As a young child, I met at the doorstep of my new house, a tiny little sapling. It was green and fresh and dwarfed even by my little presence. I held my father's hand as he bent to take a closer look and both of us decided to care for the plant, which we hoped would become a tree someday. Never did we have to go out of our way with the care, we watered it in the beginning but nature soon took to nurturing it all by herself. She must be proud of just how much that tiny sapling has grown now, and how full.
When summer came by, I saw for the first time the purple bloom of the Jacaranda tree everywhere around. A cluster of bees would perpetually hover around the sweet smelling flowers, and birds of so many kinds would inhabit it's branches which swayed to the merry tune of the summer zephyr. Soon our dear tree matured and showed definition, we realised we had a Jacaranda of our own.
Years rolled by as quick as spilt marbles on a road downhill, as happy years of childhood often do and our friend grew tall and magnificent, much to my pleasure and my mother's dismay. She loved that tree, which provided shade to our home and a home to countless birds who woke her up in the morning with their happy chirrups, but she loathed the purple stains of the fallen leaves which were all over her expensive flooring and were mushed under the feet of people coming in and going by. Soon, the tall one became an absolute beast and it's branches threatened to push themselves through the tin roof and into the glass windows.
"What do we do with this thing? Look at how huge it is." ; my mum would say in utter dismay. It grew taller everyday, bushier and harder to not do something about.
My parents began to discuss their options, they began by planning to trim the branches and once I heard them mention a more permanent possibility of cutting it out entirely. They proceeded to quickly cast that one aside, their are strict rules protecting trees, nevertheless I was aghast at them being able to fathom a solution so cruel for the tree that had grown up with me. None of us could have thought how large it would grow out to be, all these years back when we had met the young sapling right next to our doorstep.
My young self couldn't help but ask, wasn't pride the right response rather than disappointment?
We're curious beings, we hope for things and people to grow but the moment their growth reaches beyond our expectations, we panic. We try to tame growth, lest it not cause us inconvenience and give us only the results we expected. Nothing more, nothing less.
What we often forget, or choose to forget is that growth isn't always defined or convenient, it isn't meant to be. There are always branches that go in unprecedented directions, which we mistakenly believe will hamper the efforts of reaching a predefined, ultimate destination. The more branches that grow, in unexplored directions, charting their own way, the better we will understand the journey, and perhaps the destination that we had prematurely fixed.
To me, the Jacaranda was and continues to be a symbol of growth, of blissful summer evenings and of a strong bond that I share with nature. To me, having cared for the tree was my little contribution to the sprawling sea of purple, purple that elevated moods and uplifted spirits, an offering to the greenery that surrounded the hill that I call home.
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| A row of Jacaranda Trees near my home. |
The winters were just around the corner when a few people from the Municipality knocked at our door with the orders to trim our tree. It was a necessary precaution being made ahead of the time, for whenever it would snow, the electricity wires- not too high for the tree, could pose a hazard with snow all over them and our Jacaranda.
I peeped out of the balcony to see all trees in the neighbourhood being given a trim, I realised it was finally time to make peace with the idea.
Soon after the chopping begun, the leafiest branch of the tree was completely severed, which was not exactly according to plan. The branch fell from the roof with a thud, and children came running to play its leaves. My father assured the tree cuter that what happened was for the best, that they wouldn't have to worry about the tree overgrowing anytime soon. The neighbours too insisted that they trim it some more, and as everyone agreed they went ahead to do so.
The following summer, our Jacaranda didn't bloom .Not a single speck of purple made an appearance. Around me, the other tress did flower but with a glory that seemed diminished.
The summer of the blossomless Jacaranda was indeed a gloomy one.
The purple came back the following summer, much to my delight and that of my folks. It came with a fantastic blossom, the likes of which we hadn't seen before.
Maybe then, a setback can realise its own beauty through the promise of accomplishment that lies ahead.
