Flight
My baby left home today. Admittedly, only one floor down and into a larger home, but still, it was a wrench to see the empty room. My gardener would say Good Riddance to a useless, fruitless occupier of good real estate. But I was sad to see the end of an era of nurturing, encouraging and reviving flagging leaves. Leaves? Well yes, I was talking about my twelve year old mosambi sapling. Who did you think I meant?
Many years ago, an empty pot and a fat mosambi seed triggered a harmless obsession. Planting a fruit seed and watching it grow. Much to my gardener’s dismay, it didn’t matter at all that the seeds grew into mostly infertile saplings, all glossy leaves and not much else by way of a flower or fruit. That first seed has survived my callous ministrations, invasions by caterpillars, intermittent watering. Twelve years later, it is a sturdy three footer. The thorns are wicked sharp, the beautiful citrusy leaves dark and glossy. The pot was getting too small for the mosambi after the recent growth spurt it had. I toyed with the idea of giving it to a fortunate friend with a garden. Then yesterday, I noticed that one of the muddy areas in front of my building was bare. The ixora that grew there all these years had died in the recent monsoon. My teenage mosambi was planted in its place this evening. The gentle post-monsoon drizzle should help it settle down in its new home. Its roots will have so much more space to spread and the strong sunlight will be a lovely bonus for a plant from my balcony, used to some sun interspersed with a lot of shade. My dreams are already filled with big, juicy mosambis. Or at least a fragrant tree providing shade. It has just occurred to me that those thorns might be a teeny tiny problem because of the location next to a car parking spot. Oh well.
Released from the confines of a pot, a small plant can really take flight. My late neighbour was a tall handsome gentleman. He loved his little dog who snapped at everyone in the building with no prejudice. He also loved the little potted Mussaenda on his balcony. Like Bougainvilleas and Ixoras, species of this genus have large, showy, long lasting sepals. The flower is tiny and completely overshadowed by the velvety sepals. This particular Mussaenda has the most beautiful dusky pink sepals. When in full bloom, it is a waterfall of pink tears. Just before he passed away, many years ago now, he requested that his Mussaenda be planted in the building compound. That little plant is now a huge bush, almost a little tree. It blooms abundantly in honour of the old man who looked after it in its baby years.
Flight. My twelve year old mosambi. The Mussaenda. My twelve year old friend who has started writing a blog today. She is a very cool kid, confident, caring and very conscious of the world around her. I thought about the agonies I went through and the arguments I posed to myself when it was time to send my writing out there for the world to read. I held it back for so long instead of letting it take flight. My young friend demonstrated to me today that flight into the unknown, whether creative or otherwise, is simply a matter of faith in yourself. She has spread her wings with so much grace and self belief. I know she (and my mosambi) have set out on a journey to remember.
Post Script: My young friend and the mosambi will both turn thirteen soon. The mosambi is flourishing in its new home, its thorns are wicked sharp and leaves glossy as it reaches for the sun and anchors itself strongly to the earth. I wish the same for my friend as she heads out into the world.