The Angry Lemon Plant

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 I have spent so many years following what others are doing. From academics to my personal life, I have blindly borrowed so many things from others. Yes, I have always cared for other's opinions. Yes, I have listened to other's judgments. I have done that all - just like so many people out there. 

And one day, out of nowhere I picked up a pen and scribbled the traits and habits I have acquired from others in a little notebook. And I wrote eighteen pages (front and back). 

Okay! A little less than eighteen pages - but they were enough to enlighten me and show me the way. I need to peel off my societal layers without thinking of the result. 

Then a phase comes when you start to give importance to your inner voice. You start looking at your own needs, requirements, and of course, wishes.

One such wish was to have a little garden of my own. When it comes to gardening and the stuff related to it, I was just too amateur. In fact, I had a bad experience with all the plants I had received as gifts on my birthdays. But the rule is to take care of your wishes. 

So I went to this cute little nursery which is quite near to my office. I bought Rose, lipstick aglaonema, and a little lemon plant. With a good experience with them, I gained some confidence and started getting more and more plants. Now I have a gulmohar, Mint, Neem, Aloe vera, and many other delicate as well as sturdy plants in my little gallery. 

Almost every morning, I sit among them and look at the minuteness and beauty of each of my plants. I have started feeling that each plant has a unique nature. Some seem to be loving and warm. Some are angry and irritated. A few of them are darn too aggressive and even turn violent sometimes. 

Just like my lemon plant.

While watering them, I got a bruise from one of the sharpest thorns of my lemon plant. My wrist even started bleeding a little. I looked at it and felt as if it was looking directly into my eyes, still in attack mode. 

I choose to ignore it.

But the other day a similar thing happened. I understood the fact that something needed to be done immediately.

I lifted the pot and placed it on the other side of the gallery, away from the rest of the plants. I grabbed my chair and started sipping my 'Bitterest - Black - Coffee'. 

On my left, there are lush green plants, loaded with flowers and green leaves. And on my right, there is this little lemon plant, looking directly at my face.

Suddenly I heard a group of kids giggling, shouting, and hooting - to tease someone. I looked to my right and saw a tweeny version of mine standing there - struggling to keep his hands up. And on my left, I recognized each and every face. I recognized each and every voice. I recognized each and every taunt. They still ring in my ears. I must be eleven or twelve, with tired arms, I was trying to hold my glasses, which were falling down my cheek.

My fault? I was discussing the episode of 'Shahid Bhagat Singh', which was telecasted the night before on DD National with the guy sitting next to me. The teacher caught me chattering with a little more animation than required in that particular conversation. 

She didn't miss the opportunity to comment on my exam scores and physicality - before 'throwing' me out of the class. When she left the class for some work, some students repeated what the teacher said, adding a little more creativity.

I immediately got up and placed the lemon plant among the other plants. I changed its place, but I couldn't bear the sight of the lemon plant alone, gazing at me. It was haunting my psyche.

The whole day I was thinking about that sight. I was overwhelmed and irritated that day, secretly suffering in my imagination. I concluded the day with the thought that I should receive a national award for overthinking from the Government of India.

A couple of weeks passed and I completely forgot about that day. Like every morning I was watering the plants and plucking dry leaves. I glanced at the lemon plant. When I looked at it closely, I was astonished at the sight. I saw two little lemons hanging joyfully from a low branch of the lemon plant.

 What a sight it was. 

That's the role of genuine companionship, love, and sympathy in one's life. One opens up all the locked and bolted gates of his or her heart. One feels safe and warm in your company - Just like my little lemon plant, which is not so little anymore.

And the national award of overthinking - Here I come.

Love, Laughter, and Peace

HRN

The Gulmohar Tree House

 The P.T. period, as we call it, was no less than a festival for the fourth graders like us. The best thing about that period was freedom. One could do anything he or she wanted to do. Indoor games as well as outdoor games were allowed. Some students rush towards the basement to play carrom board or chess. Others were busy running behind a poor little football and kicking it harshly. 

But I wasn't interested in either of those things. I remember that brief period when I enjoyed climbing above that hanging swing where students used to hang to increase their heights or to behave like a monkey The upper portion of that swing was covered under the heavenly shade of a Gulmohar tree. I used to lie under its shade, over the swing, and imagine things until the bell rang, sometimes even after that.

In one of my textbooks, this chapter was called 'Type of Houses'. There were pucca houses and kacha houses, and then there was my favorite - Tree House. I was totally mesmerized looking at the picture of a tree house. I imagined a lot about the lives of people residing in those houses, which led me to create a world in my head. That swing became my tree house where I sit and imagine. I enjoyed that space as it was hidden from the world. It's an adventure in itself when no one can see you and you can see everyone. 

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That was the time when adventures in my head commenced.

I imagined a world widespread in the woods where beautiful houses were built in the trunks of humungous trees. I started naming the people as if I knew them personally. I was introduced to this lovely family. The 'man of the house' was called Uncle Tom who collected the wood and sold them in the bazaar three miles from their home. Okay! wait. To collect wood, he sometimes had to cut the trees down and I find it a bit cruel. No! Uncle Tom was not a woodcutter. He used to collect fresh fruits and berries and sell them to various fruit sellers in the bazaar.

His wife, Aunt Martha is a short-height, flabby woman, who is a wonderful homemaker. She enjoys cooking. Pancakes, cheesecakes, and apple pie are some of her signature delicacies. She takes care of their lovely children Marie and John. They both were roughly my age. Marie was a year older than John. Every morning they walk to the town to an English school. Marie is great at saving some coins from her pocket money. She treats her brother with an ice cream almost every week. She buys it from a vendor who sells ice cream on a bicycle.

John on the other hand was a sturdy guy who spent his money on buying tennis balls and comic books. He knows well the generous nature of his sister so he never cares to save for an ice cream.

In the woods, there were five or six families that lived knitted together. The Jacobs live on the banyan and The Aroras live on the banana tree. The Mehtas live on the neem tree, just next to the pond. But Uncle Tom and his family live on my favorite tree - The Gulmohar.

They have a few lovely pets too. Tuk-Tuk, the squirrel who lives under Marie's bed. Mimi, the pigeon, with his whole family has made a nest near Aunt Martha's room's window pane. And Tommie, a lovely, brown-furred pomeranian.

Every evening the children of all the houses play different games in the woods. They fly kites and run behind each other. 

The elders sit around the bonfire on cold nights. They talk about everything under the sun while snacking on hot and crispy peanuts. They tell different stories. They also share dreams they see in their deep slumber and everyone tries to decode them. Lighting up the fire and being in the crowds help them stay safe and protected from the wild animals. I learned that from one of the episodes of The Jungle Book one fine Sunday morning.

The world I was creating in my head under the Gulmohar came to a halt when the gardener of our school trimmed the lovely tree and the swing exposed it to the world. I felt as if the roof over my head flew away in a strong windstorm.

All those memories showered in when I saw a little sapling of Gulmohar in one nursery. The nursery boy was quite sure that even in a small pot I'd be seeing red beautiful flowers pretty soon. 

I brought it home.

Flowers or no flowers, It still reminds me of my friends John and Marie. I believe that they both are there in all flesh and bones and must be over thirty years of age. I'm quite sure that I'll find them one day. And I'll recognize them at first sight...

Love, Laughter, and Peace

HRN

The Floating Orange Leaf

 

Whenever I visit a place that is a bit spared from the cruelty of mankind, my first expression towards that place is a silent prayer. The Almighty has touched each and everything with his or her bare hands while creating it. But with all those nuisances in the world, those hand impressions have become invisible or untraceable. And then there are certain places where you can find those impressions if you genuinely try to find them. I sat on the banks of the Kosi river in Jim Corbet. There was no human in sight. I could see as well as hear the smooth flow of water. It was majestic to see the view with my eyes wide open as well as to hear the various sounds with my eyes closed. A lot of thoughts were entering my mind, but to my amazement, they were settling themselves without much of a problem. It was indeed a blissful state. I was just gazing at the water flowing. looking at the leaves of different shapes, sizes, and colours flowing freely, floating freely. My thoughts were stuck on an orange leaf, which greeted me near my feet, which were soaked in water. After a gentle greeting, it went away with the flow of the river. I tried hard to track its movement. I couldn't find it after a while. 

That is how every one of us is floating in the fresh stream of life. No matter how hard we try to stay holding some rock or make our permanent residence on the bank, the flow pushes us gently. It is good to trust the flow and leave ourselves freely...

Just like that orange little leave that came to greet me...

PS:- I tried to capture some of my thoughts in a video - Here's that raw, unscripted video, If you wish to see it.