. His kind contact with me only had enabled me to stay at my home town for a fortnight", he said.

********* 

29th August, 2012

THE LANTERN IN THE POLLING CUBICLE

We keep hearing learned discourse on merits and drawbacks of Electronic Voting Machine ( EVM ). One gets an impression as if India has still not said the last word on the issue. Some point fingers at an EVM; saying that a machine, after repair, records all votes in favour of a particular Party. They demand that the name of the repairer be put on the public domain. Then suddenly the situation gets electrified with someone throwing the gauntlet at a doubting Thomas to prove the Machine wrong; and a hushed silence greets every one thereafter. The debate, nevertheless, continues and doubts keep lurking. I, for one, have been a consistent votary of the Ballot Paper and have suffered the discomfiture of submitting my intelligence to that of a machine.
While India's gigantic voting Bandobust keeps drawing accolades from various parts of the world, each of the voting compartments of India's millions of polling stations continues to be lighted by a lantern. India seems to have unflinching faith on the kerosene-fuelled hurricane lamp despite the nation rejoicing about millions of units of electricity having been saved by LED lamps. Will the polling compartments be lit by the LED lamps in 2019 Election? Let me hope at least 50% of the compartments would.

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We keep hearing learned discourse on merits and drawbacks of Electronic Voting Machine ( EVM ). One gets an impression as if India has still not said the last word on the issue. Some point fingers at an EVM; saying that a machine, after repair, records all votes in favour of a particular Party. They demand that the name of the repairer be put on the public domain. Then suddenly the situation gets electrified with someone throwing the gauntlet at a doubting Thomas to prove the Machine wrong; and a hushed silence greets every one thereafter. The debate, nevertheless, continues and doubts keep lurking. I, for one, have been a consistent votary of the Ballot Paper and have suffered the discomfiture of submitting my intelligence to that of a machine.
While India's gigantic voting Bandobust keeps drawing accolades from various parts of the world, each of the voting compartments of India's millions of polling stations continues to be lighted by a lantern. India seems to have unflinching faith on the kerosene-fuelled hurricane lamp despite the nation rejoicing about millions of units of electricity having been saved by LED lamps. Will the polling compartments be lit by the LED lamps in 2019 Election? Let me hope at least 50% of the compartments would.

THOSE WHO MAKE A CHEERFUL WORLD

He wasn't famous that people would accost him on the street and ask for an autograph; but this morning when I saw him from a distance, I did go off my beaten track to accost him precisely because he was dear to me and has been foremost in my mind early in the morning for about a month I wasn't seeing him on the lane, having his slow walk. His round face put on the usual benign smile seeing me approaching him. I felt reassured. He wasn't taken ill. " It was the rain," he said, that had kept him away from walk. I looked into his eyes again, to read his thoughts and feel if he wasn't keeping anything from me. He smiled back, looking straight into my eyes. I believed his smile. The world around that had looked somewhat indisposed in his absence, suddenly turned cheerful.

******** 

ଭୁବନେଶ୍ବରରେ ହକି ଖେଳ

ଅନେକ ବନ୍ଧୁଙ୍କ ମତହେଲା ଆନ୍ତର୍ଜାତିକ ହକି ପ୍ରତିଯୋଗିତା ଆୟୋଜନ ରେ ବିପୁଳ ରାଜସ୍ବ ବ୍ୟୟ କରିବା ହକିଖେଳ ର ଉନ୍ନତିରେ ସହାୟକ ହେବ ଏବଂ ଏଭଳି କାର୍ଯ୍ୟକ୍ରମ ରାଜ୍ୟ ପାଇଁ ମଙ୍ଗଳକର | ଏସମ୍ପର୍କରେ ଭାବବିହ୍ୱଳ ନହୋଇ ଆମେ କେତୋଟି ବିଷୟ ପ୍ରତି ଧ୍ୟାନ ଦେବା ଆବଶ୍ୟକ | ବିପୁଳ ଅର୍ଥ ବ୍ୟୟ କରି ; ବିଜ୍ଞାପନ ପ୍ରକାଶ କରି ଆମେ ଖେଳର ମାନ ବୃଦ୍ଧି କରିବା ସମ୍ଭବ ନୁହେଁ | ଭୁବନେଶ୍ବରରେ ହକି ପାଇଁ ଯେତେ ସରକାରୀ ଅର୍ଥ ବ୍ୟୟ ହେଲାଣି ତାର ପ୍ରଭାବ ଭୁବନେଶ୍ୱର ଓ ଆଖପାଖ ଅଂଚଳର ଖେଳପଡିଆରେ କାଣିଚିଏ ମାତ୍ର ଦେଖାଯାଏନି | କଳିଙ୍ଗ ଷ୍ଟାଡିୟମ କେନ୍ଦ୍ରିତ ତଥାକଥିତ ସରକାରୀ ବ୍ୟୟବହୁଳ ତତ୍ପରତା ସୁନ୍ଦରଗଡ ଜିଲାର ହକି ର ଗୁଣବତ୍ତା ବୃଦ୍ଧି କରିନାହିଁ | ଆଜି ଆମ ରାଜ୍ୟର ପ୍ରବୀଣ ହକି ଖେଳାଳି କଳିଙ୍ଗ ଷ୍ଟାଡିୟମ ପ୍ର୍ରାଙ୍ଗଣରୁ ଆବିର୍ଭାବ ହୋଇ ନାହାନ୍ତି |
ଝାଡ଼ଖଣ୍ଡ ଏବଂ ଓଡ଼ିଶାର କେତେକ ଅଂଚଳରେ ହକିଖେଳ ପ୍ରତି ପିଲାମାନଙ୍କର ପ୍ରବଳ ଆନୁଗତ୍ୟ ରହିଛି ; ଏବଂ ଗାଁ ପଡିଆରେ ପିଲେ ପିଲାଦିନୁ ହକି ଖେଳି ଆସୁଛନ୍ତି | ଗୋଟିଏ ଘଟଣା ଏସମ୍ପର୍କରେ ମନେପଡୁଛି | ରାଜ୍ୟ ସରକାର କ୍ରୀଡା ବିଭାଗଙ୍କ ଆନୁକୂଲ୍ୟରେ ୧୯୮୫ ମସିହାରେ କ୍ରୀଡା ଛାତ୍ରାବାସ ଯୋଜନା ଆରମ୍ଭ ହୋଇଥିଲା | ବସନ୍ତ ବିଶ୍ୱାଳ ପ୍ରଥମ କ୍ରୀଡା ମନ୍ତ୍ରୀ ଥିଲେ ଏବଂ ମୁଁ ପ୍ରଥମ ସଚିବ ଭାବରେ କାର୍ଯ୍ୟ କରିଥିଲି | କିଛିବର୍ଷ ପୂର୍ବରୁ ପାନପୋଷ ରେ ଟାଟା କମ୍ପାନୀର ଡୋଲମାଇଟ ଖଣି ସହିତ ସମ୍ପୃକ୍ତ କେତୋଟି କୋଠାବାଡି ସରକାରଙ୍କୁ ହସ୍ତାନ୍ତର କରାଯାଇଥିବା ପରେ ମଧ୍ୟ ଅବ୍ୟବହୃତ ଅବସ୍ଥାରେ ଥିଲା | ଏଲ ଆଇ ପରିଜା ମୁଖ୍ୟସଚିବ ଥିବାବେଳେ ଏହି ସମ୍ପତ୍ତି କୁ କ୍ରୀଡାବିଭାଗ କୁ କ୍ରୀଡା ଛାତ୍ରାବାସ କରିବା ପାଇଁ ହସ୍ତାନ୍ତର କରିବା ପାଇଁ ମୁଁ ପ୍ରସ୍ତାବ ଦେଲି ଏବଂ ମୁଖ୍ୟସଚିବ ଏହାକୁ ଅନୁମୋଦନ କରିଥିଲେ | ଆମ ରାଜ୍ୟରେ ହକି ଖେଳ ର ଉନ୍ନତି ସହିତ ପାନପୋଷ ସ୍ପୋର୍ଟସ ହଷ୍ଟେଲ ର ସମ୍ପର୍କ ଅତ୍ୟନ୍ତ ନିବିଡ | ଏହା ସମସ୍ତେ ସ୍ୱୀକାର କରିବେ | ମୋର ସ୍ପଷ୍ଟ ମତ ହେଲା ରାଜ୍ୟ ସରକାର ଜାତୀୟ ଓ ଆନ୍ତର୍ଜାତୀୟ ସ୍ତରର ହକି ପ୍ରତିଯୋଗିତା ରାଉରକେଲା , ସୁନ୍ଦରଗଡ ଭଳି ସ୍ଥାନ ମାନଙ୍କରେ ଆୟୋଜିତ କରିବା ଅଧିକ ଉପଯୋଗୀ ହୋଇଥାନ୍ତା |ଚକମକ ଆୟୋଜନ ; ବିଶାଳ ବିଜ୍ଞାପନ; ଅନାବଶ୍ୟକ ଅର୍ଥ ବ୍ୟୟ ; ବିପୁଳ ଅପଚୟ ଦ୍ୱାରା କ୍ରୀଡାର ମାନ ବୃଦ୍ଧି ହୁଏନି | ଏସମ୍ପର୍କରେ ସ୍ଥିର ଚିତ୍ତରେ ବିଚାର ଆବଶ୍ୟକ |
କଟକ ବାରବାଟୀ ଷ୍ଟାଡିୟମରେ କେତେବର୍ଷ ଧରି ଜାତୀୟ ଏବଂ ଆନ୍ତର୍ଜାତୀୟ ସ୍ତରର କ୍ରିକେଟ ଖେଳ ହୋଇଛି ; କେବେ ରାଜନୈତିକ ଉନ୍ମାଦନା ବା ସରକାରୀ ଅପଚୟର ତାଣ୍ଡବ ଦେଖା ଯାଇ ନଥାଏ | କଳିଙ୍ଗ ଷ୍ଟାଡିୟମ କ୍ଷେତ୍ରରେ ମଧ୍ୟ ସେହିଭଳି ଆଭିମୁଖ୍ୟ ଶୋଭନୀୟ ହେବ | ହକି ପ୍ରସିଦ୍ଧି ଲାଭ କରୁ ; ଆମ ରାଜ୍ୟ ଉନ୍ନତ ମାନର ହକି ଖେଳ ପାଇଁ ସୁଯୋଗ ସୃଷ୍ଟି  କରୁ ; କିନ୍ତୁ ଏଠି ରାଜନୀତି କୁ ପ୍ରାଧାନ୍ୟ ଦିଆ ନଯାଉ ; ସର୍ବସାଧାରଣ ଙ୍କ ପଇସା ପାଣିଭଳି ବୋହି ନଯାଉ | ଅପଚୟ ଉପରେ ଅଙ୍କୁଶ ଲାଗୁ |

*********  

OLD AGE HOME

After his wife passed away, he was lonely even if he continued to live in his own house with his son and the son's family. He didn't mind doing errands on the request of the son and the son's wife. He loved both of them. Their chubby two year old son was the apple of his eyes. He had retired from a very high position in the government and therefore was not short of money. He didn't mind spending his money either, to run the house though his son too was on a good job and was earning well. 

The errands were occasional for sometime but slowly became a daily ritual. Every morning his dear son's wife would give him a piece of paper having a score of items-- ranging from toothpicks to detergent powder-- written on it and he was expected to go to the market, buy the items from the department store and then roam around looking for fresh brinjal, two inch long Bhindi etc as per the specifications spelt out to him by her verbally. 

The elderly loving man soon felt slighted at the daily command and an otherwise agreeable household chore turned into a drudgery. It hurt his self-esteem. He felt he was losing height and was turning into a beast of burden. His lonely existence after the passing away of his wife became more oppressive.

One day he reached an old age home in the city and stayed on. Life was less taunting there. Soon, the smile of the child at home started haunting. An urge swelled within to go back to the child who too loved him. It made him restless. 

One day he reached the tea stall close to his house in the morning and waited for his son to pass that way on his way to the office. The son did come that way, he saw the father but didn't stop to take him home, to his grandchild , as the grandfather had been yearning for. 

He wiped his eyes and went back to the oldage home, leaving emotions at the tea stall. 

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16th February, 2015

SRIBATSA ---THE MIRACLE LINESMAN

Sribatsa has been an epitome of professionalism and integrity. I have been seeing him in our part of the city since we moved to our house thiteen years ago. 

I see him on a hot May day, scanning innumerable mysterious switches inside a box fixed to a telephone pole, near the college playground; sometimes I see him negotiating an improvised ladder to reach a defect in the overhead telephone lines near our house. He would get into our house and, knowing where our fixed telephone has been placed, would walk up to it and examine the heavy instrument, to listen to the bizarre sounds coming out of the receiver. He would then connect his grotesque looking hand- phone to our telephone and speak to some unseen person. Then our phone would suddenly spring back to life, after having been dead for three days. 

I always consider him a "miracle man" and respect him. He too has been always courteous and reverential towards me. In spite of our bonding, he would never listen to me if I tell him, during a chance meeting on the road, about malfunctioning of my telephone. He springs to action only after a complaint has been communicated to him by his office through his telephone.

He sounded somewhat melancholic while he reported it to me, a month ago, about his impending retirement. He knew this news would upset me. 

This morning I saw him on the pediment near the local telephone exchange. He wished me. I stopped walking and preferred to talk to him while waiting for my friend. I was anxious to know how he would spend time on retirement after a few days.He had been avoiding answering this question earlier. This morning, however, he opened his mind. Maybe by now he has decided on what he would do..

He will be engaged in mushroom and poultry farming and help his son to grow in this business. He has bought adequate land, not far from our city and start his venture soon. He looked both confident and contented. 

"Why did you not go back home in the evening but preferred to sleep in the Telephone Exchange?" I asked. His reply only confirmed my faith in this person--   a man of integrity and professionalism. The recent road digging in the area had affected many telephones in the Court complex nearby and he had been asked to complete the rectification job quickly. He worked late into last night and did not like to return home, miles away, on his bicycle. 

He slept inside the Telephone Exchange, his Temple, for decades, the door of which may not open for him for a night's shelter, once he walks into retirement after a few days. 

********   

26th August, 2017

LOSING MY PHONE

By the time I realised that the smooth-skinned lightweight phone had slipped off the shallow pocket of the sports trouser, I had walked a good thousand and half metres in the two lanes, not far from home. Before proceeding farther, as an act of prudence, I decided to retrace my steps and look for the phone on the edge of the paths trodden. 

By then the lanes had not become crowded but my small phone didn't need an army to be picked. A lone eagle-eyed moron was good enough for the job. I was now hoping against hope; but was soon coming to terms with reality. 

Fiendish thoughts crossed my mind. The moron would gain access to hundreds of photographs the phone had stored; he would arrive at my mail box; land in my bank account and play havoc with my finance. I was not sure if the local police inspector would prove efficient the second time after a lapse of barely a month. 

I was now returning, with disappointment writ large on my face, when I met a friend coming from the opposite direction. We wished each other, as we do almost everyday. This morning, however, I told him of the disaster that had hit me. He responded calmly. He said he had noticed me abruptly changing my path near the temple and thought I had perhaps lost my wallet and was going back looking for it. He comforted me saying that I must have left the phone at home. 

I could now no longer remain away from home. Desire to see my phone safe at home was overwhelming. I soon reached home. The phone was resting on the edge of the chair, after having quietly slipped off the pocket while I was tying my right shoe.

 I called my friend and thanked him for his prophetic words. I also remembered the mongoose I saw an hour earlier in our garden while I and my wife had tea on the verandah.

******** 

********

THE MORNING SCENE

I see early in the morning almost every other day on the quiet wide lane an old hatchback car, smeared in dust, proclaiming itself as a Driving School, making slow, short moves while I am walking. 

I overtake it without efforts. The school impresses me for its high pupil teacher ratio of 1:1. The pupil, on most occasions, a lady, struggles to back the vehicle and get into a narrow lane, perhaps as part of the lesson. On some days I see the vehicle motionless for minutes and I presume that period of " no movement" to be the time when the tutor perhaps holds the lecture class inside the school. 

On some days I notice someone striving to tame a heavy motorcycle. in this case, the tutor is the pinion rider and the learner at the front. 

Both look alarmed at the approach of the speed-bumps on the lane. I keep myself at a safe distance when the learner on the Bike negotiates the bumps, for that is the time the machine behaves like an inebriated horse transiting from trotting to gallop.

******** 

ଅବ୍ୟବସ୍ଥାର ଚକ୍ରବ୍ୟୁହ

ଅବ୍ୟବସ୍ଥାର ଚକ୍ରବ୍ୟୁହ


ମୋର ଜଣେ ଘନିଷ୍ଠ ବନ୍ଧୁ ଏବଂ ଆମ ରାଜ୍ୟର ଜଣେ ପ୍ରତିଷ୍ଠିତ ବ୍ୟକ୍ତି ଗତକାଲି ନିଜ ଅନୁଭୁତି କହୁଥିଲେ | ଆମ ସହରର ଗୋଟିଏ ପ୍ରମୁଖ ମାର୍ଗରେ ଆମେ ଦିହେଁ ଗୋଟିଏ ଗାଡିରେ ଏକ କାର୍ଯ୍ୟାଳୟରୁ ଫେରୁଥାଉ ; ଭିଡ ଯୋଗୁଁ ଗାଡିଚାଳକ ସଂତର୍ପଣତା ଅବଲମ୍ବନ କରି ଗାଡିକୁ ଧୀରେ ଚଳାଉଥିବା ଫଳରେ ବନ୍ଧୁ ନିଜ ଅନୁଭୁତି ବିସ୍ତାର ଭାବରେ କହିବା ସୁଯୋଗ ପାଇଲେ |

 ବନ୍ଧୁ ମୋର ଆଦର୍ଶବାଦୀ ଏବଂ ଦୁର୍ନୀତି ସହିତ ସଲାସୁତୁରା କରି ଆରାମରେ ରହିବା ଦୃଷ୍ତିଭଂଗୀ ତାଂକର କେବେ ନଥାଏ | ଅନେକ ବର୍ଷ ପୂର୍ବର ଘଟଣା | ଆମ ସହରରେ ନିଜ ଜମିରେ ଘର ନିର୍ମାଣ ପାଇଁ ସ୍ଥପତିଂକ ସହାୟତାରେ ଘରପାଇଁ ନକ୍ସା ପ୍ରସ୍ତୁତ କଲେ ; ସମ୍ପୃକ୍ତ ଅଫିସ ଅନୁମୋଦନ ପାଇଁ ଆବଶ୍ୟକ ବ୍ୟବସ୍ଥା ସ୍ଥପତି କରି ନ ପାରିବା ହେତୁ ନକ୍ସା ଅନୁମୋଦନରେ ବିଳମ୍ବ ହେଲା | 

ବର୍ଷା ମାସ ଆସନ୍ନ ; ଅଗତ୍ୟା ମୋ ବନ୍ଧୁ ନିହ ଖୋଳା ଆରମ୍ଭକଲେ ଏବଂ ଅଚାନକ ଜଣେ ଆହତ କର୍ମଚାରୀ ଦାଉ ସାଧିବା ଉଦ୍ଦେଶ୍ୟରେ ଘର ନିର୍ମାଣ ଆରମ୍ଭ ବିନା ଅନୁମତିରେ ହେଉଥିବା ତାଂକ ନଥିରେ ଉଲ୍ଲେଖ କଲେ | ମାତ୍ର ଟଂକା ପାଂଚଶହ କଥା | ମାମଲା ଲେଡି ଗୁଡ କହୁଣୀ କୁ ଗଡିଗଲା ଭଳି ହେଲା | ନକ୍ସା ଅନୁମୋଦନ ହେଲା ନାହିଁ | ମୋ ଆଦର୍ଶବାଦୀ ବନ୍ଧୁ ଧାଁ ଦୌଡ କଲେ ; ଜଣେ ପ୍ରତିଷ୍ଠିତ ଏବଂ ପରିଚିତ ବ୍ୟକ୍ତିଂକ ସାହାଯ୍ୟ ଚାହିଁଲେ | ସେ ଗୋଟିଏ ପ୍ରଖ୍ୟାତ ଅନୁଷ୍ଠାନର ସ୍ଥାନୀୟ ମୁଖ୍ୟଥିବା ସତ୍ତ୍ବେ ମାମଲାର ସମାଧାନ ପଇସା ଦେଇ କରାଇ ନେବାକୁ ପରାମର୍ଶ ଦେଲେ | 

ନିରାଶ ବନ୍ଧୁ ତାଂକ ଅନ୍ୟ ବନ୍ଧୁମାନଂକ ପରାମର୍ଶ ନେଲେ | ସମସ୍ତେ ବିନା ଅନୁମୋଦନରେ ଘର ତିଆରି କରିବା ସପକ୍ଷରେ ମତ ଦେଲେ ଏବଂ କହିଲେ ଆମ ଭୁବନେଶ୍ବରରେ ମାତ୍ରାଧିକ ସରକାରୀ ଦୌରାତ୍ମ୍ୟ ଫଳରେ ନୈରାଶ୍ୟର ଶିକାର ହୋଇ ସାଧାରଣ ବ୍ୟକ୍ତି ଏହିମାର୍ଗ ଅବଲମ୍ବନ କରୁଚି ଏବଂ ମୋ ବନ୍ଧୁ ମଧ୍ୟ ସେହି ମାର୍ଗ ଅବଲମ୍ବନ କରିବା ବୁଦ୍ଧିମାନର କାମ ହେବ | ବନ୍ଧୁ ଉଦ୍ବୁଦ୍ଧ ହୋଇ ଘରତୋଳା ସାରିଲେ | ତା'ପରେ ଚାତକ ମେଘକୁ ଅନେଇ ରହିଲା ଭଳି ବନ୍ଧୁ ଆମ ଭୋଟ ରାଜନୀତିର ଏକ ଅବୈଧ ସନ୍ତାନ " ସର୍ବ କ୍ଷମା ବ୍ୟବସ୍ଥା" ର ଜନ୍ମ ଅପେକ୍ଷାରେ ରହିଲେ ଯେମିତି ଆମ ସହରର ଶହଶହ ଲୋକେ ରହିଥିଲେ |

 ଯୋଜନା ଆସିଲା l ବନ୍ଧୁଂକ କ୍ଷେତ୍ରରେ ଏହି ବ୍ୟବସ୍ଥା ଲାଗୁ କରାଗଲା | ମୋ ବନ୍ଧୁ ଅଗତ୍ୟା ଧାର୍ଯ୍ୟ ପରିମାଣ ଏକ ଲକ୍ଷ ଚାରି ହଜାର ଟଂକା ପୈଠ କରି ଦୋଷମୁକ୍ତି ଆନନ୍ଦ ଉପଭୋଗ କଲେ | କିନ୍ତୁ ଏହି ମାତ୍ରାଧିକ ଅର୍ଥଦଣ୍ଡ ତାଂକୁ ବ୍ୟଥିତ କରିଥିଲା | 

କିନ୍ତୁ ହଠାତ ଏକ ଚମତ୍କାର ହେଲା | ଭୋଟ ଲାଭ ଆଶାରେ ସମସ୍ତଂକ ପାଇଁ ଜୋରିମାନା ପରିମାଣ ଅଧା କମେଇ ଦିଆଗଲା | ମୋ ବନ୍ଧୁ ଆଶ୍ଚର୍ଯ୍ୟ ହେଲେ ଯେତେବେଳେ ମାତ୍ର ଅଳ୍ପ ପରିଶ୍ରମରେ ସେ ବାବନ ହଜାର ଟଂକା ଫେରିପାଇଲେ | 

ଏଇ ହେଲା ଆମ ତୃଣମୂଳ ସ୍ଥରର ପ୍ରଶାସନ ର ମାନ | ଏହି ନିର୍ଦ୍ଦୟ , ଅବିମନୁଷ୍ୟତା ପ୍ରବଣ ବ୍ୟବସ୍ଥାର ଚକ୍ରବ୍ୟୁହ ଭିତରେ ଆମେ ସବୁଦିନେ ପେଶି ହେଉଚେ; ଅଥଚ ଆମ ଜନକଲ୍ୟାଣ ବ୍ୟବସ୍ଥାର କଳେବର ପ୍ରତିଦିନ ବଢି ଚାଲିଚି ; ନେତା ପୁରସ୍କୃତ ହେଉଛନ୍ତି ; ତାଂକ ଯଶ ଗାନ ହେଉଚି | ଏହି ନାଟକ ସବୁଦିନ ଆମ ଭୁବନେଶ୍ବରରେ ମଂଚସ୍ଥ ହେଉଚି | ଅସଂଖ୍ୟ ଲୋକେ କାଂଦୁଚନ୍ତି ; କେବଳ କେତେ ହସୁଚନ୍ତି |

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23rd August, 2017

THE DAY OF THE HOODLUMS

That day ( the 9th May, 1993) was the day of the hoodlums. They soon took over the Secretariat. State’s Intelligence agency it seemed had no clue and presence of policemen was perhaps limited to a couple of non serious men in uniform, lazing around nearby betel shops. 

Nearly a hundred hoodlums made forcible entry into the Chief Secretary’s office room. Those days, the room was too small even to accommodate twenty people. We then had Mr RN Das as Chief Secretary who was undoubtedly the most competent I had worked with after Mr Ramakrishnaya.

 He was brutally assaulted, his office ransacked, furniture and equipment smashed. The hoodlums chose the time both of entry and departure. The worst could have happened that day to a most worthy civil servant of the state. The Home Secretary had spent an hour hiding himself under the table of his office room. 

I was Finance Secretary. The unavoidable austerity measures Government had given effect to were emanating from the Finance Department. My staff had sensed the mood of the mob right. I could be the next target. I was whisked away into the room of an Additional Secretary made vacant and they kept me in perfect safety of the locked up room.

 After sometime, the noise of the wild subsided and I pleaded that I be allowed to go to the Chief Secretary. My staff turned down the plea on ground of my safety. Through the window, I watched a few government vehicles being damaged. While that was bad enough, what made my head low in sheer indignity was the sight of about two sections of policemen running away as the hoodlums were chasing them. 

Finally I came out of the room and went to see the Chief Secretary. I saw him in the office of the Chief Minister. His shirt was having blood at least at fifty places. Our eyes met and this noble man smiled at me and enquired if I was all right. I wiped my eyes and sat with him for sometime till he was escorted back home. The next day I found him perfectly normal and he told me that Cabinet Secretary had called, wished him well and suggested firm action.

The day after the incident, a different orderly peon opened the door when I got into my office room in the morning. I missed the familiar humble elderly orderly peon attached to me. He was missing; after three days I asked my private Secretary about him. He had been arrested by the police following the disturbance, I was told. ”How could this man? He would hesitate even to kill a blood sucking mosquito stinging his skin?’ I wondered. Maybe he refused to run away when the police were indulging in wild goose chase and searching the stable after the horses had bolted. 

The genial man appeared after a week and respectfully bowed down with a smile. I was happy to see him back. “Why did the police take you?” I asked. His serene face had no trace of remorse, no sign of bitterness. “I was destined to go through a brief Raj-Dand’ he said, with a smile. I missed a few heartbeats. What is wrong with the race? Why does it react in this mysterious way? Why does one run to an Astrologer to find out why he has been falsely implicated in a case? Who has empowered the state to do injustice? These thoughts surged in and made me restless after the elderly man had quietly slipped out of my room to sit on his chair at the door.

Even after two decades, I see no withering away of the genetic(?) malfunction that keeps accepting blatant acts of state injustice as normal and accepts filial submission of a citizen to state’s arrogance as its bounden duty. How long will the race explain away such wild behavior of people in the government as the effect of Shani or Ketu? Why don’t we get used to Rule of Law and why do we not have a lesson or two on what Majesty of Law means? Why doesn’t even the educated class, including learned people in the legal business, realise that every violator of law can be prosecuted, including the Prime Minister and the Chief Minister?

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23rd August, 2015

SANATAN-- NEIGHBOURHOOD VEGETABLE VENDOR

Today’s morning visit to the daily market was for neem-buds after my friend Bharat Mishra's narration yesterday tantalised my taste-buds. Neem bud has been the season’s delicacy for us for years. I had been noticing its modest arrival for over a week in the market but it has been losing the race against jackfruit.

 I had opted for young green jackfruits on each of the three visits to the market in the last seven days. Green jackfruit has been our favourite for years. I could not have waited longer for jackfruits; they would have grown bigger and lost its appeal.

 This morning I bought enough of the buds from two vendors —one lot for us and the other for our housekeepers. Only after being armed with the buds did I go to Pitabas, the jackfruit seller, and bought again a young jackfruit. 

Let me go back to brinjal. The nice fruits had been arranged well; they were grown in the fields of a village on the Phulnakhara- Niali Road. Sanatan, the brinjal seller, and I talked and I had a glimpse of his kind heart. 

He had grown Raikia Beans in the small patch of land he owns. Now he has standing potato crops, the plants have grown well. He had  bought about 45 kgs of seeds worth Rs 980, had made good application of fertilizer and expects to harvest about six quintals of potatoes.

 “How much would you sell them for?” I asked. “I am too small to be a producer and make a living out of my production. I buy most of my food items—rice, dal and vegetables. I have four sisters and I would love to share the potatoes with them. The rest would be with us, to meet our requirement for some days”, he said smiling.

 He is married, he has two sons.” Are they big enough to go to school?” I asked. “The elder one is in the 4th standard and the younger in the 2nd, in the village convent school” he said, with a sense of benign pride.

 I bought a kilogram of brinjals. I paid him the quoted rate-- twenty five rupees. No wonder his parents named him Sanatan (Eternal) . He truly conveyed eternal virtues like kindness, sense of duty and love.

While leaving the market I overheard a vendor advising a customer the virtue of enjoying seasonal vegetables. “Have Bhindi and Brinjal now; after a few days you will have Parwal” he was telling his customer. 

I could not have agreed more. Odia culinary excellence shows in seasonal vegetables; its varietal richness has always impressed me. I wary at the increasing preference for perennials like chicken, egg , fish and paneer. Our restaurateurs should also revisit Odia kitchen and see opportunities in the seasonal over perennials.

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3rd March 2014

ଆଜି ସକାଳ ହାଟରେ ପରିବା କିଣା

ସନାତନ ଆଜି ଆମ ଘରପାଖ ବଡ଼ଗଡ଼ ହାଟକୁ ଫୁଲନଖରା ପାଖ ଗାଁ ବିଲରୁ ଫୁଲକୋବି ଆଣିଥିଲା | ଅଖାରୁ ବାହାରକରି ଭଲ ଦୁଇଟି କୋବି ବାଛି ମୋତେ ଦେଲା | ଅନ୍ୟ ଗ୍ରାହକ ଥିଲେ ; କୋବି ଦାମ କହିଲାନି | ସେମାନଙ୍କୁ ବିଦା କଲା ପରେ ମୋ ଆଡକୁ ନଜର ପକେଇ ଅନ୍ୟ ପରିବା ନେବା ବିଷୟ ପଚାରିଲା |

 ଆଜି ତା ପସରାରେ ଅନେକ ପ୍ରକାର ସଜ ପରିବା ଦେଶୀ ଖୁସି ଲାଗିଲା | କାକୁଡି ଗୁଡିକ ଏକଦମ କଷି | ବିଲାତି ବାଇଗଣ ବି ତାଜା ଦିଶୁଥାଏ | ଭଲ କାଙ୍କଡ଼ ଆଣିଥିଲା | ଗୋଟିଏ ଜାଗାରୁ ପ୍ରାୟ ସବୁ ପ୍ରକାର ର ଦରକାରୀ ପରିବା ମିଳୁଥିବା ଦେଖି ମୁଁ ଖୁସି ହେଲି | କଂଚା ଲଙ୍କା ବି ଭଲ ଦିଶୁଥିଲେ | ସବୁ କିଣା ସରିଲା | ସନାତନକୁ କୋବି ଦାମ ପଚାରିଲି | ସେ ଅନ୍ୟମାନଙ୍କୁ ଗୋଟାକୁ ଚାଳିଶ ଦରରେ ବିକୁଥିଲା | କେତେ ଗ୍ରାହକ ଦାମ ବେଶୀ କହି ଚାଲିଗଲେ | ଜଣେ ଦିଜଣ କିନ୍ତୁ ମୋ ଆଗରେ କିଣିଥିଲେ | ମୋତେ ଦୁଇଟି ଫୁଲ ପାଇଁ ସତୁରି ଟଙ୍କା ଦେବାକୁ କହିଲା |

 ତା ହିସାବ କରି ପଇସା ଦେବାପରେ ଅନ୍ୟ ପସରା ପାଖକୁ ଗଲି | ତିନି-ଚାରି କିଲୋ ପାଚିଲା ବୋଇତି କଖାରୁ କିଣିବାକୁ ମୋତେ ଭଲ ଲାଗେ ; ଆଜି ପାଖ ପସରାରେ ପାଇଲି | ସେଇ ବିକାଳୀ ପାଖରେ ଭଲ କଂଚା ଅମୃତଭଣ୍ଡା ବି ଥିଲା | ତାକୁ କିଣିଲି | ଦେଖିଲି ହାଉସକିପର ଖୁସି ହେଉନି | ସେ ପୋଟଳ କିଣିବାକୁ ଚାହୁଁଥିଲା | ମୁଁ ମନା କରିଥିଲି କାରଣ ପୋଟଳ ଦର ଆଜି ଅଶୀ ଟଙ୍କା କିଲୋପିଛା ଆଉ କିଲେ ଓପରକୁ ଓଜନର ଗୋଟିଏ ଅମୃତଭଣ୍ଡା ଆଜି ଚାଳିଶ ଟଙ୍କାରେ ମୁଁ କିଣିଲି | ଦାମିକା ପରିବାରେ ବେଶୀ ଭିଟାମିନ ଥାଏ ବୋଲି ସେ ଭାବେ |

 ଯାହାହେଉ , ଆଜି ପରିବା କିଣା ଅନୁଭୂତି ଭଲ ଲାଗିଲା | ଘରେ ହିସାବ କଲି , ମୋଟ ଖର୍ଚ ହେଲା ଚାରିଶହ ଷାଠିଏ ଟଙ୍କା | ଗୃହିଣୀ ମୋ ଭାବଭଙ୍ଗୀ ଦେଖି କହିଲେ " ମନେ ପଡୁଛି ଚାକିରୀ ଆରମ୍ଭର ମାସିକ ପାଂଚଶହ ଟଙ୍କା ଦରମାରେ ମାସର ଘର ଚଳେଇବା କଥା |"

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21st August, 2018

AN EVENING IN THE BHUBANESWR GOLF CLUB

It had stopped raining; wind too had slowed down. The effect both left behind showed in hundreds of lingering water droplets on the smiling jasmines reclining over the well manicured green hedge. Our XUV, yes, that is the word the chauffeur said while describing the expensive looking new van we were in, stopped at the gate. 

The guard suggested we walked down to the clubhouse and tread softly on the grass. My friend, about 82, no longer retains his gazelle's agility. A persisting pain in the heel had slowed him down. The chauffeur explained about it to the guard. He agreed to let the XUV carry us, up to the grass. A long huge reptile hurried across the path while we drove in. 

Both of us got down and walked into a mystic environment with the dimly lit clubhouse, just a few metres away. We were the last to arrive. Our friends were enjoying their drinks in the cool night. Soon I had my glass of orange juice while my friend got busy in selecting his drinks. He settled for something that was Greek to me. "It is a French Vodka" he explained to me. It seems he liked it. 

The host, as always, was modest on his drinks. We talked about a CEO of a multinational company who has just landed in India and taken up an important assignment.."How to deal with Government in India" seems to him to be the most challenging task before him. All of us being Resident Indians had no answer to this Indian enigma either. 

The host then talked about square shaped watermelons being grown to facilitate packaging. Even the younger segments of our group,otherwise enjoying their drinks, put down their glasses and were listening. The host explained how a square sized mould, made of steel, is placed over the young fruit on the ground and the fruit grows within the confines of the mould. I learnt a bit on the emerging horizon of marketing. 

By ten, my elderly friend was eager to return. So was I. The kindly host walked up to the waiting XUV to see us off. 

Another group, on the spacious veranda of the clubhouse, was only half way through their food. The Golf Club of Bhubaneswar looked really enchanting last night.

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20th August, 2015