Someone New

photosynthesis for the soul

now all the fingers of this tree(darling)have
hands, and all the hands have people; and
more each particular person is(my love)
alive than every world can understand 

-e.e.cummings

There's a land 3000 kilometres away, where trees are in abundance and the colour green hurts your eyes, leaving you feeling overwhelmed at the beauty that lies in its simplicity. But I'm not here to talk about the fragrance of pines and cedars - here, in Bangalore there is a different aroma. Of silver oaks and jackfruit trees, with the latter threatening to drop it's precious bounty on the heads (or car windows) of pedestrians when it gets too ripe and the branches cannot takeitss weight. 

I've walked miles into the city to photograph trees, but I've usually ended up going back home with a bunch of leaves stuck in my hair and a few more between the pages of a book I'm reading because it fell gracefully into my lap while I left my task of taking photos aside and sat underneath the bamboo groves in Cubbon Park. That's the distraction that nature provides which we as humans generally overlook, because a paper bookmark isn't as sustainable as a dry leaf now, is it? Also, what fun is a spending time under a tree when you can spend those newly minted green and garish purple notes on a pitcher at Pecos? But, I apologize for digressing. It's a habit I ought to break but thoughts fall into my head like leaves on the ground, being swept up with every breeze, often with dust that catches in your eyes and leaves you cursing. 


Leaving aside my general scorn for people who hate leaving their concrete boxes that they pack themselves in so neatly (unless you're in college - then it's a different story), I sometimes equate the tree with a family. There's a reason why the mapping of generations is called a family tree. I sit on a pavement near Ulsoor lake and write this, shivering with the chill that reminds me of home and familiarizes me with this place. 

The roots that we never see, in our families and these trees.

The branches that swing to and fro with leaves that detach themselves, that fly in different directions before finding some place to call their homeground, like every new generation that asks for independence from the trunk that holds it together. 

I reflect and reflect while I stare at the sunlight filtering through the branches and find myself wandering the streets of my hometown in my head. But forgive me, I digress and now, it feels like I've almost lost grip of my train of thought. 

The thing is, Bangalore makes me miss home in brief bursts because of it's resemblance to certain parts of the foothills. The view outside my window couldn't be livelier than one outside the gullies of Lucknow.

I can hardly think of a better story than the one I've heard about the lakes and trees in Bangalore. How once upon a time, the king of Karnataka was told my his mother to build lakes and plant trees in this land that would one day house thousands of people, and it amazes me. The sheer force that the mother was, that is. In this day and age, it's called sustainable solutions and she accomplished this for us by the virtue of being a mother who knew what was right. 

Families, friends, lovers and solo wanderers all find their safe haven in the boughs of huge trunks that look like people stretching their arms out to protect the ones under it, on it or merely even viewing it. I've never had one uninteresting Uber ride in the roads of Bangalore, courtesy of the different trees that line the grey path to my destination. I see places, people and things - every image takes a part of my heart away. 

All the fingers of these trees, have hands that have people - in fact, they are people and I fall in love with someone new everyday.