Nature of things

WHEN the heat and general misery around the world gets to me, I turn resolutely away from the human world and look to nature for sustenance. And as I gaze at the riot of colour now in our public parks and colonies, I marvel at the eternal cycles of the seasons that no war, riots or hate campaign can overturn.

So let me take you on a tour of the gardens around me to remind you of a world that is eternal and unchanging. One fine day, spring was loudly announced by my bottle-brush tree as it produced bunches of red, spiky blooms. It was as if nature had decided that after the spectacle of wilting winter flowers, it was time to bring another level of display. In any case, the delicate winter flowers were fading as the sun became stronger in Delhi — always a sad sight for it announces a long hot spell ahead.

Then, just a few weeks ago, the gentle mauve blooms of the jacaranda quietly greeted morning walkers with the ground beneath the tree a luminous carpet of fallen flowers. I was reminded of a sarkari house we once lived in where the maali had imaginatively planted a bed of irises under a jacaranda tree. Every spring, that corner of the garden turned into a magical spectacle as the tree and the lilies on the ground vied with each other to bring a shade of purple that lit up that corner with an ethereal glow. After that came the turn of the glorious gulmohar tree to burst into our lives. As I write, Delhi is dotted with bright flame-red gulmohar trees that have set the landscape on fire. My sister lives in a colony aptly named Gulmohar Park, and the view from her terrace nowadays is breathtaking for below it lies a sea of fire-red gulmohar trees in full bloom.

Then, two days ago, I noticed another delightful sight: yellow bunches of flowers hanging like earrings from the laburnum tree outside my window. And so it goes on. How right Wordsworth was when he wrote about his ‘host of golden daffodils’! They do flash upon the inward eye when one lies in a solitary or pensive mood.

Some years ago, we had the pleasure of visiting England in spring. Our hosts, a couple passionate about gardening, took us straight from the airport to a place called Westonbury Arboretum where bluebells were in full bloom. ‘They won’t last long,’ said my friend Lydia. ‘And I don’t want you to miss this glorious sight. The rest of your sightseeing can wait.’ And what a sight that was! It was like wading in a sea of blue: I had never seen such a colour or such flowers ever before. All spring flowers are delicate and fade fast but for the brief time that they bloom, they bring untold joy and the promise of hope to those who walk among them. England jealously preserves this tradition of walking in country lanes and trails to introduce their population to the glories of their landscape. I was told that the Westonbury Estate was lovingly planted by its last owner and then bequeathed to the country as a public forest for tourists such as us and the local population to enjoy the noble trees and wildflowers that are such a unique feature of English country life.

Till today, it is not uncommon to see bands of walkers, satchels on their backs, walk through paths and trails to savour the glory of the countryside in spring. Farmers let such enthusiasts walk through their fields as long as they lock the gates behind them. One funny farmer had this posted on his farm: ‘Walking through here is free but the bull charges.’ So we aren’t the only folk to suffer the angry ‘saand’.

I am also reminded of our own hills in Kumaon, where rhododendrons and chestnut trees must now be blooming. This in addition to the blossoms on apple, peach, apricot and cherry trees are a memory that will never fade. Little girls, with leaf baskets full of wildflowers, go from home to home at the start of Chaitra (our spring) and decorate the threshold of village homes with flowers. They are given sweets and a coin and so the tradition of greeting Spring is preserved. Pastoral communities had a score of such rituals for each season and up until a few decades ago, they were religiously followed. Certain foods had to be cooked, certain rituals had to be celebrated and the clan would gather together to celebrate these occasions together. With rapid urbanisation and the passing on of the generation that carried these traditions faithfully, it is just a matter of time before they will exist only as myths and folklore.

No one can stop the march of time but instead of importing new ‘woke’ celebrations, I would recommend we keep alive these charming rituals. They bond us with our environment in ways that enriches human life. Avoiding certain foods, marking planting and harvest seasons with joyous rituals and community celebrations (such as Baisakhi) rejuvenates tired folk who have had enough of rival religious processions and stone-pelting. Instead of hate and mutual distrust, why not revive mutual celebrations and feasts where all can eat together? That is what the ‘saanjha chulha’ was about, wasn’t it?

Eid Mubarak!