My first tree
Life in our veranda predates me,
An investigation of the attic brought out memories that
Post-retirement, Daddy had made a mound amongst the concrete once
For one humble curry tree stem
The cat would dig up the soil
Looking for something only he knew
The veranda now dirty, Ammi would come scuttling out
Voicing her displeasure loud and clear in Kashmiri
He persisted, proving her reprimands futile
The tree would attract our neighbours
For the curry leaf embellishes many a dish
Many mornings and afternoons their calls punctuating
Our eating time, our resting time
Pleasantries exchanged as a mere formality
A branch was taken back for that afternoon’s meal
Six-year old me had an ambition to climb the tree
Balancing myself on one of its branches
To forego the stairs and visit the floors above
That time the tree was but a healthy stem
Incapable now, but one day I thought
I moved out, moved in, moved out
Ambitions were forgotten for others
But the tree stood there patiently waiting
Until one day
A yearning for more human space meant
A new house, but not the old tree
Finding meaning in rocks
College told me rocks are of three kinds
Sedimentary, metamorphic and igneous
They store their own unique memory of the Earth
I attach some of my own to them
There are the ones from an Icelandic glacier
A landscape so wondrous, it confirms the suspicion that
The Ice Age is still here
I remember many miles of road in early Spring
And mountains bathed in white
The ones from the banks of the Ganges
Smooth and rounded, a reminder of water’s strength
To shape routes and destinies
We would bounce some pebbles on its waters
And see which one went the farthest
The ones from Vesuvius have holes in them
Pressures and temperatures once so high
Anybody would relent after all
We made a picnic up there, much to everyone’s envy
Looking down upon the Bay of Naples
Among the oldest in time these
Ones from Dharwad contain stories
Rich in detail for someone who can read
I found them when a peculiar sight was
Upon us, a partially-submerged church
All these are now safe in a cupboard at home
When laid out on the floor
Memories flood back, warm and fuzzy
For the inanimate give meaning
When the living lie far far away
Manan is currently doing his PhD in Vienna, where he tries to understand what societies do with land, and what that means for the carbon stored in these landscapes. The human tendency to define landscapes fascinates him, and so he also analyses why and how forests are defined the way they are. He is a big fan of chai and long-distance trains, and if they can be found together, then even better. Find his work here.