This essay by Charunila Malatpure is as much an exploration as a personal journey for the writer as it talks of the writer’s foliage journey from books to the trees which she lives, breathes and is surrounded with.
A few days earlier, I penned a letter to my niece and found myself talking and writing about trees. Of the trees, I see as I sit by the window at home. It wasn’t how each had a different shade of green, rather, it was about the rustling sound leaves create which is unique to each tree. For a moment I was surprised to have noticed such a subtlety. It is usually the flowering trees and flower-carpeted lanes which awake a sense of wonder and beauty for me. It was only a few moments and thoughts later that I realised having been mesmerised by trees for quite some time now.
It was Ruskin Bond who with his tales quietly introduced tress to me and to many others. It was the Deodars, the Pines, the Oaks, the Cherry, the Mango, the Peepul and many more. He described them not merely with the bloom of flowers and fruits,but also talked of the birds, animals, insects for whom these trees were and are home. He talked long and in full awe of them as seasons changed. He talked of the trunk, the leaves, the greenness, the canopy; he animated their resilience, their generosity, their ingenuity, thus, turning them into one of the many characters in his fables. Someone as me though needed a further push – a not so subtle one to appreciate them from the pages of a book to the ones which I lived, breathed and was surrounded with.