Battle
In the back of the taxi, the parts of me nearest the window are baked by a hot sun. The skin on my inner forearm seems to soak up the heat, I can feel it flowing in my veins. The other half of me, in the shade, is cool and clammy as the clouds come scudding in. I stare out the window at fast moving shadows on the road. A flock of pigeons is flying overhead, the sunlight bouncing off the clouds and catching their wings. The light is clear and lucid, the clouds wonderfully textured in shades of grey. This week, the sun and clouds have faced off in a battle of wits. The clouds chase the sun into sulks, the sun blasts the clouds into vapour. The weather is confused, and disorienting. Between the sun and clouds, the real winner is the humidity. The plants are loving it. Flowers are exploding in every pot and road divider. The trees, washed clean by the earlier rains, are green and blooming. The most amazing growth spurts have happened on all the branches that were hacked in the pre-monsoon frenzy. The trees have definitely won that round. My heroes.
This come hither game the sun is playing with the rain, it’s screwing with us in all sorts of ways. It’s keeping things uncertain, not letting us get on with our lives. It’s much the same with people who play games. We all have at least one of these to deal with in our lives. They are warm one minute, soft and welcoming, sharing feelings and secrets. And then, before there’s any warning, no time even to draw breath, they turn stone cold, indifferent, frozen. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, that’s the end of it, and you can walk away, lesson learnt, once bitten. But what of the ones who can keep up this give and snatch away game for years? The ones who apologetically say Oh I’m screwed up, and I screwed up, when what they actually mean is: Oh I’m screwing with your happiness and it’s really fun, a great way to pass some time. And what of the ones who let them? It’s hard to say who the bigger fool is. Growth comes from staying where you are and letting them go. Leave the seesawers to their games – they’ll find another sucker. My role models are the trees. The rain and sun are both welcome. But mostly, the trees continue to do their thing, regardless of the elements. They put out leaves, delight the heart with blossoms and bear their fruit. This does not mean that trees have no memory. They remember days of drought and days of flood. They send out new leaves only when the conditions are right. They do not forget.
Let me be a tree, I say, let me be a Mumbai tree (though not on a Metro route, where life is uncertain and death by hacking imminent). Forever growing, forever giving. Forgiving too. But never forgetting. Never a sucker again. Never on that seesaw again. And therefore…free.