SINGERS FROM INDIAN SUB-CONTINENT-2(LATE SRI AKSHAYA MOHANTY.

I am a matador. I am a risk taker. I fight with bull with sword in one hand and a red flag in other. I know bull can kill me any moment. But I am an entertainer and I play with death to entertain people. The matador inside me rises up when I sing or direct music. Somebody inside me tells, " Sing Akshaya, sing. This may be your last song. This may be your last show. You may die after this. There may be no tomorrow, no next, no another for you. This show may be your last show and this should be your best show."

These are not my words. These are excerpts from the book "ARJYA DAS RA SESHA LIPI" a semi-autobiographical novel by Late Sri Akshaya Mohanty, perhaps, till date, the best singer and music director to come out of my state. The enigmatic singer had his style of his own "hold the breath and release slowly, intermittently as he sings."

My friends must be wondering what I am talking of. Who is Akshaya Mohanty? Who is he? Hold on your breathe my friends and listen to these numbers. If you do not like, you may not read further. But I am sure you will like.

A singer and composer of high caliber, this highly out-spoken person remained as an unexplained and misunderstood character till his death. He writes in his book:

"Perhaps some are born and destined to walk here with burden and tag of disgrace, scandal and infamy because nobody clearly understood them. And they too never tried to explain them to others. They preferred to live unexplained with tag of infamy."

The same sentiment is further reflected in one of his soul-searching number in which he sings:

"If a drop of tear falls from the eye of this perceived and designated sinner, the world pronounces and renounces that he is crying after committing a new sin."

Singer in 129 movies, lyricist in 92 movies, music director in 75 movies, actor in 3 movies, co-director in one movie, co-producer in one movie, writer of 9 novels, numerous short stories and poetries and one travelogue and above all a great human being, a complete artist, that is how one can sum up late Sri Akshaya Mohanty popularly known as "Khoka Bhai". Of course, all his works are in his mother tongue Oriya.

Had he taken birth in any affluent place other than Orissa perhaps he would have achieved more laurels and would have become more famous. But he refused to go away from Orissa though he had lucrative offers from kolkata, Chennai and Mumbai. He claims,"I can always achieve in Orissa what I can achieve outside."

But, Khoka Bhai you missed a larger audiences by remaining regional. This world needs to know you better and recognize better.

It was almost five years ago in that sleepy morning of 17^th November 2002; Khoka Bhai breathed his last in S.C.B.Medical College at Cuttack due to multiple organs failure. A couple of days before his death, when he was struggling in the death bed, Orissa government out of the sheer reorganization of his contribution to Orissa culture and art had declared to bear all his medical expense. But by that time, perhaps, Khoka Bhai had his last show and last song.

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This world will again have a look of Khoka Bhai's work with the release of 15 languages (Including English) multilingual film JAI JAGANNATH. The music for this film was composed by Khoka Bhai barely six month before his death. Please visit the following links.

http://www.purionline.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=2263

http://www.newindpress.com/NewsItems.asp?ID=IEE20070714012731&Page=E&Title=Startrek&Topic=0

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PICTURES OF HIS LAST WORK, SEMI-AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL NOVEL "ARJYA DASH RA SESHA LIPI".

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PARIJAT-32

When he sat on that smoothen stone near that railway track, facing towards the departing sun his pillared legs bent from the knees stood before him forming a welcome gate and it grew proportionately and more apparently as he bent back to balance his weight on his palms set on the ground. His trunk looked like that wind-devastated tree while two stretched inclined-back hands with palms transferring the weight assumed the sight of those inclined supports holding that devastated tree in position. As the departing Sun plumped further by the gravity of home-going, the peach and parched rays of twinkling and chuckling light blurred his vision. He turned away his face quickly. The old deserted and discarded railway buggy on that equally discarded track sleeping on partly rotten, partly worn away and cracked wooden sleepers, suddenly appeared at a touchable distance. His sight narrowed and concentrated to develop a demonic magnetism of Brobdingnagian proportion as it dragged that discarded railway buggy nearer and nearer till near enough for his breathe to recoil back hitting that junked wall of the buggy ho-humming and resembling like a slate for time to art the art of aging and fading.

Lunatic creepers are in a competition. Some of them have climbed up churlishly coiled around guard bars of the windows and again climbed up turned back, as they have reached the summit, to judge, with an inborn curiosity, how up they have come up. Is it not risky? Is it required? Is it worth? They have climbed down leaving yet dragging and encouraging others to follow them. And some, they do not have the habit of looking back ,for they have climbed up and climbed down on other side of the buggy and yes, how could he miss those ,those creepers ever ambitious and over determined to remain on the roof of the buggy with no turning back and no looking down. And there are those cleaver ones ,always looking for short cut in life have crept under the buggy near the wheels but over the track, then dragging them over those old and withered granite chips and sometimes over wooden sleepers as they have come out in other side breathlessly in desperate of search of light.

The abundance of greenery is turning dark slowly as the sun kissed the ground in horizon and it shall soon demonstrate the vanishing art of magic inviting the shooting and hooting darkness to rule and lull till the stars flicker and the moon glitters. A sudden influx of air slapped on his eyes as the demonic magnetism dropped and the buggy with creepy creepers, the ambitious, the ditherer, the apathetic, all of them merged together to form a silhouette of a recently defeated present pushed to the past. His eyes remain closed as the coolness, heaviness, dampness and darkness of night surrounded him with mosquitoes from the near by drain circled above his head en-mass to form a long tapered pyramidal revolving crown, the riiiriiiiriiiii of that unknown variety of odoriferous grass hoppers and caterwauling vulgarity of frogs forming an unknown note of the night.

The incandescent light post over that nearby young and alive railway track suddenly announced his presence. The grotesque spectre of darkness was driven to a distance and with light forming a circle diffusing to a distance, the three semi-burnt and semi-dark oblong granite stones started shining in front of him. The smooth stone under his narrowed buttock appeared smoother, perhaps it too wants to console him, cool him, assure him and reassure him. His troubled mind started counting backward the leaden beads of happenings on a long chain of past, ticking of them one by one, one as important, the other as unimportant till he combined all important to form a misshapen and flickering story of his life to which he wound finger and wonder; weigh and buy; nail and smell and ultimately throw and pick, after all, it is his; it is his life and story, something of his own, only own.

The story flowed back to a drizzling afternoon when he left his village by that leaking boat on rhythmically kicking waves of semi-reddish water ,a peculiar water color that has propped out of the marriage of water and laterite laden mud in the turbulence of flow. His mother looked and he looked back as slowly and surely he drifted away with low and slow strokes of flowing and bowing oars. The distance gathered and furthered. But his mother stood there, in that rain, unmoved with unflustered eyelids till the boat became smaller and smaller and small enough. She lifted that tiny boat from the floating water, covered and protected it with her wish and love and shelved it on the top her heart to listen to him, to cajole him and to shower him with that undiluted love with every beatings of her heart. He walked alone in this unknown city in search of the known face, but in the end he did not find any. He knew a few but the few did not know him turning the event into a one-sided teenager's love. The story stopped and moved as he ended his search for the known in that unknown world. Ahh! Life is too cruel! The world is too cruel! Full of the known unknown!

But the story moved again as he moved on that railway track. Unlike today, the sun on that day had honed and heightened his sense as he walked from the platform following that deserted track. Everything around him had been flattened into a neat illustration. He had stopped as he stumbled on that granite on which he sits today. It was not smooth then. It was not pleasant to sit on that. Time smoothens everything however rough it might be. Sitting on that rough stone on that day his mind desperately started craving some kind of mooring, clung to details. Again her mother resurfaced. Backyard of her house, clay oven with three mounds to hold utensil, smoke from fire wood and smell of fresh tea. His mind started rushing. He had smiled then as he gathered another three oblong granite stones to form a form of his mother's clay oven with three mounds. Next day sitting on the now-smoothened stone he prepared tea on the oven formed out three other stones. He only had drunk that day. Next day the railway gang-men on their way to check the track drank the tea. Every new day brought new additions. He was surprised to see as he became known. Gang-men recognized him. Drivers of goods trains recognized him and his newly constructed hut clinging to the boundary wall and near to that abandoned railway buggy on that abandoned railway track, not far from that light post with incandescent light.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now,sitting there, under the dim and fading light of moon desperately in competition with in candescent light for rule and supremacy, he felt lost, lost to the impending rumored future threatening ,corroborating and contemplating with all its meanness, nastiness and stinginess to kill his dreamt and sweet future of tomorrow. He had over-heard gang-men whispering in a voice low and slow while sipping tea about that expansion which will make the platform wider to welcome more men, more women, more trains and more goods. Where will he go? What will happen to his oven of three stones and that hut as future will drag him again from that known to unknown?

Thought and anxiety started rushing; so is his thumping heart. The cry of thumping heart became louder and louder and became so louder that he could not hear the sound of that train engine which has suddenly decided to drag away that deserted buggy of on that deserted track. And those creepers, the ambitious, the ditherer and the apathetic all tied together though having different aim, ambition, direction and aspiration, whimpered together in pains as the buggy inched forward. Snivel and whimper of creepers, soon synchronized to form a resonance to hit him hard. A cool shiver flowed through his spine as the cry of his thumping heart planned to form a bigger resonance with the resonance of whimpers of creepers. Creepers now lie there like limbs of several living beings collectively butchered. He paid a sobbing look to his hut and saw it crumbling. He felt his blood vessels running to and running away from his thumping hearts turning into mutilated creepers scratched and slashed and uprooted. Those were not figments of an insane nightmare. Nor were they parts of an insane hallucination, but facts, corroborated, solid facts, unforgettable for him and forgettable for others.

The Rath Yatra (The Car Festival)

The Rath Yatra (The Car Festival)

This year Rath Yatra, one of the most auspicious Hindu Festival was celebrated on 16th July 2007. Though Rath Yatra, also known as Car Festival to the western world is celebrated in various places both in India and abroad, it is unique in its place of origin at Puri in the state of Orissa. This year over 8 lakh people witnessed Rath Yatra at Puri as the idols of Lord Jagannatha, his brother Lord Balabhadra and Sister Devi Shubhadra began journey to Gundicha temple on their chariots. Lord Jagannath meaning Lord of Universe comes out of the main temple and goes to the Gundicha temple,supposed to be the birth place of Lord and en-route "He" pays visit to all his disciples. This is a unique concept where in God, himself comes out to enquire about the wellbeing of His children that is mankind as a whole. Secondly He, by this journey, highlights the importance of homecoming particularly when you make it along with your siblings. This homecoming of Lord lasts for nine days after which they return to the main temple and this return journey is known as Bahura Yatra or Return Car Festival.

Descriptions of chariots

Chariot of Lord Jagannatha: Nandighosha/Garudadhwaja/Kapidhwaja.

No. of wheels: 16

No. of wooden pieces used: 832

Height: 13.5 meter

Length: 10.52 meter

Breadth: 10.52 meter

Color of cloth wrappings: Red and Yellow

Chariot of Lord Balabhadra:Taladhwaja.

No. of wheels: 14

No. of wooden pieces used: 763

Height: 13.2 meter

Length: 10.06 meter

Breadth: 10.06 meter

Color of cloth wrappings: Red and Blue.

Chariot of Sister Subhadra:Darpadalan/Padmadhwaja.

No. of wheels: 12

No. of wooden pieces used: 593

Height: 12.9 meter

Length: 9.6 meter

Breadth: 9.6 meter.

Color of cloth wrappings: Red and Black.

Sequence of the Rath Yatra.

Divine procession (Pahandi Bije): The deities are brought out of the temple to ride the chariots by rhythmic movements called Pahandi in a royal procession. Beats of cymbals and drums and chanting of prayers by devotees are the most prominent features of this ritual.

Sweeping of chariots (Chhera Pahanra): After deities are installed on their respective chariots, the traditional King of Puri sweeps the chariots with a golden broom, which is known as Chhera Pahanra. Though the kingship is not in practice in India, here the offspring of erstwhile king of Puri carries out the responsibility to honor the tradition. This public demonstration of king carrying out a sweeper's job signifies a sense of equality and eradicates the narrowness and low status attached to certain jobs.

Pulling of chariots(Rath Tana):The most exciting part of Rath Yatra is the pulling of Chariots by thousands of devotees to the Gundicha temple, which is about 3 K.M. from the main temple.

Return journey (Bahura Yatra): The deities remain in Gundicha temple for 9 days and all rites are performed as it is in main Jagannath temple. On the 9th day the Return journey or the Bahura Yatra of the deities commences in the same manner from Gundicha temple to the main temple.

 

 

 

JAGANNATH TEMPLE AT PURI, ORISSA.

 

 

EXOTIC NILGIRIS-3(TEA GARDEN AND TEA FACTORY)

The history of tea in the Nilgiris has an interesting link with the Chinese. When the Opium war ended around 1859, a group of Chinese prisoners of war were brought as far as the Nilgiris by the British to start growing tea in a major scale. A plaque still commemorates the "Jail Thottam"{prison garden} where the prisoners were housed. The tea estate where the Chinese prisoners planted tea is called as Thaishola tea estate. However, the credit for originally experimenting with tea in the Nilgiris goes to John Sullivan who was instrumental in setting up the first experimental farm in the Ketti valley. During his last years in the district (1835-1840) he repeatedly recommended tea cultivation and even sent good samples of cured tea to then Madras(now, Chennai). Nevertheless, it was only after 1865 that tea became commercially important for the Nilgiris. The collapse of coffee exports following the Great Depressions of 1930-33 quickened the pace expansion of tea in the Nilgiris.from about 3000 hectares in 1920 ,the area under tea jumped to nearly 9000 hectares by 1950. Along the side of big estates, a class of native farmers, particularly the Badagas, took up tea planting. In 1960s the Tamil Nadu state government set up the industrial tea cooperatives called INDCOSERVE which promoted cooperative tea factories to process the teas grown by small farmers. As the largest tea growing region in the South India, Nilgiris accounts for nearly one-tenth of the national production. The upper platue of the district, which is one of the largest of its kind in INDIA, covering Ooty, Coonoor, Kotagiri, Kundah and spread over an elevation of 1700 to 2200 meters above sea level. Experts say the Nilgiris teas have the right balance of strength, color and astringency to satisfy the need of tea drinking. Nilgiris teas produce bright and brisk tea liquors and they do not cloud. Nilgiris teas are often referred to as "The Fragrant One" or "The Champagne among teas".

SEVEN WEIRD HABITS OF ME .

SEVEN WEIRD THINGS/HABITS

Vineeth, this is a very taxing job. But I have to obey you otherwise from tomorrow to whom I will ask, how to write a review, how to post a .pdf file in 360, how to upload a photo which is not in appropriate format and many more. Do not mind I have a very bad habit of telling jokes which appear like scolding or threats to the listeners. So I think you must have started counting, weird habit-1, Bad Joker. Hold on. Let me try to tell you a joke/junk before the count down begins.

One uneducated son-in-law went to his wife-in-law's house to meet his mother-in-law. But he wanted to impress his mother-in-law. One of his friends suggested him to use English words while talking to his mother-in-law in mother-in-law's tongue. The friend taught him the following English words.

Water

Rice

Curry

Good evening.

Night

So the uneducated man went to his in-laws' house. It was afternoon time. So he could not use "Good evening". Later in the night he was served with food and while eating he could use the words like "water","rice" and "curry". But he was worried he could not use that "Good Evening" though his friend had told him the importance of that phrase. Then in the night he was asked to share a room with his father-in-law. He was yet to meet his father-in-law. He thought this is the best opportunity for him to use "Good Evening". But his sixth sense told him that it is already night and hence "Good Evening" needs some modification. He went to his father-in-law's room and before he entered into the room he greeted his father-in-law by saying as guided by his sixth sense "GOOD NIGHT". His father-in-law too pronounced "GOOD NIGHT" and slammed the door on his face.

The purpose of telling this joke is that like the uneducated son-in-law, though I am trying to impress everybody here in 360 with borrowed computer knowledge from Veenith but my sixth sense is yet to misguide me. Got my second weird habit?!

Now just see. I have been asked to describe my weird habits but I have migrated to somewhere else like telling jokes etc without coming to the real point. That is perhaps my third weird habit. Too much of preparation, unnecessary analysis and prologue before I start a real thing. Fortunately I have almost overcome this habit by constantly being vigilant of the fact. Strange thing is that I became aware of this weird habit by carrying out another weird analysis. Before I left for the new place on my transfer I asked my colleagues of old place to give an anonymous written feedback to me on a set a questions prepared by me. From that feedback I came to know that my extra analysis is a time waster for others.

Weird habit-4? Hmmn! Yes. Totally disorganized in personal front. My better-half says she was aware of this before our marriage and was totally prepared for that. She says that somebody told her, I even do not put air in my cycle tubes in my college days. True. I must be grateful to my better-half for tolerating me and managing everything. No, no, no. she is not a great lady as you might have concluded. But the fact is that she does not have any choice. I am the only Hobson's choice for her.

My fifth weird habit is that I do not easily accept my mistakes/bad habits and confess to others. Hence I am not going to tell you my sixth and seventh weird habits.

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ABOVE WORKS ARE DONE BY MY FRIEND BAD BOY.

AHH! ME.

Floating and thinking while tied to the present

And the future in front of me with rusting past;

the rustling, the bustling and the hustling sky

Holds you together a while and then let you fly.

Cometh, oh! cometh my sailor in time of dawn

Me not flotsam, me not jetsam but having fun;

Like that white and gleaming and smiling white

Scattered on the blue plane with scattering light.

My liquid mirror holds it and holds its holder

Standing high heads run away but look closer;

Here me take away and float away the departure

But shall bring back before the expectant sooner.

Oh! See! See me again! I carry hope, I carry love

Ecstasy, agony and story of every ordinary dove;

Many comes and many goes but I remain afloat

They soon forget this wooden log, to rot and rot.

Who says I am alone, come and come, see me close.

Toddlers of water surround me before they sleep;

They jump, they hide, and they pick me with little kisses

I smile, I giggle , I sing and I sleep while time rushes.