|
|
|
|
From
Tehelka Magazine, Vol 9, Issue 25, Dated 23 June 2012 |
|
| CULTURE & SOCIETY |
|
PERSONAL HISTORIES |
|
A series on true experiences
TREE HUGGER
‘He knocked the maali over and climbed the tree to protect it’
By Eva Jyrwa Sharma
 |
|
Illustrations: Samia Singh |
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
VIKRAM, MY little boy, was all of six years. That day, many years ago, he was heartbroken. Tears of sorrow and outrage were wet on his cheeks. You’d think his favourite toy had been snatched away or that he’d been severely scolded. But the cause of his deep grief was a tree. A young fledgling of a neem tree that grew on the boundary of our garden. It was already there when we shifted house a year before. It wasn’t particularly large or imposing.
Some of the branches of the tree in contention were casting a shadow on one of the main flowerbeds, thus adversely affecting the growth of the flowers. This was bothering my enthusiastic, if a little chop-happy, gardener. He was a man proud of his green thumb and wouldn’t stand for a few branches sullying his pride. He advised me to have the offending branches lopped off immediately to remedy this ill. Thanking my stars for the wise maali, I gave him the go-ahead. The very next Sunday, he proceeded to work on the tree. Thwack! Thwack! Crash! One branch came down.
Before he could deliver more blows to dispose of the next branch, my little son rushed out on hearing the commotion. What ensued next struck me as remarkable and left an impression that has not faded since. With a cry of outrage, he went full steam at the maali with all the strength that his little body could muster and almost knocked the hapless and surprised man to the ground. I was more concerned about the khukri (a sharp curved scythe) in the hands of the maali and my scream said it, loud and clear. Luckily for all of us, it stayed safely in the maali’s hand, and no damage was done, except perhaps to the gardener’s ego.
Before we knew it, Vikram was up on the tree and sitting on the branch, which bore faint marks of the khukri’s recent assault. Then he hugged the tree with his little arms and with tears of hurt and indignation running down his face, he said in a choked voice, “Why are you hurting my friend? Can’t you see that it is in pain? How would you feel if I were to chop off your hands and feet? How could you do this?”
Stunned, first by his action, then by his words, we all stood rooted to the spot, unable to offer a protest or an explanation. We actually did not know what to say or do. A six-year-old had reduced us grown-ups to this mute bunch of shame-faced, lily-livered perpetrators of a very serious crime — causing grievous bodily harm to a tree.
I have often wondered since about the depth and intensity of his feelings for the tree. Only to be convinced each time that putting up such a grand farce of emotion was far too much for a kid that young. It had to be genuine. And it worked like a charm. What has returned to me most is the thought that to a child, the commonplace, insignificant tree was a dear friend — in whose arms he sat for hours, enjoying the breeze and often sharing tales about his imaginary friends, which we grown-ups would not believe in or have the patience to listen to. He could sway with the wind and shout out loud his joy, and sometimes frustration, knowing that the tree would always swing with him and never rebuke or slight him.
We’ve all done the same so many years ago. But in the process of growing up, we left old friends behind and forgot the wonderful times we shared. What is the point in my ramblings about my boy and his friend, the tree? Deep inside each one of us, there is a child who loves trees, for whom nature holds such wondrous joys, to whom the strength and conviction to fight to save nature is instinctive and heartfelt. We only have to find that child in us and, believe me, the fight to save the environment would be a battle already won.
Eva Jyrwa Sharma is 47. She works as a marketing professional and currently lives in Ahmedabad
|
