Kandy

Thank you.. Kandy.

I stood in front of the badam tree as i looked down at its crushed purple offerings on the road. Did the tree do that deliberately- throw the fruits, where its seeds would find release? Even if only crushed by vehicles, not eaten by herbivores. We think animals adapt to plants, perhaps its the other way around.

Kandy, i said to the tree, now 5 years old and nearly 30 feet high, how quickly you have grown, thank you for being the tallest amongst your siblings. I know all i could do was send you some smelly water and some soil, but you gave me so much more. Raison d’etre. 

It all began about seven years ago, when Rudra had shifted Amma and me to Coastal road. We had to abandon everything, even Appappa’s wellington, there was no time to pack all our belongings in the small window of time that the government had given us. 

Jaffna, had no room for well-to-do tamils after the library had been burned down but the assassination  was what nailed our coffins and we had to run.

I had taught English in the University for most of my life and my retirement had been extended by a decade, but it was time to go. 

As Wang Ping said 

‘We carry yesterday, today and tomorrow

We’re orphans of the wars forced upon us’.

Amma and I landed on the shores of Chennai.

Amma was too distraught, her weight, she was always a voluptuous woman, now ballooned so she could barely move. While all i did was walk.

The colony that Rudra had rented a home for us, had many tree-lined avenues. Perhaps he too knew that it would be the green that we would miss the most. Chennai itself had areas named after trees, Mambalam after mangoes, Teynampet after Thenga, Alandur after Aalai maram, Vepery after Vepam, Pulianthope after Puli. 

Except coastal road, where i had stood seven years ago. Each day, longing for the greenery, i escaped her barrenness and walked till green clouds shaded my head, and dried leaves cushioned my feet on other perpendicular streets.

Damn that little water spill from leaking kitchen drain pipe, that i slipped on, and now i found it hard to go more than the end of coastal road.  Its then that the idea occurred to me. How about i plant trees? 

That was seven years ago. I had immediately found the nearest nursery, ordered a 100 flower bearing trees, manure and arranged some labour.

But there were many problems. Starting with our landlord who refused to allow water from our  home to be used to hydrate the babies. It was the same  kitchen water that saved the enterprise.  We filled an unused sump with filtered water from the bath and kitchen, called greywater, then got a submersible pump installed in it to push up water. I employed two young women to water the trees daily, not knowing which would survive. 

I knew if they survived the first three months, it would all be fine.

But survival, in the harsh dry rainless summer of Chennai, needs an individuality, and a determined one at that.

Thats why i named them.

There were other problems too. Regular walkers complained of the smell. I kept telling everyone, once the trees dug their heels deep enough, we would stop watering. 

Soon the work caught the eye of the municipal park gardeners who were themselves struggling to keep their plants going, and i was summoned to a meeting by the colony association to explain how water could be reused. I helped rescue a few neighbouring parks and one day the Mayor’s office called, the Mayor wanted to meet me! Some journalists got the wind of it and my trees and i became locally famous. 

But now, It was time to go, Rudra was beckoning me, our final move, immigration to Uk, our red passports in the bags, a cab awaited us near the other end of coastal road. 

I looked at the avenue of trees, as they formed an arch over the road, planted by loss, watered by waste, talked to by love and longing.

Om! I am coming, Rudra. 

Bye Kandy, Trinco, Jaffna,  Nuwara eliya.. i will return one day.

Dedicated to T. Siva Ramalingam, erstwhile resident of Coastal Road, father of all its trees.