I had gone on a sudden journey with my daughter, Pritvi, and
we ended up in the most magical balcony on the third or fourth storey of a
forested campus in Ponda. This balcony went right inside the canopy of one of
the most immensely large tamarind tree that I have ever seen. We kept looking
inside this canopy and searching for birds, as an initial instinct.
We found a lot of other happening stuff inside. There were
birds – parakeets, mynas, barbets, sunbirds, babblers, a racket-tailed drongo
and one lone Indian roller. But, these were many, noisy and came in and went
out in gangs. They seemed to come inside the canopy just to stop and gossip and
shout and fight and argue. In some gangs, it seemed like there was one leader,
and everyone listened, but in the most unlikely of birds, the cacophony was
kept only for the moment when they were within the canopy.
And suddenly, there was calm. Through the later noon, and
early evening, there were no birds, no squirrels and no butterflies. It was
peaceful, silent, calm and overwhelmingly green, green and green. It was then,
in that zen moment, that we noticed the tamarind pods, hanging about,
undisturbed and like a silent witness to all that went about within the canopy.
The tamarind pods just seemed to stay there, as if they were silent pillars to
witness all those who went in and journeyed out of the foliage.
We described this scene to back home, and the missus had
just one comment, “Get that tamarind… we can make rasam.” To everyone, their
island of zen, I guess.
