Is It A Cuttack Thing?

Come, let's go back,

To the wintry mornings,

When even the sun was too lazy to come out,

When we loved blowing into the air,

To giggle at the 'smoke', that wasn't

When the marigolds, hibiscus, and the champa

Turned the garden into a floral collage,

The tiny dew drops on the leaves to raise the effect,

Why do I miss them so much,

Why aren't winters the same anymore? 

Was it also a childhood thing, for them, 

Or is it a Cuttack thing? 

How beautiful it was

The smell, the touch of paper, 

When you'd scribble even on the sides

After running out of space on inland letters!

How exciting it was to sprint down the stairs

When the postman's bell would come calling 
By the gate,

His rusting bicycle refusing to slow down, 

Like his own wrinkled face

That refused to age, 

And his smile telling the happiness 

Sealed in the envelopes. 

There wasn't an expectation as you tore it open, delicately,

Just happiness, innocent lines, and silly nothings.

How easy life was,

When life revolved around letters, 

And Christmas holidays were all about 

Sending handwritten greetings,

And popping up at post offices, 

Looking for the ones our way!

Can't we go back to writing letters,

And exchanging sweet everythings!

Do you still come by postmen whose heart beats for you,

Or, is it only a Cuttack thing?

The thought of the first journey by train 

Had fancy thoughts racing,

To keep me awake late the previous night,

The excitement turning wilder

As the heartbeats echoed the train's chugs,

So soaked were we with the journey

The greenery, the shuddering over bridges, 

The rivers deep below,

The clanking as the train changed tracks

The mudhi-mixture and steaming cutlets.

Can't we go back again

To the steaming tea, the endless banter, 

The smoke and the gusts of wind, and gushes of smiles,

Can't we live them again, 

The memories, 

The train journeys, the sheer pleasure

Unspoiled, with no filters.

How exciting, the excitement

The journeys that gave new friends, 

New roads, beyond the bends,

And created newer memories.

Do you also feel the same, as I do, 

Or, is it just a Cuttack thing!

© Sashikant Mohanty

A Beautiful Dream

The gust of wind
Swept the pages of the book
That's weathered its journey with me,
All these years,
The sepia shades telling its story,
But the pages hadn't given up -
Much like me!

The whiff of breeze by the window,
Brought along a freshness
with a slight nip in the air,
That lit up a warm feeling,
You could tell the happiness,
it rang in from the glimmer,
But tough it was to tell
if it was imagination,
Or, memories that never were.

The wafts of breeze,
By the speechless stream,
Had a special tenderness,
As it kissed a serene touch, of silk,
Of an ephemeral bliss,
A momentary smell of earth,
and a crimson dusk,
That stirred up waves of emotions,
And you could feel
the gush of blood up my face,
As a hand tightly clasped mine,
And glances
that sometimes locked with mine,
And feet that were never in a hurry,
Just slow enough, to lockstep mine
On one of the long walks,
I never did!

The sooty smell that slapped my face,
Were so welcome,
As they ring in memories,
Of the train journeys,
the smell of earth
And the sun
setting across dancing paddy fields,
Or call them sparks of wild imagination,
Of strands that dreams are made of,
They made me smile,
Smile about little nothings,
That I indulged in so much,
Until a bead escaped my eyes,
To pave way for a line of warmth,
That left a sense of calm on my cheeks,
As my eyes refused to return
from the world of
A beautiful dream!

© Sashikant Mohanty