Readers Write In #687: Trees that are trees, and trees that are not

By Iniya A

I have many trees. So do you. Everyone does.

There are the childhood trees. The large canopied neem and gulmohar trees that you grew up with. Trees that you swear were small once, but you can’t ever recollect them that way, because you were small too. Trees that you first climbed. Trees that you first fell from. Trees that you first caught the falling flowers of, that you later pressed in your diary. Trees you could curl up under in a comfortable silence. Trees that rustled in the wind just like the way you laughed. Trees that sprayed last night’s rain water on you, if you just pulled a little. Trees that have almost dried up. Trees that at one point you’ve been terrified would crash in a storm. Trees that you’ve watered back to life even though they never needed water to grow before. Trees you’ve hugged even if it meant a scratch or two. Trees you wish you could take with you but you know you can’t. Trees you forget about, when you go someplace else, but not really. Trees you visit when you come back home. Some are gone, but some still stand, peppering the grass with the dried flowers and leaves you didn’t get to see on the tree. When you climb up to the highest branch and look down, it feels different, but also the same way it felt before.

When you leave home, everything feels empty. So you find other trees.

There are the small, pretty ones. Ones that have beautiful exotic leaves, that you love looking at when you pass by, or take photos with. The ones that blow the slightest gust of wind your way on a summer afternoon. But you realise they take up a lot of your water, and give nothing in return. And when the sun gets too hot, or the wind gets too dry, or the mist gets too cold, the leaves fall off. Sometimes slowly, sometimes all at once. And of course you are sad when they dry up, but not as sad as you should be. In a few months it fades to nothing but a memory. Looking back, you think, perhaps you only planted that tree there so that it doesn’t feel quite as empty.

There are the new ones. Trees you’ve only just sprouted. Barely reaching above. Trees that branch out hesitantly, but then there are those days that a whole new branch has unfurled. Trees that despite how small they look, give you shade and wind on dry days. Trees that will not break when you lean against them, and after testing it tentatively for the first time, you know this much with your heart. Some of them will look the same, as those childhood ones. And even though you know that it will never be the same, perhaps it will be different in a nice way. Maybe you’ll get to watch it grow this time and be old enough to remember the growth later.  Maybe you’ll be able to watch the first flowers bloom, instead of just catching up on all the ones that unfurled and fell, when you go back home. You don’t get lucky with the tree the way you did with the ones back home. There is a certain contentment and excitement and fear, in trusting that these trees, the ones that you intentionally picked out yourself, will stick the seasons out with you. 

And then there are the ones that have always been there. The banyan and the copperpod and the mango trees. The ones that have been large and beautiful and stable and all encompassing for as long as you can remember, even more than that. The ones that are shelter thousands of birds and creatures, but somehow it feels like they always have a special place for you. The ones that have that perfect crook in the trunk that you fit just right in. The trees that make the world around you disappear when you’re nestled in their shade. The ones you can silly dance under, as their leaves twirl down on you. The ones that you know will be there no matter what, that feel like they are always there with you even if they are not. The ones whose air you breathe in, whose shelter you sleep in, who’s canopy you flourish under, The ones that provide unconditionally, and freely. The ones that made you who you are, and then sustained you. The ones that are home.

There are so many more trees. The ones that come and go, the ones that don’t last a day. The ones that provide, the ones that drain. The ones you meet that you don’t forget for a long time, the ones that you had that you don’t remember in some time. Every day you could plant a tree. Or not. Plant the trees that fill up space in a meaningful way. Nourish those wonderfully large, beautiful, stable trees with layers and layers of canopies and love left to give. Find the trees that bring life to this space, and trees that bring this space to life. 

Go grow your rainforest.

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