This is my ode to the
standing people,
the silent observers of the earth
that have watched her
children grow.
Badam standing
at the fork of the road,
holding our hearts in
a hidden hollow of its bark
as we hold our breath and
choose our path.
Banyan, home
to the wise owl,
stage for (bird) songs
and backdrop for scenes of
childhood games;
the only one who showed us
how to grow -
roots and all.
Mango tree
on the football field
that fell
from the weight of the library
of stories it carried;
that saw us all grow
till we were old enough
to watch it blossom -
new sapling to young
tree bearing fruit.
Frangipani brimming
with big red ants
that bit as generously as
the tree offered her
yellow-white flowers
that we'd turn into rings.
Tamarind bursting
with fruit to shower
the ground with,
for us to pick
and revel in the thrill
of enduring sweet
sourness on hot days.
Neem bringing us
in circles around it its bark
to learn the day's lessons,
Gulmohar setting
the sky on fire and
cannonball dropping
stink bombs,
Bougainvillea supporting
buildings and beauty,
and all the ones
whose names I don't know
or remember,
the ones who held dreams
as we climbed their branches,
and held laughter in leaves
that rustled in the wind;
the homes of bugs and birds,
boys and girls,
the standing people
that have become characters
in all our stories.
About this Poem
The school I spent 14 years of my life in is shifting campus this week and it suddenly hits me that this 17 acre extension of my skin is a place I will not be able to go back to very very soon. In the heart of urban Chennai, students from other schools would often mock us saying we studied in a forest, and that we had classes under trees.
Every time I've returned to school since I graduated I've noticed myself recognising fewer and fewer faces (our school had only 300 students so while we were studying there it was pretty easy to know everyone), but seeing the campus fuller, more alive as the trees had grown even in my absence. These are actual trees from the school campus. It is them I will miss the most, these silent characters that have played a part in so many stories before me and after me, but still in the same family. It is strange to think new people who have nothing to do with our school will become acquainted with my green friends, and I can only hope that they will love them and be loved by them.
(I'll add pictures when I visit the campus this week, but till then, there's this black and white picture of the Banyan Tree):