Life
This city has an unique and single mindedly cruel approach to tree conservation. We devote ten months of the year to choking our trees with concrete and garbage. We dig under and around their roots or hem them in with tiles and concrete. We throw rubbish at them and throttle them with the plastic waste we don’t know what to do with. Then the rains arrive and some trees, bereft of any ground support, topple over. People die. Of course, this calls for action – we spend the next two months ruthlessly chopping down any branches we can lay our axes on or worse, chop the tree down, leaving only the bleeding gashed stumps. Still, the trees have far more patience and fortitude, a quiet loyalty that prompts them again and again to put out shoots, bear leaves and flowers and fruits.
This year, the new growth is rampant. I had given up hope on the trees chopped down to the base of the trunk, the ones lying with half their root system exposed to the air. But the rain, sun, moisture and their tenuous link to the earth made magic happen. The first sustained spell of sunshine after the arrival of the monsoon and a green fuzz appeared on the old trunks. Closer inspection would show this was no fungus or moss, this was renewal and hope. The fuzz uncurled into baby leaves and now, two weeks later, the new growth is established. The thin green stems are thickening, the leaves gaining strength. Life itself is witness to the resilience of our trees. My hero is the slanting, almost horizontal trunk stump left behind on my road. Its low angle meant that all its branches could be reached easily. The truck took away a lot of wood the day that tree was targeted. I passed it today. Every little bit of it is sprouting. The entire trunk is covered in leaves…this is no dead tree. Its life force is surging through that stump, proudly proclaiming its renewed existence. And yet, we treat these trees so shabbily. We take them for granted. We rest under their shade when we can, but look away when they are horribly mutilated by the powers that be. Many of our city’s trees are diseased, it’s true. But it is a disturbing sign of our times that it’s far easier to simply chop down a living thing than to rescue it, conserve it, heal it.
The last few days have been some of the most tiring in a while. Physical exhaustion, feet that ached, a blank mind craving sleep and so much to do – I had no energy left to look around at the sky and sea and trees. I spent most of today on my feet or in a car, mindlessly completing one chore after another. The green of Horniman Circle saved me. As I drove past, the garden was lush and super green, the vibrant, vegetal green that soothes the eyes and replenishes the soul – if only we can stop long enough to see, to absorb all that energy. But I was in a hurry, as was almost everyone else on this busy morning. I promised myself a stroll through the garden in the coming days…and to explore the old piyalu (drinking water station) at its entrance. It is beautifully carved, a reminder that all utilities don’t necessarily have to look dystopic.
And at the end of a day that just went on forever, there was this: a huge banyan tree had been cut down to its stump at the corner of my road. It hasn’t yet shown any signs of life, perhaps it really is dead. But sprouting from the very centre of it was a tall, young and sturdy peepal sapling. It is growing from within the old tree’s heart, and I hope the stump of the banyan provides enough of a natural barricade to the twin demons of cement and garbage. It made me smile and forget my aching feet as I walked past it on my way home.