The Stories They Lived

You couldn't miss the excitement
That leaped out of his eyes
And the beaming smile
As he sat on the bicycle
The bicycle of his favorite story - The Cycle Theft,
That he's heard a hundred times,
And has built a frame in his mind.
He had a new question, everyday
Why did they tamper the pedal? 
What did they do to the green rubber seat?
And here he stood - the little me,
The emotions identical -
The excitement, the curiosity, the anger
Writ large on his face
Only twenty five years, and a few feet apart.
The cycle's lived to tell a tale,
And the memory still too young!

When she chewed the chunks of sugarcane
One she'd fancy, while listening to the stories
Of the journey by the sugarcane farms
In my village, well ours -
How she soaked in joy!
How they waited for freshly plucked guava,
The munchings of peanuts with Bou,
Or, the lip smacking mudhi-mixture 
with mustard oil and chopped onions
- the fixtures of Cuttack evenings,
I was lost in one thought -
How did they find the roots?

When they sprinted to the terrace,
To be embraced by a calm evening breeze
Many stories came alive in their minds,
The Super Storm - easily the most eerie, and treasured
The winds that shook the buildings, and our hearts
And razed many homes,
Uprooted trees and electric poles
Plunged the city into complete darkness,
As the rains lashed at the windows
And hammered the roofs,
Without a speck of mercy.
They'd insist on listening to this story,
Over and over again
And had gone to sleep over it, countless nights.
Here they stood,
On the same terrace,
They paused to take a close look
Maybe connect the dots in the stories
Peeping into the ruins of the skylight,
Bending over the flower pots, to water them
Gazing at the red beacon atop the TV Tower
Its light still blinking.
As I stood watching them live their stories,
The soft breeze rang in many memories,
When the terrace would turn grand with diyas,
Every Diwali,
Where many dreams took wings
Under the starlit skies,
Where we lazed on, many winter days
And joined the blankets
As they absorbed the sunlight
As they gathered the warmth for the chill nights ahead,
The terrace where we'd lie star-watching,
And followed many as they traveled across the skies.

As we lied on a mat, gazing into the clear skies
And I followed the stars,
Trying to recognize the old friends,
My daughter and son
Were busy sorting their new friends -
The cycle, the terrace, the skylight
The flower-pot, the rose and the tuberose
The chunks of sugarcane
The endless river,
And an ageless sky above!
As a thin veil of sleep gathered
Amid the soothing breeze,
I couldn't tell if it was my thoughts,
Or a fleeting dream,
If it's not memories, 
Was it stories they were drawn to?


© Sashikant Mohanty

My Roots

I call them roots
The roots that struck long before
I even realised
The roots that can smell the soil
And the water
And find their way
Even when there was none in sight.

I call them roots.
And today I came looking
For mine
The herds of deer were no different today
They came sprinting to the fence
To the smell,
Can't tell if they sniffed our presence
Or the smell of bread
But the calves that came running as well
To meet their ilk - across the fence
Rang in a smile on my face
As though they had come looking
For their roots!

I call them roots.
The river seemed full,
And kissing the other bank too
Seemed too full for Cuttack April,
It's not in a hurry today
And in the low light
At a distance a lone raft waded through
in a matching pace
The pious man's dip in warm waters
And the ringing of bells in the temple behind
Seemed to remind of years gone by
And the roots that've stayed in tact.

I call them roots.
A freshly laid red coated pavement
Seemed to suggest a red carpet welcome
For one of their own
We couldn't miss the trees by the banks,
Half lit by the street lamps
Among the lot stood a lone ranger
A familiar face
With solid trunk and the stocky branches
Spread wide and tall
Without a shade of a leaf
And still it stood firm, and sorted.
As I walked away I had a fading thought
Was it because of its roots?

As the dark gathered,
And the kids giggled and enjoyed,
Stepping on to our footsteps' shadows
Under the sodium street lamps,
By Cuttack's river banks
I remembered the walks many moons back -
Connecting to my roots,
And watching the new crop
Strike theirs!


© Sashikant Mohanty