Mansi

There's something amiss with the scale of the buildings at the Mayfair lagoon, Bhubaneshwar. Like with the people at the restaurant and around, who all seem to be living a larger life. I feel like I'm caught unaware in the middle of a play, and every now & then I feel the need to touch something.
Bhubaneshwar, the little of what I've seen, is a town coming together in a rather large, yet wild and unpredictable way. The humid head doesn't help me register vistas clearly, despite my shades and cap.
I did get to see a temple, the kind who's receding top halp resembles the tresses of a dark, wholesome woman.
Bhubaneshwar with Cuttack are twin cities. The vegetation is akin to coastal, hot and humid climates. The advertisements are like most small towns, painted on walls like official stamps.
There is construction abound, in odd places. I also learnt on the flight over that Bhubaneshwar was planned by none other than Corbusier himself. I have not seen any suited examples of it though.
Coming back to the sprawling lagoon I'm at, scale issues apart, I really like the plan. Low and sprawling, with a lagoon swanked by two arms on either side. Each arm is dotted by cottages that on one side opens out to the lagoon. Walking down open corridors, more rooms open up to common spaces, a swimming pool, a pool table, all of which culminate at the Spa & Sports center (tennis, squash and billiards).
This trip is not going to be about explorign Bhubaneshwar. That will need to wait till our next trip here.

The morning after:
I wake up to Venkatesh Suprabatam. It's quarter to seven and already the sun is up and blazing. There is no wind and the lagoon for it's exoticness is not doing anything to battle the heat. Red ants are plenty here, a few of them trying to make a snack of my feet. Smaller beings always come with twice as much ambition.
I don't feel like I am in India. I don't mean that this in the 'This is too good to be India' sense. Thats for the defiant foreign bound citizens and the cocky inward bound NRIs to claim.
Since we arrived yesterday evening, I've felt removed. The vegetation, the advertisements, the traffic, the faces all look familiar. Yet I feel displaced.
There are differences here that I can't tap into. There is a certain closed off attitude of people who consider themselves the sweetest race of all. Yesterday I learnt that if you put a rasogolla in your mouth and speak Oriya, it will sound like Bengali. There is a deep rooted pride in this region, that isn't like punjabi pop. I haven't toasted the sweet part yet. There is also a place of distinguishments, as dense as the vegetation, as permeating as the heat. While I do not feel like a foreigner, I have yet to distinguish myself.
I'm now listening to 'Choli ke peeche kya hai' in a spiritual remix attributed to our many Hindu goddesses. The ability of humans to ponder and arrive at solutions is remarkable. On the highway, yesterday, I saw a sign - 1258 km Chennai. That was comforting and also helped orient me to where I am.
Art on the other hand asks all the exaggerated questions.
We do have a small temple jutting out into the center of the lagoon. The priest just did a water abhishekham. It is just too hot to be morning anymore.