Growing up amid cyclones

BENGALURU: You might have missed it over the news in the last week. Odisha experienced a cyclone - Cyclone Fani - and more than a million people were evacuated.News from Odisha never reaches the mainstream. I was born in and grew up in Odisha. Cyclones and natural calamities have a way of knocking on our doors. Even Cyclone Fani was supposed to leave Odisha alone, but stopped by to say hello to an old friend.

Most Indians peg their life on the years that they finished Class 10, 12, graduation and so on. But an Odiya pegs life on the year of the cyclone, super-cyclone and so on.Cyclone names like Hudhud and Phailin are a recent import from the West, which accords names like Katrina and Nilofar. When I grew up, they were just called ‘Cyclone’.

We always heard warnings on television and radio. Ration was stocked and emergency lights were kept ready. TV connections were yanked out. It began with the power-cuts. Followed by winds that attacked like dementors. Over the next few days, fathers lit candles and mothers cooked in darkness.As a child, I was unaware of the magnitude of damage caused by these calamities. School was called off and homework wasn’t mentioned.

As I grew up, I adapted to cyclones in my own way. I snuck out for a smoke and made my way back into the house unnoticed. I also saw the wreckage caused. Cyclones are nature’s way of letting us all know our place in this world.

Electricity poles were uprooted, trees lay fallen like old warriors. Stray dogs that would normally wag their tails looked scared. The aftermath of every cyclone brought about a sense of community among the people of our colony. Squabbles were ignored. The men got together to remove the debris, the women coordinated food and supplies.

In a few years, I left Odisha to earn my livelihood. I often wonder if growing up amidst cyclones has shaped me in some ways. I can sleep comfortably in any bus or train. I can eat anything and everything as long as it is cooked. I can sleep at peace amid noisy friends or screaming politicians.

I sometimes wonder if this is because of my upbringing amid cyclones. Or perhaps they are the fantasies of a writer running out of ideas for his column! The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind, at 140 kph!
The author is a writer and comedian.