Chhad Khai –an ode to the Odia foodie

 As the sanctimonious nip in the air resonates with Naam- kirtans, with the reverberations echoing blowing conches, and temple bells Odias respectfully herald the pious month of Kartik after bidding adieu to Goddess Durga. As careful hands artfully decorate the Tulsi Chauras with beautiful colourful, tributes depicting the three deities Jagannath Balabhadra and Subhadra with dry rice flour mixed with colour the holy month of Kartik unfolds its mystic sensibilities by beckoning every Odia to cleanse, control and fortify themselves spiritually through a month long period of abstinence and rituals.

The celebrations acquire a special meaning for the thousands of Habishyalis (devotees) thronging the temple city of Puri. Thriving on a frugal meal once a day comprising of rice and habisha Daal, thousands of ardent devotees are caught in the frenzied pace of sacred rituals with the darshan of the various appearances of the lord and adding the much desired spiritual fervour.

Culminating with the sacred five day period of Panchaka devoted to the worship of Tulsi Awala Shiva and the sun Kartik Purnima or Dev purnima  marking the victory of Lord Shiva over the demon Tripuri . Besides being accepted as the most propitious days for worshipping Shiva, next only to the Maha Shivaratri the full moon day assumes deep spiritual and religious meanings in the life of every devout Hindu. While Panchaka sees a steep rise in the prices of greens and vegetables the increased sales of sweet potatoes, Oou saaru and saaga indicate their inclusion in the special diet.

It always augurs well for followers of faith when science and religion merge. Restraining from a spicy diet, rich in animal proteins helps the body as per Ayurveda principles negating the ill effects of pitta, predominant in sharad. A vegetable enriched diet not only helps cleanse the body of toxins but practicing rituals and ceremonies also help regulate metabolism apart from deepening resolve and spirituality. Further the early morning dip in water bodies whether sacred or local are believed to aid in supplying the much-required Vitamin D especially at the crack of dawn. Welcoming winter, and the marriage season the last day of Kartik also marks the last day to take Ganga Snana , besides being revered as the birth day of  Guru Nanak. The day also sees the sailing of the Boita or paper boats by many as a symbol to bring prosperity into their lives an extension of ancient custom, which saw merchants of the state setting sail on far off voyages for trade.

 As the resplendent glow of Kartik Purnima enchants and blesses the holy, it`s enthusiastic welcome of Chaad Khai is warmly received by every Odia. Ushering the festive mood by sharply swerving away from the period of restraint Chhad Khai unleashes a long and famed trail of gastronomic delights with unmatched liveliness across households.

The thronging crowds, jostling for space in front of the butcher shop or the fish market openly reflect the desires of the Odia Foodie. Opening a cornucopia of non vegetarian delights with a tantalizing array of dishes including the much loved Macha Besara with the fried fish appetizingly nestling in a bed of tangy spicy mustard curry, to Kasha Mangsha famed to leave a fiery trail of aroma and taste as the mutton melts in the mouth with the delicious Kankada(Crab) Kukuda (Chicken) and prawn (Chingudi)curries appease  and tease the taste buds enticingly .Fish remains close to the Odia palate since ancient times and hence its natural habitat the water considered worthy to be revered .

 With rural belts strongly believing that one takes rebirth, as a crane if one doesn’t adhere to custom chad khaai being a delicious deviation from austerity invites every Odia to delve into the lavish fanfare with gay abandon.  Not only is the festivity celebrated in the state and nation but also across the Odia diaspora as well. The predominantly non -vegetarian food festival reinforces and enriches tradition custom besides strengthening roots and cultural transcendence. With commercial offerings becoming increasingly attractive in recent times, vindicated by many city-based eateries announcing weeklong celebrations, reflecting strong departures from norms, and festivities crossing thresholds and the hearth gaining momentum under the garb of neo practices.

  As Kartik Poornima ushers Chhad Khai and Balijatra celebrations, with Prathamashtami and the weekly Marga shira Guruvaar eagerly awaiting in the wings to bless each Odia threshold with happiness and prosperity let the joyous pride and respect for a rich legacy blossom forth in profusion spreading the fragrance of joy and unity amongst one and all.

                                                                    A tryst with time

 I hear the soft knock for the umpteenth time interrupting my chain of thoughts as I grapple to come to terms with bridging the gaps of present lapses and future projections. The persistent nature of the knock  compels me to open the door ,with a  reluctance that is almost palpable.Habit forces me to extend a warm welcoming smile to my beautiful guests .I acknowledge their strong presence, failing to extricate my tangled mesh of thoughts and memories from their pervasive invasion.

Past, suave in a perfectly cut tuxedo chaperoning Nostalgia draped in pure soft white cashmere the soft fabric complementing her shapely curves with the floral scarf perfectly accessorizing her simple elegance. The faint hint of musk and rose spread an unmistakable sense of languor as I realize the joy seeping through me as my banal efforts fail hopelessly to stop me  enjoying the  repartee with my cherished guests.  I see the treasure of memories flooding unrestrained from their tight confines draping me with warmth and enchantment .I watch in wonder the change descend upon my my dull clinical office as it swathes itself in beautiful hues.

As I vacillate between the strange quandaries and dilemmas hovering between happiness and guilt I feel the forceful entry of my eternally unwelcome partner and constant companion Present invade utopia   unannounced.  I shrug off the sharp sting of jealousy as I watch his long and easy strides as he crosses the room .I long to replicate the consummate ease with which he settles on the soft sofa opposite me. I fail to stop stammering as I dread facing the smirk bordering on disdain perched precariously between his cheeks and the aquiline nose trying to silence the scores of excuses hovering on my near paralyzed tongue. My silence is admittedly inadequate as he stares at me in askance finally  ripping me out my reveries with a precision difficult to match.  

With the strong ticking of the small clock on the glass table reminding me of the passage of time my thoughts are interrupted yet again by the  interrogative tone booming from Present questioning my prized guests about the very nature of their visit. Clearly voicing his unhappiness about their intrusion while accusing them of stalling the eventful flow of work in strong words ,I watch horrified as the two gentlemen enter an ugly spat of words. With Nostalgia beating a hasty retreat eagerly accompanied by Eloquence Articulation Patience, its a desperate situation as Past fights a lonely battle to fend off the aggressive deliberations of the accuser. The rising crescendo slowly making it more evident about the entry of Anger Dissent Hurt Disbelief and Hate I hear the feeble excuses given by  Past  as to its incapability  to change anything  with Present noting this with  smug delight. It`s not long that I fall prey to the evil machinations of Present as I forcibly shake myself back to routine.

As I complete an assignment heaving a sigh of relief which is compounded as I see the sudden arrival of Reason  as she casts furtive glances  to the tense situation between the sparring rivals. As she peeps out of the tiny nook round the corner, cloaked in grey, she leaves a strong yet unmistakable fragrance of positivity in the room. With skillful ease she calms the agitated offenders and  soothes their ruffled egos while working steadily on  smoothening their deeply creased brows and furrowed foreheads. I watch mesmerized as she effortless glides across to each, patiently explaining, coaxing .cajoling  one at a time finally making the sparring generals  agree for a truce.

I welcome the tiny smile flit across the face of Past as it looks across  his foe while the unstopping hands of the clock, witness ensuing the lighthearted chatter slowly graduate into an acceptance if not a casual friendship between the dissenting twosome.

 I distinctly feel the easing of the Herculean Grip of Present on my thoughts  relax into a casual touch. as my feats thank him ,I catch a glimpse of the twinge of regret ,or was it  pride on the face of Past as I briskly walk past  to face the unknown uncertainties of the Future.

Of grasshoppers sparrows lady birds and paper boats

Of sparrows grasshoppers ladybirds and paper boats……

Out of the many things that have vanished from my rather cramped life are some simple pleasures brought by the sparrows that would rarely leave me alone in my room having four acute angles ,and merging with the fifth with extreme reluctance. The unabashed show of embarrassment was more than visible as each merged with the other at acute angle incidentally, all acute. Each had a window similar in size and fitted with ledges both on the inside and outside making the room almost free from free wall space.

The sight of chirping sparrows perched happily on the curtains, which began one-fourth from the top, added a lot of cheer to my life. Sitting in close proximity on the spring clasp from which the curtains hung, my extremely spirited friends filled my room with lot of happiness. Breaking the sanctity of the quiet gray hours of dawn with their incessant twitter and tiny shifting leaps, watching them became a habit. The varying time spells with which I watched them, mostly increased or decreased in length the intensity directly proportional the difficulty level of each academic hurdle I encountered. A welcome distraction, they mostly helped me to think creatively and constructively. My interest in their activities grew as I saw their innocuous and playful exchanges graduate into noisy duels with the aggressive males easily differentiated by their deep brown coats, exhibiting their prowess with admirable fierceness while the females in softer brown coat forming the intense audience taking a well deserved break from their regular pecking on flowers or from swinging on delicate branches .The timely appearance of my feathered companions each dawn and their equally surprising disappearance at dusk with matchless precision still remains a mystery difficult to unearth. They remained a part of my every day life with their numbers multiplying in spring and summer. Their small and well made nests in the tiny nooks on the wooden roof support outside the room always notified me of the additions in the family .The softer twitters of hungry tiny inmates and the fierce screeches each time a predator   encroached upon the privacy announced in no soft tones ,of hungry babies, and apt parenting skills.

The whirring blades of the electric fans sometimes mercilessly snuffed the life of some brave hearts who ventured inside the room to challenge the might of modern technology. Dada always closed the windows in the summers and even switched off the fans to ward off the intruders, yet the mishaps were not exactly rare.   In case of an eventuality he would even offer droplets of water fetched by me close to their tightly shut beaks. I remember casting furtively glances over his shoulders hoping for miracles that never happened.

The gasps of the helpless victims still remain etched in my memories forcing me to realize of the intense pain that plundered the small bodies and I lost no time in passing a silent judgment inadvertently blaming technology. The fact that a single act of recklessness can lead to horrifying consequences probably laid its early seeds in my thoughts, then. To watch their tragic end, and life ebbing away from the lively creatures was sad indeed. Some times the steady and determined queue of red ants notified us about the untimely demise of the little baby sparrows. The lack of wings or the tiny gray vestiges of the so-called wings tightly clinging on their pink skin provided no inkling of their future looks. Though it took me some years to master the skills of putting the lifeless bodies of the hapless victims on old newspapers and throw them away, as a child I would call out to one of the maids to take over the course of actions in case of the eventualities. It would `not be without remorse that I saw the tiny creatures being thrown away with a casualness which I never agreed upon .The precise action of the maids always left me speechless. Many a time noni our maid would ask me to leave her trailing sari pallu alone with my tight clutches significantly reducing her pace. The floor would be always swept clean as an aftermath .The strong clinical odour of phenyl refusing to leave the senses alone and yet failing hopelessly to wipe off a deep sense of despair caused due to the loss of a precious thing often called life. Sometimes weekend cleanliness drives to sweep off cobwebs by Alekh the peon, of Ma`s clinic would dislodge the nests and cause the fragile shells to break. More than the fatal consequences, my mother would grimace at the fishy odour that emanated pervading the clean atmosphere of our home masking the fragrance spread by the jasmine and the mogras arranged religiously on flat saucers especially in summers. I found the strong refusal of the odour to leave the rooms alone despite the caustic treatment that followed, especially in the monsoons as distinctly unpleasant. As I grew up the incidences lost their gravity and became commonplace. It was only later when I saw similar reactions from Koustubh , my nephew, that made me realize the loss of sensitivity which probably maturity  had sown in me irrevocably replacing innocence with callousness ,well at least almost.

I never realized of their steadily dwindling numbers, or their total disappearance, till one day I could `not find any while I was wondering about them much later in life in another house in another city. It was until much later that I realized the loss of innocence that probably work, situations, and occurrences caused making deep inroads into my existence encroaching upon my life, and robbing it of some if not many emotions and feelings, mostly unannounced and determined working upon their unsuspecting victims.

The vivid image of the swiftly flying dragon flies in their vivid blue and green colours adding life to our garden and the field outside it, will always be an important part of my life. Of the many things that I would be envious of apart from being thin, fair and beautiful was the dexterous ability of some members of a group of children of which I was probably a non-happening member of. Their enchanting capacities of ensnaring dragon flies in flight or while they were sucking nectar from flowers always reminded me of my deep inadequacies. While the blue ones were the prized catches, the regular and plentiful green ones were the common victims probably because of their large numbers. I was a member of this group before I was five, which boasted of having experts who would win the number game of capturing fifteen twenty and some times even more flies. By a swift cupping of their palm they trapped the unsuspecting insects shocking them into captivity exhibiting their fiercely determined and peremptory intentions. In one flash moment the depravity of freedom was more than visible in the desperate fluttering of their gossamer thin wings during captivity. The experts would never stop at one but go one to catch more and follow it up by the painful act of tying threads in their tail supplied by non-performers like me more so an overt effort for acceptance than the consequence. I would watch the fierce struggles that would ensue between the hapless victims and the powerful captors and their final inevitable surrender. The painful process of tying a thread on their segmented and frail tail remained a distant memory The gnawing fear that arose after each act mostly arising due to hearing that each harmful act begets pain were probably were my first lessons on retribution, divine or otherwise. My exit from the group was not only because I realized of the futility of the entire enterprise but more so to escape Ma`s fury. Her extreme disapproval of such misadventures made clear from the very nature of the deep tone she used to show her displeasure whenever she caught me in the wrong was more than adequate to make me desist my efforts. Her presence forced the champions to fleeing away the scene too with promptness difficult to match. It was during one of my bedtime confessions that Ma explained the selfishness of the act that helped me to outgrow the habit swiftly .I always look back in my yesteryears thinking of what must have become of the champion attackers. Long after I grew up and that I realized from the dwindling numbers of playing children and play grounds of the marauding effects of modernity, champions of corrosion eroding the vestiges of childhood, forcibly evicting innocence from its tiny cocoon.

The advent of the monsoons would inevitably bring back memories of the tiny velvety beauties called ladybirds. Between the dark ominous clouds, thunders, lightning, erratic electricity supply, crisp pakoras and steaming hot khichudi roasted bhuttas and the red velvet coated beauties. Adding the much needed colour and gaiety to the lush green foliage and luscious undergrowth with their slow yet sure footed crawl and strong colour these daintily dressed individuals made their presence more than felt with their satin smooth coats accessorized perfectly with symmetrical black spots. Innocently crawling into traps the unsuspecting victims mostly were treasured in small empty matchboxes. I sometimes came back home from school in my early years with such matchboxes and watch the captive inmates in wonder as I opened them secretively during sleepy afternoons away from the prying glances of everyone.  Once Ma caught me doing this and explained the sad outcome that could befall the attractive creatures that made me understand my mistake. I still remember my reluctance transforming into amazement and happiness as I saw the slow crawl becoming faster as I released the hapless victim from its entrapment. As my respect for the captors turned into indifference and still later into a pain I understood how Ma taught me my first lessons of compassion and empathy. Many years later Koustubh my nephew bought a toy a lady bird one of his favourites , which forced me to recess into the past and remember similar acts which were small yet made  a deep impact in my life.

Sailing paper boats just after a downpour were another inevitable extension of the monsoons. Synonymous with the season they broke the moist humid interludes and the monotony with their appearances. Narayani Mausi`s undeniable expertise in making the boats still remind me of my failure to do so. Generally made from old newspapers, cast off prescriptions discarded papers, and some time old pages of copies these frail creations were two types and while one was ordinary its pocketed version was undeniably exotic. The sight of these floating beauties after a downpour in every available source of flowing water was common. They spared nothing and their progress in huge old iron buckets, overflowing tubs of stored water or drains left an indelible impression on me. Mausi would happily make them for me every time I asked for it and the miniatures from prescription were always on my table waiting for an opportunity to break free into the uncertain and forge ahead without even a glance at the past and forging ahead with a surety difficult to emulate. I never mastered the art of making one ,despite some trials but the innate sense of happiness, which the floating creations gave me, remains prized and something to cherish my childhood.

Childhood Memories Contd..

Durga Poojo or the ubiquitous Poojo, happens to be an annual phenomenon yet rarely leaves most Bengali domains free, despite its autumn advent. Either because of the anticipated guests who would join the family revelry or the clothes that would require preparations much in advance or the food that needed to be prepared during and after the four days of celebrations or the beautiful idol of Ma Durga with her four children resplendent on her Bahan or the fragrance of the shiuli and sthalapadma flowers which blossomed in the season poojo has been dear to all Bengalis.

Soon after Ganesh Poojo, often in late August or early September before the fury of the Monsoons abated ,Ma would start planning for the annual ritual much before its actual advent. Being credited with her dexterous abilities to plan and manage both micro and macro amidst other things, clothes and their preparations forcefully seeped into her daily routine. Her planning helped her to finalize specific numbers, colours, and designs for the gifts and the frocks that would be a part of my wardrobe.

 As the clearer and cooler nights  sharply contrasted the  hot days with clear skies which  enticed all stored blankets and razai`s to be sundried alongside the silks and woolens in the inner  concrete veranda ,Bachu Bhai remained a messiah  for my fall collection with his silky catalogues full of enticing fantasies flaunted by skinny models. Though much frayed at the corners and pages the catalogues were a storehouse of lacy, silky temptations and catered beautifully to appease our frugal needs with consummate ease.  The design catalogue always mesmerized me as the fair brunettes and blondes in frills and sheers stared at me through their hazel, or blue eyes with an élan which was impossible to emulate. Ma would select some designs from the catalogue and make a tour to the tailor shop to ask for the required length of cloth that needed to be purchased   for the specifically selected designs. The religiously noted specifications in her characteristic writing on a neat piece of paper with her Fountain pen were treasured in a specific place in her black bag, her constant companion at work. Little did I know that she selected specific designs and cuts which desperately tried to flatter my as deeply tanned skin and bulk.

 Custom made us take a small walk to her trusted shop Anandilal Patwari &Sons ,an establishment which still stands today in its original place in the city. The walk would always be through a narrow by lane with a huge peepul tree. Interestingly a huge house built under its shadowy boughs was called Peepul Taliya House which in the local dialect meant the house under the peepul Tree. The trips which happened  between  four and six in the evening were specifically planned , which not only prevented the loss of precious time reserved for her patients but  also  allowed her to see the colours better  by the little day light  before it was engulfed by the  swiftly descending dusk. 

Numerous greetings smiles and namastes later we would arrive at our destination and be greeted by the characteristic strong smell of new rolls of cloth .At the entrance we kept our slippers neatly and the rows of colours ,texture, forms ,and print would greet us warmly . The first half of the rectangular room with two square pillars and a wall full of neatly arranged textiles segregated the similar inner half from the outer. Lined with mattresses and round pillows on the left, on which the fat owner patriarchal owner would always be deposited, his overwhelming girth invariably managing to drag every ones attention effortlessly. Always clad in a white vest with a few holes which failed miserably to even cover one third of his fat torso he always greeted us with a radiant smile which more than adequately compensated his ennui.  His equally fat son and his much slimmer brother eagerly showed wares to my mother with a matchless enthusiasm as she selected the things she wanted and thwarted any attempt for forceful or extra buying. Years of habit had tutored them to cater to her specific tastes.

She trusted the entire clan as she claimed that they had never ever sold her anything which would bleed or pale off in colour or texture in the long run. In fact she narrated instances when they asked her not to purchase some materials warning her about its faults. While the younger ones would expertly show things that the older ones often tried to engage me with stupid innuendos most of which remained a jargon. The muffled conversations were the result of the dual role of the lips which tried hard to do justice to the constant chatter and sealing the mouthful of paan which would meet its inevitable destiny after every few minutes. Many a time a lozenge would be offered to me to ward off my boredom. I was coerced to refuse it though, as my advancing hands met Ma`s disapproving glances. As Polythene bags were not much in use in the seventies the thick brown paper bags with bold imprints of the names of the store were sent back home filled with the purchases only to be labeled and kept till the gifting season arrived.

Ma`s list included friends colleagues’ servants’, house hold helps,  drivers ,peons, washer man and his faithful wife who she firmly believed in and trusted as a vital part of our lives as they made it beautiful by doing the mundane chore. I would pay very little or no attention to the numerous  dhotis some with broad borders others with narrow ones some fine shantipuris or the red bordered sari for Ma Durga or the other saris and dress materials she purchased. A staunch believer of the fact that people who helped us should be given gifts rather than ones who were only related  she even parted away with her favourites without even a blink much to my consternation a habit she practiced till she breathed her last.

If the purchases were quick she would utilize the remaining time for finalizing furnishings for curtains mattresses and pillows and metal trunks too. After probably what seemed to be an eternity she would either select something or prefer to wait for the next available opportunity where the shop keepers would promise the arrival of new fabric. Even the foot mats below the bed and the piece of cloth to be put on pillow covers while we rested our heads on them would be cast in their new avatar.

She detested dirty pillows and the still dirtier pillow covers. It was much later that she revealed that her mother had instilled the cardinal belief that clean pillows and their clean covers were one of the criteria  to finalize marriage alliances as the poor hapless objects rarely lied about the state of cleanliness practiced in the household. The fact that sparkling clean pillow covers were indicative of the goodness and eligibility for a probable bride and of good family values continues to elude my logic. My mother would mostly stick to white pillow covers generally embroidered and frilled  crocheted edgings  which would be religiously changed every Sunday before the weekly visit  of our washerman Purno or his wife Bharter Ma (Bharat`s Mother) after our afternoon siesta.

Some saris were purposely bought later, from other Shops. I grew up listening about the virtues of giving rather than receiving and I had to forcibly agree then for my joys knew no bounds on receiving and numbers never failed to impress the group of friends that I was a part of. It was only years later, that these practices made deep inroads into my psyche and then the memory of Ma`s smile reflecting the joy on the faces of those who received gifts from her vindicated that true joy of giving.

She was seldom impulsive. She always preferred to buy cotton of light colours and small prints and intelligently steered me away from dark coloured fantasies by saying that once washed they would lose their sheen. Some silks or satin would also be seen before being touched only to be finalized later. To the others she would give money to buy something for the oncoming festivities.

My average wardrobe was dominated by  pale monochromes ,  dainty flowers in blues, pale cream, and whites also had  an overpowering smell of naphthalene .With materials purchased in advance and designs chosen from attractive catalogues but rarely delivered on schedule, Bachu Bhai`s  tailoring unit formed an important part of my pooja celebrations. Often fitted and refitted for a perfect fit on many an occasion the dresses would arrive only hours before they had to be worn putting to rest the anticipation that preceded the delivery. Often adorned in the  collars and cuffs with delicate edgings painstakingly crafted after dinner in the thinnest of the reel threads instead of the thick crochet threads my outfits would be transformed into the extraordinary because of her artistic abilities. I still treasure a few of her beautiful creations which stand mute testimony of her creative genius. She had even tutored Noni our trusted maid to dry laces on old newspapers after being washed taking care not to rub them vigorously.

It never mattered to most citizens of the tiny city that patterns, furnishings, or coverlets wouldn't vary in colour texture fabric unflinching of the commonality of their origin .It would be rather fun and never a matter of concern that I wore the same prints with Runu and Munmun two of my closest allies and friends which probably more than asserted the common threads of love and care that bonded the Bengali community and assumed an important part of my life.

Quintessentially Yours

Statistics would more than authenticate the claims of the quintessential Odia, that luxury lies in the ability of indulging in a siesta after the bowlful of Pakhala. Describing the Pakhala would need competencies of a higher order in any language other than Odia owing to the status of the former being un- bounded and armed with its famed soporific effects which, on unleashing, can lull millions to sleep vindicated abundantly by the cities and towns in the afternoon. The various genres ranging from fresh to being kept overnight or being embellished with curd and being garnished with seasonings, the signature dish has managed to appease the hungry millions besides grabbing headlines and hoardings in recent times towards tickling the palates of the affluent with its tangy taste. With the advent of summer, numerous restaurants and eateries announce its presence with the scientifically inclined endorsing its capabilities of restoring the much-needed electrolytes to counter the soaring mercury. While its simplicity lies in having the grains of rice soulfully caressed in their bed of liquid, the latter flaunting of an enviable diversity. Having attained a cult status typifying odias across the world it has acquired recognition as the most favoured gastronomic delight of the state across all ages managing to unite millions also because of the innumerable assortments, ranging from the humble dried lentil balls lovingly called badi , to saaga, to the more exotic meat and prawn delicacies each greeted with a panache that is hard to beat.

Reputed to celebrate thirteen celebrations and festivals the innocuous Khatti or the innocent gossip that reverberates across villages’ and cities every balmy summer evening as the favoured pastime for men while the delectable pan accompanies the conversation of the fairer sex. Encompassing topics ranging from cinema to Obama cricket to politics the rising tenor indicating the inimitable vigor and fervor of each participant and probably challenge online chatting in the virtual world. Lord Jagannath the presiding of Puri being the custodian to counter each catastrophes and calamities threatening to annihilate the lives of millions who willingly submit their existence with an innocent ``Jay Jagannath`` the sonorous lilt of which maybe attributed to the bhangha -eating culture of the city of the lord, also famed for its d sweets and bhog.

As the Jatra and Opera jostle for space with celluloid with each of the former still retaining their flavor more so in the tiny hamlets, especially warming many a autumn and winter night whipping up emotions musically casting a spell on the psyche of the simple people whose resilience has evoked national and international admiration. It was probably the lack of efforts, which caused the erosion of the Pala and the Daskathiya , two great forms of entertainment, in a state reputed to attract millions, for its mellifluous Odissi music and dance.

While the Global scenario looks in awe at the gossamer weaves adorning the fashionnistas of the world and the fine filigree captivates the eye of millions of connoisseurs’ the Dhoti probably being the original flexible dry-fit enviably accommodating men of any size presently being reduced to only being a fashion statement .The rapidly vanishing Jhoti too, commonly seen on wall and floors is becoming a fading adornment. Changing taste buds have continued to haunt the delicate taste of the innumerable pithas of the Odias, now making their presence felt more in annual events.

 Fading vanishing art forms traditions or prevalent customs reflect the failure of timely interventions. As the wheels of the famous Black pagoda besieges our support to thwart good things from receding into the background and prevent their disappearance by accommodating them lets` work towards spreading diversity for a harmonious cause.