I’m considered quite hospitable, but sometimes, no matter how loving, guests can be destructive

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I agree, the world is my family, but you have not met my ravaging guests. They strip bare my plants and shrubberies with a vengeance.

I closed off their egress, but kept the driveway open. But now they feel safer, and visit me even more.

Oh,  they’re sneaky! Sometimes from the distance, I see something moving strangely. Those rapacious chomping mouths are back!

Roses and nasturtiums are like candy, and full bloomed hydrangea like lollipops. A curry leaf plant I nurtured through years was left outside briefly. I returned to see twigs stripped of leaves.  Fruit trees stand no chance.

They’re this family of mom, dad, and kids. They look so loveable, but they are destructive little monsters. Of late, I chase them out every time I see their presence. They know the drill.

I see them on this misty spring morn. I quickly wear garden clogs, and start tracking them. The earth is wet, and it provides clues. The fresh hoof prints betray  them like the turned on location app.

There they are, munching on the tenderest, youngest spring greens. Poor plants do not even have a chance with these avid chompers.

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Shoo-shoo!

I make my presence felt, and I begin to witness my patient training. Obediently, they gather immediately to climb down the steps, go past the fence, skirt cross the meadow, and in a single file leave the driveway behind the safety of oleander bushes. This is how I have routinely trained them.

One last time before they disappear in line behind the bushes, they pause to look at me with plaintive doe eyes, hoping I will relent. Sadly for them, I do not. With my stentorian voice, I think I’ve convinced them who’s the boss.

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The Challenger

But the  pesky little rebel always challenges me. He likes to peel off the family fold, and go back. The others do not leave, they patiently wait till he gets back. In the past, he had made me go in circles, but now, I am well aware of his tricks. I successfully manage to make him toe the line, and off he goes with the family.

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I stand to make sure they leave, and I even say a loving goodbye to them. Upon seeing them leave, I can at least offer an “olive branch,” by dropping my gruff exterior.

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I go back, satisfied at my alpha femaleness. With my cup of tea, I survey the view from my windows like a colonial conquerer.

There’s no breeze, but something’s moving. I peer closely, and see the monster masticators are at it again. They look at me, and their noses twitch, betraying a smirk perhaps. But the little one has a look that screams, “Sucker!”

The cart turns wheels all seasons. These are the darling buds and blooms I beheld in May.

The Flower Seller

He goes to the market early in the morning to buy fresh, loose flowers in bulk. He sorts, arranges them neatly on the cart. Street by street he pushes his darling buds and blooms, vocally announcing their names loud and proud. He knows there’s demand for loose flowers in ways more than one.

People buy these to adorn deities, or to string them into garlands, or just use them for decorations around the home.  My personal favorite is floral patterns on the floor. Here’s an elaborate one with flowers, fruit, leaves, glass bangles, and food.

Floor pattern

Image Courtesy https://www.flickr.com/photos/49694447@N00/11169875093

Hair-Dos and Don’ts

Sometimes women punctuate their formal updos with select flowers in specific colors to match and contrast their attire. From the rarest orchid to the native jasmine, the possibilities are endless. Here’s a picture of Deepika Padukone, an Indian film actress, courtesy Bollywoodlife.com

Memories of Another Time

A senior neighbor I once knew always used a fresh stemmed rose as a boutonnière to refresh his well-worn wool Nehru jacket. He unfailingly went about the morning walk with his trusted walking stick or umbrella. Chivalrously he would hand over the rose to a neighbor in the form of a courteous lady or child while sharing his favorite authors, local or international. His favorite topic was to impart the merits of the playwright Bernard Shaw while he met people on the street. Time stood still for him, while the neighborhood ladies let their minds circle back to their domestic duties on hold. However, to the courteous person who lent an ear to him or to a curious child, time transportation from Pygmalion’s Ancient Greece via Late Victorian/Early Edwardian London, to Twentieth Century Fox seemed more than welcome.  The senior gentleman has passed on since, leaving behind fond memories. Along with him went the remnants of the Raj. Yet good literature and courteous manners can never go out of style.

The Day’s Haul

I hear the flower vendor around 8:30 am, open the outside gate, and gesture for him to come over.

Today the haul includes mini roses and marigolds. With his permission I take pictures of the glorious floral feast, all from several angles for my personal album.

When I am finished, he requests with utmost sincerity, “Madam, could you also take a picture of me to post in Your Facebook?”  Mildly amused, I agree to take the picture and to post on “my facebook.” Now these flowers have another use. They have a “profile” to share.

He rakes his unruly hair with fingers, postures straight, and poses for the click.

As a parting note, with equal mixture of confidence and humility he adds, “Madam, please don’t forget to add my name. It’s Vijay!”

I thought it was all about the flowers for my bouquet of memories. But with his intervening pose, it’s about being in someone’s tiny digital yet somewhat social world where happily everyone’s a celebrity.

In the hustle, bustle, smoke, and dust, these reserved green spaces are like oases in the desert.

Bengaluru, once known as the Air Conditioned Green City, reels under pollution, dust, and weather change. Thank goodness for the rare strips of green they call the Parks in this once pristine city.

Bengaluru, June-September 2015

Before the day takes over, I yield to my guilty pleasure…. the morning walk in the neighborhood park. Jealously I guard this precious time before the routine becomes master.

The Park is a long patchwork of green between the main streets. Each strip has its own plantings. Asoka or Saraca Asoca trees make up the shade for one park. It’s known as the tree with no sorrows. Tied to the Buddhist king Ashoka, it’s said that the juice from the flowers of this tree can help uplift moods in depressed individuals. However, the Flame of the Forest trees dotted in between, create shock and awe with the mature canopies and the brilliant flora.

A host of other trees make up the green strips of land. Tamarind, decorative date and areca palms line the park neatly. Some months the parks light up with pinks, yellows, and reds, purples. Cassia, Gulmohur, silk trees, jacaranda, and several other trees with the unique leaf forms and branches create cathedrals above, allowing peeks of blue skies and cottony clouds. Stopping midway to do a pantheistic salutation to Ma Nature is an unstoppable urge for me. Watching the several yoga lovers around me, I’m not embarrassed to strike a tree pose mid path.

Gustav Hermann Krumbiegel, a German botanist brought in native plants from different countries, notably South America while planning several avenues in Bengaluru. He loved the city so much, that he lived here until his passing. There’s a road named for him near the famous Lalbagh. About the plantings he imported to Bengaluru, the city somehow has claimed them as her own with brilliant flora and verdant tops. It’s said that you can plant a walking stick in the fertile red dirt, and this sylvan city will make it sprout leaves.

The walking path is paved, and the walkers are a diverse lot. They come in all ages, and from different socio-economic strata.

Around the path vendors with carts hawk seasonal fruit, vegetables, greens, and flowers.

Every other day, a tempo arrives with fresh produce: beets with greens, carrots with tops, kohl rabi, okra, tomatoes, and greens. The fruits are the testimony of the changing season. When I landed this summer, carts groaned with the weight of mangoes. At departure time, it’s mostly pomegranates, custard apples and apples. Staple fruits, mostly bananas, jackfruits, and papaya are always a fallback. The dewy fresh-picked produce is a treat, and I have to remind myself to shop less, so I can shop often. Sometimes I finish up produce shopping before the walk and leave my bag with the vendor. I can with limited baggage, enjoy the walk.

Armed with my trusty music, smart device, shopping bag, and some rupees, I start the walk. The few weeks I have been here, I managed to make new friends, find some old mates, and see familiar faces of the regulars.

Get early to the park, and you cannot miss the Laughing Club members. They don’t mind looking a little different, as they laugh away their cares. It’s a sight to see them breathing in unison, with the mindful yet unfettered laughter, and their yogic exercises. Invariably, they are the older lot, who have cottoned on some wisdom, and unloaded all self-consciousness. It’s a benefit to them, that’s apparent, as they have been at it for nearly a decade or more.

There’s yoga in the park. It’s common to see several self-motivated individuals doing their own thing, while there are some group activities too. Then there’s an exercise coach with his regular student group who are into push-ups, weight training, and other core exercises.

The park has outdoor exercise machines. These are of course not motorized, happily this allows for the body to do the work. There is a leg press machine, an arm exercise machine, a twister, a side swing, an elliptical, and something that looks like the Arc Trainer. I love the swinging equipment, as these make me feel like a child. Exercising en plein air can be liberating. I shed all inhibitions and swing on the machines feeling my childhood return.

The three power walkers are basically led by the speed of Devi, and they have become my friends. I very occasionally join them, and converse between breaths with them. I enjoy doing my own thing instead of subscribing to one routine. So I join them for a couple of rounds and continue my way.

My pace is varied; one day music is my guide, and I have a slew of genres with different beats. I let these dictate my walking pace. Some other days, it’s more mindful walking. I take charge of bursts and stops. Then there’s the grateful walk. Gratitude for active limbs, for the park, for the fresh air, for the trees, for the overhanging leaves, for engaging all senses, and most of all, for the moment. I jump up and touch the leaves, or put my palm on the tree that stands there, acknowledging that it provides shade, purifies the air, and offers a calming green comfort. I don’t know if it’s the endorphins kicking in, but at that point in time, every living cell pulsates in the crystal-clear moment.

You never know what you will hear or see, or whom you will meet. There’s the young family into fitness that comes on weekends. Everyday, the older lady affected by a paralytic stroke, slowly rehabilitates herself. Initially, she had a male helper holding her hand, and now slowly she has progressed to walking alone with a cane. One lady sees me with a bag, and tells me not to carry so much baggage. “Be free, lose the bag,” she advises  as she breezes past.

One day, I hear a simple mantra to life from a group of male buddies walking together. One friend summarized his group discussion succinctly. Healthy living is a combination of physical fitness, mental fitness, healthily connecting with people, and spiritual fitness. I had to say kudos my way to this free daily dose of wisdom again.

Then they turn me to their guru friend Dr. Anil Gupta, and he shares with me some expanded wisdom you can hear in the audio link.

After the walk, my last stop is the young coconut water. The vendor knows what gauge of coconut cream I like. He can unerringly pick the coconut I prefer based on the cream thickness and sweetness of water. How he does that, I’ll never know.

Uprooting oneself  every year is not easy, but life sometimes is unpredictable. So like the mythical walking stick, it’s time to sprout leaves, cast shade, and put forth flowers  wherever one is at any given moment.