In my scampering, at the age of seven,
weathered by the sun, but lush from greenery,
behind our home at 25, Varca, Peddar Noumeo, stood a tall mango tree that
in my childhood imaginings, I thought, touched the sky
Like an old wizened ignored crone, its leaves were stars, full of collective experience
Even if they said it (that mango) never did bear any fruit, I thought it was special
And now I think how little each of us know of the Yggdrasil or World Tree?!!
And one hot afternoon when the sun boiled the sands into wavy creamy liquid
I thought my slender feet were still brave to climb bark
I rose like a Knight to scale the Himalaya
Like Hannibal ambitious over the Swiss Alps
And I got on to a very high bough
As I dreamed that I was somewhere as high as the nearest cloud
Like an angel whose wingspan swept the brown earth
and dropped petals all the way to the horizon,
I encountered `Mr Big Sir’ as we called him in age-old tradition
A cobra just a foot away, its flared forehead marked with Vishnu’s `U’
Or was it Shiva the destroyer? Or was it still Vishnu the preserver?
I had no time to think, with my instincts leaping through my mind
Yet, I did not panic, as I jumped from the skyscraper, would my ankles be strong?
And yes they were, as I thought of love and my dad’s benevolent safe and secure arms!
So, I landed softly, like an umbrella-parachute, on the earth!
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